Transylvania might well be termed the land of superstition, for nowhere
else does this curious crooked plant of delusion flourish as
persistently and in such bewildering variety. It would almost seem as
though the whole species of demons, pixies, witches, and hobgoblins,
driven from the rest of Europe by the wand of science, had taken refuge
within this mountain rampart, well aware that here they would find
secure lurking-places, whence they might defy their persecutors yet
awhile.
There are many reasons why these fabulous beings should retain an
abnormally firm hold on the soil of these parts; and looking at the
matter closely we find here no less than three separate sources of
superstition.
First, there is what may be called the indigenous superstition of the
country, the scenery of which is peculiarly adapted to serve as
background to all sorts of supernatural beings and monsters. There are
innumerable caverns, whose mysterious depths seem made to harbour whole
legions of evil spirits: forest glades fit only for fairy folk on
moonlight nights, solitary lakes which instinctively call up visions of
water sprites; golden treasures lying hidden in mountain chasms, all of
which have gradually insinuated themselves into the minds of the oldest
inhabitants, the Roumenians, and influenced their way of thinking, so
that these people, by nature imaginative and poetically inclined, have
built up for themselves out of the surrounding materials a whole code of
fanciful superstition, to which they adhere as closely as to their
religion itself.
Secondly, there is here the imported superstition: that is to say, the
old German customs and beliefs brought hither seven hundred years ago by
the Saxon colonists from their native land, and like many other things,
preserved here in greater perfection than in the original country.
Thirdly, there is the wandering superstition of the gypsy tribes,
themselves a race of fortune-tellers and witches, whose ambulating
caravans cover the country as with a network, and whose less vagrant
members fill up the suburbs of towns and villages.
Of course all these various sorts of superstition have twined and
intermingled, acted and reacted upon each other, until in many cases it
is a difficult matter to determine the exact parentage of some
particular belief or custom; but in a general way the three sources I
have named may be admitted as a rough sort of classification in dealing
with the principal superstitious afloat in Transylvania.
There is on this subject no truer saying than that of Grimm, to the
effect that 'superstition in all its manifold varieties constitutes a
sort of religion, applicable to the common household necessities of
daily life,'[1] and as such, particular forms of superstition may very
well serve as guide to the characters and habits of the particular
nation in which they are prevalent.
The spirit of evil (or, not to put too fine a point upon it, the devil)
plays a conspicuous part in the Roumenian code of superstition, and such
designations as the Gregynia Drakuluj (devil's garden), the Gania
Drakuluj (devil's mountain), Yadu Drakuluj (devil's hell or abyss), &c.
&c., which we frequently find attached to rocks, caverns, or heights,
attest the fact that these people believe themselves to be surrounded on
all sides by a whole legion of evil spirits.
The devils are furthermore assisted by witches and dragons, and to all
of these dangerous beings are ascribed peculiar powers on particular
days and at certain places. Many and curious are therefore the means by
which the Roumenians endeavour to counteract these baleful influences,
and a whole complicated study, about as laborious as the mastering of
any unknown language, is required in order to teach an unfortunate
peasant to steer clear of the dangers by which he considers himself to
be beset on all sides. The bringing up of a common domestic cow is
apparently as difficult a task as the rearing of any dear gazelle, and
even the well-doing of a simple turnip or potato about as precarious as
that of the most tender exotic plant.
Of the seven days of the week, Wednesday (Miercuri) and Friday (Vinire)
are considered suspicious days, on which it is not allowed to use needle
or scissors, or to bake bread; neither is it wise to sow flax on these
days. Venus (called here Paraschiva), to whom the Friday is sacred,
punishes all infractions of this rule by causing fires or other
misfortunes.
Tuesday, however (Marti, named from Mars, the bloody god of war), is a
decidedly unlucky day, on which spinning is totally prohibited, and even
such seemingly harmless pursuits as washing the hands or combing the
hair are not unattended by danger. On Tuesday evening about sunset, the
evil spirit of that day is in its fullest force, and in many districts
the people refrain from leaving their huts between sunset and midnight.
'May the _mar sara_ (spirit of Tuesday evening) carry you off,' is here
equivalent to saying 'May the devil take you!'
It must not, however, be supposed that Monday, Thursday, and Saturday
are unconditionally lucky days, on which the Roumenian is at liberty to
do as he pleases. Thus every well educated Roumenian matron knows that
she may wash on Thursdays and spin on Saturdays, but that it would be a
fatal mistake to reverse the order of these proceedings; and though
Thursday is a lucky day for marriage,[2] and is on that account mostly
chosen for weddings, it is proportionately unfavourable to agriculture.
In many parishes it is considered dangerous to work in the fields on all
Thursdays between Easter and Pentecost, and it is believed that if these
days are not set aside as days of rest, ravaging hailstorms will be the
inevitable punishment of the impiety. Many of the more enlightened
Roumenian pastors have preached in vain against this belief, and some
years ago the members of a parish presented an official complaint to the
bishop, requesting the removal of their _curé_, on the ground that not
only he gave bad example by working on the prohibited days, but had
actually caused them serious material damage, by the hailstorms his
sinful behaviour had provoked.
This respect of the Thursday seems to be the remains of a deeply
ingrained, though now unconscious, worship of Jupiter (Zoi), who gives
his name to the day.
To different hours of the day are likewise ascribed different
influences, favourable or the reverse. Thus it is always considered
unlucky to look at oneself in the glass after sunset; also it is not
wise to sweep the dust over the threshold in the evening, or to give
back a sieve or a whip which has been borrowed of a neighbour.
The exact hour of noon is precarious on account of the evil spirit
_Pripolniza_,[3] and so is midnight because of the _miase nópte_ (night
spirit), and it is safer to remain within doors at these hours. If,
however, some misguided peasant does happen to leave his home at
midnight, and espies (as very likely he may) a flaming dragon in the
sky, he need not necessarily give himself up as lost, for if he have the
presence of mind to stick a fork into the ground alongside of him, the
fiery monster will thereby be prevented from carrying him off.
The finger which ventures to point at a rainbow will be straightway
seized by a gnawing disease, and a rainbow appearing in December is
always considered to bode misfortune.
The Greek Church, to which the Roumenians exclusively belong, has an
abnormal number of feast-days, to almost each of which peculiar customs
and superstitious are attached. I will here only attempt to mention a
few of the principal ones.
On New Year's Day it is customary for the Roumenian to interrogate his
fate, by placing a leaf of evergreen on the freshly swept and heated
hearthstone. If the leaf takes a gyratory movement he will be lucky, but
if it shrivels up where it lies, then he may expect misfortune during
the coming year. To ensure the welfare of the cattle it is advisable to
place a gold or silver piece in the water-trough, out of which they
drink for the first time on New Year's morning.
The feast of the Epiphany, or Three Kings (_Tre crai_) is one of the
oldest festivals, and was solemnised by the Oriental Church as early as
the second century, fully 200 years before it was adopted by the Latins.
On this day, which popular belief regards as the coldest in the winter,
the blessing of the waters, known as the feast of the Jordan, or
_bobetasu_ (baptism) feast, takes place. The priests, attired in their
richest vestments, proceed to the shore of the nearest river or lake,
and bless the waters, which have been unclosed by cutting a Greek cross
some six or eight feet long in the surface of the ice. Every pious
Roumenian is careful to fill a bottle with the consecrated water before
the surface freezes over, and preserves it, tightly corked and sealed
up, as an infallible remedy in case of illness.
Particularly lucky is considered whoever dies on that day, for he will
be sure to go straight to heaven, the door of which is supposed to stand
open all day, in memory of the descent of the Holy Ghost at the baptism
of Christ.
The feast of St. Theodore, 11th of January (corresponding to our 23rd of
January), is a day of rest for the girls, and whichever of them
transgresses the rule is liable to be carried off by the saint, who
sometimes appears in the shape of a beautiful youth, sometimes as a
terrible monster.
The Wednesday in Holy Week is very important. The Easter cakes and
breads are baked on this day, and some crumbs are mixed up with the
cow's fodder; woe to the woman who indulges in a nap to-day, for the
whole year she will not be able to shake off her drowsiness. In the
evening the young men in each home bind as many wreaths as there are
members of the family: each of these is marked with the name of an
individual and thrown up upon the roof. The wreaths which fall down to
the ground indicate those who will die that year.
Skin diseases are cured by taking a bath on Good Friday, in a stream or
river which flows towards the east.
In the night preceding Easter Sunday witches and demons are abroad, and
hidden treasures are said to betray their site by a glowing flame. No
God-fearing peasant will, however, allow himself to be tempted by the
hopes of such riches, which he cannot on that day appropriate without
sin. On no account should he presume to absent himself from the midnight
church service, and his devotion will be rewarded by the mystic
qualities attached to the wax candle he has carried in his hand, and
which when lighted hereafter during a thunderstorm will infallibly keep
the lightning from striking his house.
The greatest luck which can befall a mortal is to be born on Easter
Sunday while the bells are ringing, but it is not lucky to die on that
day. The spoon with which the Easter eggs have been removed from the
boiling pot is carefully treasured up, and worn in the belt by the
shepherd; it gives him the power to distinguish the witches who seek to
molest his flock.
Perhaps the most important day in the year is St. George's, the 23rd of
April (corresponds to our 5th of May), the eve of which is still
frequently kept by occult meetings taking place at night in lonely
caverns or within ruined walls, and where all the ceremonies usual to
the celebration of a witches' Sabbath are put into practice.
The feast itself is the great day to beware of witches, to counteract
whose influence square-cut blocks of green turf are placed in front of
each door and window.[4] This is supposed effectually to bar their
entrance to the house or stables, but for still greater safety it is
usual here for the peasants to keep watch all night by the sleeping
cattle.
This same night is the best for finding treasures, and many people spend
it in wandering about the hills trying to probe the earth for the gold
it contains. Vain and futile as such researches usually are, yet they
have in this country a somewhat greater semblance of reason than in most
other parts, for perhaps nowhere else have so many successive nations
been forced to secrete their riches in flying from an enemy, to say
nothing of the numerous veins of undiscovered gold and silver which must
be seaming the country in all directions. Not a year passes without
bringing to light some earthern jar containing old Dacian coins, or
golden ornaments of Roman origin, and all such discoveries serve to feed
and keep up the national superstition.
In the night of St. George's Day (so say the legends) all these
treasures begin to burn, or, to speak in mystic language, to 'bloom' in
the bosom of the earth, and the light they give forth, described as a
bluish flame resembling the colour of lighted spirits of wine, serves to
guide favoured mortals to their place of concealment. The conditions to
the successful raising of such a treasure are manifold, and difficult of
accomplishment. In the first place, it is by no means easy for a common
mortal who has not been born on a Sunday nor at midday when the bells
are ringing, to hit upon a treasure at all. If he does, however, catch
sight of a flame such as I have described, he must quickly stick a knife
through the swaddling rags of his right foot,[5] and then throw the
knife in the direction of the flame he has seen. If two people are
together during this discovery they must not on any account break
silence till the treasure is removed, neither is it allowed to fill up
the hole from which anything has been taken, for that would induce a
speedy death. Another important feature to be noted is that the lights
seen before midnight on St. George's Day, denote treasures kept by
benevolent spirits, while those which appear at a later hour are
unquestionably of a pernicious nature.
For the comfort of less-favoured mortals, who happen neither to have
been born on a Sunday, nor during bell-ringing, I must here mention that
these deficiencies may be to some extent condoned and the mental vision
sharpened by the consumption of mouldy bread; so that whoever has during
the preceding year been careful to feed upon decayed loaves only, may
(if he survives this trying _régime_) be likewise the fortunate
discoverer of hidden treasures.
Sometimes the power of discovering a particular treasure is supposed to
be possessed only by members of some particular family. A curious
instance of this was lately recorded in Roumenia relating to an old
ruined convent, where, according to a popular legend, a large sum of
gold is concealed. A deputation of peasants, at considerable trouble and
expense, found out the last surviving member of the family supposed to
possess the mystic power, and offered him, unconditionally, a very
handsome sum merely for his assistance in the search. The gentleman in
question, being old, and probably sceptical, declined the offer, to the
great disappointment of the peasant deputation.
The feast of St. George, being the day when flocks are first driven out
to pasture, is in a special manner the feast of all shepherds and
cowherds, and on this day only it is allowed to count the flocks and
assure oneself of the exact number of sheep. In general, these numbers
are but approximately guessed at, and vaguely designated. Thus the
Roumenian shepherd, interrogated as to the number of his master's sheep,
will probably inform you that they are as numerous as the stars of
heaven, or as the daisies which dot the meadows.
The throwing up of wreaths on to the roofs, described above, is in some
districts practised on the feast of St. John the Baptist, the 24th of
June (July 6th), instead of on the Wednesday in Holy Week. Fires lighted
on the mountains this same night are supposed to protect the flocks from
evil spirits.
The feast of St. Elias, the 20th of July (August 1), is a very unlucky
day, on which the lightning may be expected to strike.
If a house struck by lightning begins to burn, it is not allowed to put
out the flames, because God has lit the fire and it would be presumption
if man were to dare to meddle.[6] In some places it is believed that a
fire lit by lightning can only be put out with milk.
An approved method for averting the danger of the dwelling being struck
by lightning is to form a top by sticking a knife through a piece of
bread, and spin it on the floor of the loft during the whole time the
storm lasts. The ringing of bells is likewise very efficacious,
provided, however, that the bell in question has been cast under a
perfectly cloudless sky.
As I am on the subject of thunderstorms, I may as well here mention the
_Scholomance_, or school supposed to exist somewhere in the heart of the
mountains, and where all the secrets of nature, the language of animals,
and all imaginable magic spells and charms are taught by the devil in
person. Only ten scholars are admitted at a time, and when the course of
learning has expired and nine of them are released to return to their
homes, the tenth scholar is detained by the devil as payment, and
mounted upon an _Ismeju_ (dragon) he becomes henceforward the devil's
aide-de-camp, and assists him in 'making the weather,' that is to say,
preparing the thunderbolts.
A small lake, immeasurably deep, lying high up among the mountains to
the south of Hermanstadt, is supposed to be the cauldron where is brewed
the thunder, and in fair weather the dragon sleeps beneath the waters.
Roumenian peasants anxiously warn the traveller to beware of throwing a
stone into this lake lest it should wake the dragon and provoke a
thunderstorm. It is, however, no mere superstition that in summer there
occur almost daily thunderstorms at this spot, about the hour of midday,
and numerous cairns of stones round the shores attest the fact that many
people have here found their death by lightning. On this account the
place is shunned, and no Roumenians will venture to rest here at the
hour of noon.
Whoever turns three somersaults the first time he hears the thunder will
be free from pains in the back during a twelvemonth, and the man who
wishes to be ensured against headache has only to rub it against a stone
or knock it with a piece of iron.
The Polish harvest custom of decking out a girl with a wreath of corn
ears, and leading her in procession to the house of the landed
proprietor, is likewise practised here, with the difference that instead
of the songs customary in Poland, the girl is here followed with loud
cries of 'Prihu! Prihu!' or else 'Priku!'[7] and that whoever meets her
on the way is bound to sprinkle the wreath with water. If this detail be
neglected the next year's crops will assuredly fail. It is also
customary to keep the wreaths till next sowing time, when the corn is
shaken out, and mingled with the grain to be sowed will ensure a rich
harvest.
The feast of St. Spiridion, the 12th of December (corresponding to our
24th), is an ominous day, especially for housewives, and the saint often
destroys those who desecrate his feast by manual labour.
That the cattle are endowed with speech during the Christmas night is a
general belief, but it is not considered wise to pry upon them and try
to overhear what they say, or the listener will rarely overhear any
good.
This night is likewise favourable to the discovery of hidden treasures,
and the man who has courage to conjure up the evil spirit will be sure
to see him if he call upon him at midnight. Three burning coals placed
upon the threshold will prevent the devil from carrying him off.
Christmas carols and dramas are also usual among the Roumenians, under
the name of Kolinda, supposed to be derived from Kolinda or Lada,
goddess of peace.[8] Amongst the parts enacted in these games, are those
of Judas, who stands at the door and receives the money collected, and
that of the bull, called Turka or Tur,[9] a sort of vague monster
fantastically dressed up, half bull, half bear, with a clattering wooden
bill, and a dash of Herod about his character, in so far as he is
supposed to devour little children, and requires to be propitiated by a
copper coin thrust into his bill.[10] In many districts the personating
of these characters is supposed to entail a certain amount of odium upon
the actors, who are regarded as unclean or bewitched by the devil during
a period of six weeks, and may not enter a church nor approach a
sacrament till this time has elapsed.
A leaf of evergreen laid into a plate of water on the last day of the
year when the bells are ringing will denote health, sickness, or death,
during the coming year, according as it is found to be green, spotted,
or black on the following morning.
The girl whose thoughts are turned towards love and matrimony has many
approved methods of testing her fate on this night.
First of all she may, by cracking the joints of her fingers, accurately
ascertain the number of her admirers, also a freshly laid egg broken
into a glass of water will give much clue to the events in store for her
by the shape it adopts. To form a conjecture as to the shape and build
of her future husband, she is recommended to throw an armful of firewood
as far as she can from her; the piece which has gone furthest will be
the image of her intended, according as the stick happens to be tall or
short, broad or slender, straight or crooked. If these general
indications do not suffice, and she wishes to see the reflection of his
face in the water, she has only to step naked at midnight into the
nearest lake or river. Very efficacious is it likewise to stand at
midnight on the dunghill with a piece of Christmas cake in her mouth,
and listen for the first sound of a dog's barking which reaches her ear.
From whichever side it proceeds will also come the expected suitor.
Of the household animals, the sheep is the most highly prized by the
Roumenian, who makes of it his companion, and frequently his counsellor,
and by its bearing it is supposed often to give warning when danger is
near.
The swallow is here, as elsewhere, a luck-bringing bird, and goes by the
name of _galinele lui Dieu_ (fowls of the Lord). There is always a
treasure to be found near the place where the first swallow has been
espied.
The crow, on the contrary, is a bird of evil omen, and is particularly
ominous when it flies straight over the head of any man.[11]
The magpie perched upon a roof gives notice of the approach of
guests,[12] but a shrieking magpie meeting or accompanying a traveller
denotes death.
The cuckoo is an oracle to be consulted in manifold contingencies. This
bird plays a great part in Roumenian poetry, and is frequently supposed
to be the spirit of an unfortunate lover.
It is never permissible to kill a spider, as that would entail
misfortune.
A toad taking up its residence in a cow-byre is assuredly in the service
of a witch, and has been sent there to purloin the milk. It should
therefore be stoned to death; but the same liberty must not be taken
with the equally pernicious weasel, and if these animals be found to
inhabit a barn or stable, the peasant must endeavour to render them
harmless by diverting their thoughts into a safer channel. To this end a
tiny threshing-flail must be prepared for the male weasel, and a distaff
for his female partner, and laid at a place the animals are known to
frequent.
The skull of a horse placed over the gate of the courtyard,[13] or the
bones of fallen animals, buried under the doorstep, are preservatives
against ghosts.
The place where a horse has rolled on the ground is unwholesome, and the
man who steps upon it will be speedily attacked by eruptions, boils, or
other skin diseases.
Black fowls are always viewed with suspicion, as possibly standing in
the service of a witch, and the Brahmaputra fowl is curiously enough
considered to be the offspring of the devil with a Jewish girl.
If a cow has gone astray it will assuredly be eaten by the wolf, unless
the owner remembers to stick a pair of scissors in the centre rafter of
the dwelling-room.
As a matter of course, such places as churchyards, gallow-trees, and
cross-roads are to be avoided, but even the left bank of a river may
under circumstances become equally dangerous.
A whirlwind always denotes that the devil is dancing with a witch, and
whoever approaches too near to this dangerous circle may be carried off
bodily, or at the very least will lose his head-covering.
But the Roumenian does not always endeavour to keep the evil one at
arm's length; sometimes, on the contrary, he invokes the devil's
assistance, and enters into a regular compact with him.
Supposing, for instance, that he wishes to ensure a flock, garden or
field against thieves, wild beasts, or bad weather, the matter is very
simple. He has only to repair to a cross-road, at the junction of which
he takes up his stand, in the centre of a circle he has traced on the
ground. Here, after depositing a copper coin as payment, he summons the
demon with the following words:--
'Satan, I give thee over my flock (garden or field) to keep
till----(such and such a term), that thou mayest defend and protect it
for me, and be my servant till this time has expired----'
He must, however, be careful to keep within the circle he has traced,
until the devil, who may very likely have chosen to appear in the shape
of a goat, crow, toad, or serpent, has completely disappeared, otherwise
the unfortunate wretch is irretrievably lost. He is equally sure to lose
his soul if he die before the time of the contract has elapsed.
An apothecary of this town (Hermanstadt) told me that he was frequently
applied to for a magic potion called _spiridusch_, which is said to have
the property of disclosing hidden treasures to its lucky possessor. Only
a few weeks ago he received the following letter, published in one of
the local papers, and which I have here translated as literally as
possible.
Worthy Sir,--I wish to ask you of something I have been told by
others--that is, that you have got for sale a thing they call
_spiridusch_, but which, to speak more plainly, is the devil
himself. And if this be true, I beg you to tell me if it be really
true, and how much it costs; for my poverty is so great and has
brought me so far that I must ask the devil to help me. Those who
told me this were weak, silly fellows, and were afraid, but I
have no fear and have seen many things in my life before;
therefore I beg you to write me this, and to take the greeting of an
unknown man.--N. N.
Here, as elsewhere, thirteen is an ominous number.
It is unfortunate to meet an old woman or a Roumenian Pope; the meeting
of a Protestant or Catholic clergyman is indifferent, and brings neither
good nor evil.
It is bad luck if your path be traversed by a hare, but a fox or wolf
crossing your road is a good omen.
Likewise, it is lucky to meet a woman with a jug full of water, while an
empty jug is unlucky; therefore, the Roumenian maiden who meets you on
the way back from the well will, smiling, display her brimming pitcher
as she passes, with a pleased consciousness of bringing good luck; while
the girl whose pitcher is empty will slink past shamefacedly, as though
she had a crime to conceal.
Every orthodox Roumenian woman is careful to do homage to the
water-spirit, the _wodna zena or zona_, which resides in each spring, by
spilling a few drops on the ground, after she has emptied her jug. She
will never venture to draw the water against the current, for that would
strike the spirit home and provoke her anger.
The Roumenian in general avoids the neighbourhood of deep pools of
water, especially whirlpools, for here resides the dreadful _balaur_, or
the _wodna muz_, the cruel waterman who lies in wait for human victims.
Each forest has likewise its own particular spirit, its _mama
padura_,[14] or forest mother. This fairy is in general supposed to be
good-natured, especially towards children who have lost their way in the
wood. Less to be trusted is _Panusch_ (surely a corruption of the Greek
god Pan?), who haunts the forest glades and lies in wait for helpless
maidens.
Ravaging diseases, like the pest, cholera, &c., are attributed to spirit
called the _dschuma_, to whom is sometimes given the shape of a fierce
virgin, sometimes that of a toothless old hag. This spectre can only be
driven away if a red shirt, which must be spun, woven, and sewed all in
one night by seven old women, is hung out at the entrance of the
afflicted village.[15]
The body of a drowned man can only be found again by sticking a lighted
candle into a hollowed-out loaf of bread and setting it afloat at night
on the river or lake. There where the light comes to a standstill will
the corpse be found. Until this has been done the water will continue to
rise and the rain to fall.
At the birth of a child each one present takes a stone, and throws it
behind him, saying, 'This into the jaws of the Strigoi,' which custom
would also seem to suggest Saturn and the swaddled-up stones. As long as
the child is unbaptised, it must be carefully watched over, for fear of
being changed or otherwise harmed by witch. A piece of iron or a broom
laid under its pillow will keep evil charms away.
Even the Roumenian's wedding day is darkened by the shade of
superstition. He can never be quite sure of his affection for his bride
being a natural, spontaneous feeling, since it may or will have been
caused by the evil influence of a witch. Also at church, when the priest
offers the blest bread to himself and his new-made wife, he will
tremblingly compare the relative sizes of the two pieces, for whoever
chances to get the smaller one must inevitably be the first to die.
But nowhere does the inherent superstition of the Roumenian peasant find
stronger expression than in his mourning and funeral ceremonies, which
are based upon a totally original conception of death.
Among the various omens of approaching death are the ungrounded barking
of a dog or the crowing of a black hen. The influence of the latter may,
however, be annulled and the catastrophe averted if the bird be put in a
sack and carried thrice round the house.
Roots dug up from the churchyard on Good Friday are to be given to
people in danger of death. If, however, this and other remedies fail to
save the doomed man, then he must have a burning candle put into his
hand; for it is considered to be the greatest of all misfortunes if a
man die without a candle--a favour the Roumenian durst not refuse to his
most deadly enemy.
The corpse must be washed immediately after death, and the dirt, if
necessary, scraped off with knives, because the dead man is more likely
to find favour with God if he appear before Him in a clean state. Then
he is attired in his best clothes, in doing which great care must be
taken not to tie anything in a knot, for that would disturb his rest;
likewise, he must not be allowed to carry away any particle of iron
about his dress (such as buttons, boot nails, &c.), for this would
assuredly prevent him from reaching Paradise, the road to which is long,
and is, moreover, divided off by several tolls or ferries. To enable the
soul to pass through these a piece of money must be laid in the hand,
under the pillow, or beneath the tongue of the corpse. In the
neighbourhood of Fogaras, where the ferries or toll-bars are supposed to
amount to twenty-five, the hair of the defunct is divided into as many
plaits, and a piece of money secured in each. Likewise, a small
provision of needles, pins, thread, &c., are put into the coffin to
enable the pilgrim to repair any damage his clothes may receive on the
way.
The mourning songs, called _Bocete_, usually performed by paid mourners,
are directly addressed to the corpse and sung into his ear on either
side. This is the last attempt made by the survivors to wake the dead
man to life, by reminding him of all he is leaving, and urging him to
make a final effort to arouse his dormant faculties--the thought which
underlies all these proceedings being, that the dead man hears and sees
all that goes on around him, and that it only requires the determined
effort of a strong will in order to restore elasticity to the stiffened
limbs, and cause the torpid blood to flow again within the veins.
In many places two openings, corresponding to the ears of the deceased,
are cut out in the wood of the coffin to enable him to hear the songs of
mourning which are sung on either side of him as he is carried to the
grave.
This singing into the ears has passed into a proverb, and when the
Roumenian says, _i-a-cantat la wechia_ (he has sung into his ears), it
is tantamount to saying that prayer and admonition have been used in
vain.
The _Pomana_, or funeral feast, is invariably held after the funeral,
for much of the peace of the defunct depends upon the strict observance
of this ceremony. At this banquet all the favourite dishes of the dead
man are served, and each guest receives a cake (_colac_) and a jug
(_ulcior_), also a wax candle, in his memory. Similar _Pomanas_ are
repeated after a fortnight, six weeks, and on each anniversary for the
next seven years; also, whenever the defunct has appeared in dream to
any member of the family, this likewise calls for another _Pomana_; and
when these conditions are not exactly complied with, the soul thus
neglected is apt to wander complaining about the earth, and cannot find
rest. These restless spirits, called _Strigoi_, are not malicious, but
their appearance bodes no good, and may be regarded as omens of sickness
or misfortune.
More decidedly evil, however, is the vampire, or _nosferatu_, in whom
every Roumenian peasant believes as firmly as he does in heaven or hell.
There are two sorts of vampires--living and dead. The living vampire is
in general the illegitimate offspring of two illegitimate persons, but
even a flawless pedigree will not ensure anyone against the intrusion of
a vampire into his family vault, since every person killed by a
_nosferatu_ becomes likewise a vampire after death, and will continue to
suck the blood of other innocent people till the spirit has been
exorcised, either by opening the grave of the person suspected and
driving a stake through the corpse, or firing a pistol shot into the
coffin. In very obstinate cases it is further recommended to cut off the
head and replace it in the coffin with the mouth filled with garlic, or
to extract the heart and burn it, strewing the ashes over the grave.
That such remedies are often resorted to, even in our enlightened days,
is a well-attested fact, and there are probably few Roumenian villages
where such has not taken place within the memory of the inhabitants.
First cousin to the vampire, the long exploded were-wolf of the Germans
is here to be found, lingering yet under the name of the _Prikolitsch_.
Sometimes it is a dog instead of a wolf, whose form a man has taken
either voluntarily or as penance for his sins. In one of the villages a
story is still told (and believed) of such a man, who driving home from
church on Sunday with his wife, suddenly felt that the time for his
transformation had come. He therefore gave over the reins to her, and
stepped aside into the bushes, where, murmuring the mystic formula, he
turned three somersaults over a ditch. Soon after this the woman,
waiting in vain for her husband, was attacked by a furious dog, which
rushed, barking, out of the bushes and succeeded in biting her severely,
as well as tearing her dress. When, an hour later, this woman reached
home alone she was met by her husband, who advanced smiling to meet her,
but between his teeth she caught sight of the shreds of her dress which
had been bitten out by the dog, and the horror of the discovery caused
her to faint away.
Another man used gravely to assert that for more than five years he had
gone about in the form of a wolf, leading on a troop of these animals,
until a hunter, in striking off his head, restored him to his natural
shape.
A French traveller relates an instance of a harmless botanist who, while
collecting herbs on a hillside in a crouching attitude, was observed by
some peasants at a distance and taken for a wolf. Before they had time
to reach him, however, he had risen to his feet and disclosed himself in
the form of a man; but this, in the minds of the Roumenians, who now
regarded him as an aggravated case of wolf, was but additional motive
for attacking him. They were quite sure that he must be a Prikolitsch,
for only such could change his shape in such an unaccountable manner,
and in another minute they were all in full cry after the wretched
victim of science, who might have fared badly indeed, had he not
happened to gain a carriage on the high road before his pursuers came
up.
We do not require to go far for the explanation of the extraordinary
tenacity of life of the were-wolf legend in a country like Transylvania,
where real wolves still abound. Every winter here brings fresh proof of
the boldness and cunning of these terrible animals, whose attacks on
flocks and farms are often conducted with a skill which would do honour
to a human intellect. Sometimes a whole village is kept in trepidation
for weeks together by some particularly audacious leader of a flock of
wolves, to whom the peasants not unnaturally attribute a more than
animal nature, and one may safely prophesy that so long as the real wolf
continues to haunt the Transylvanian forests, so long will his spectre
brother survive in the minds of the inhabitants.
Many ancient Roumenian legends tell us that every new church or
otherwise important building became a human grave, as it was thought
indispensable to its stability to wall in a living man or woman, whose
spirit henceforward haunts the place. In later times people having
become less cruel, or more probably, because murder is now attended with
greater inconvenience to the actors, this custom underwent some
modifications, and it became usual in place of a living man to wall in
his shadow instead. This is done by measuring the shadow of a person
with a long piece of cord, or a ribbon made of strips of reed, and
interring this measure instead of the person himself, who, unconscious
victim of the spell thrown upon him, will pine away and die within forty
days. It is an indispensable condition to the success of this proceeding
that the chosen victim be ignorant of the part he is playing, therefore
careless passers-by near a building place may often hear the warning cry
'Beware, lest they take thy shadow!' So deeply engrained is this
superstition that not long ago there were still professional
shadow-traders, who made it their business to provide architects with
the necessary victims for securing their walls. 'Of course the man whose
shadow is thus interred must die,' argues the Roumenian, 'but as he is
unaware of his doom he does not feel any pain or anxiety, so it is less
cruel than walling in a living man.'
The superstitions afloat among the Saxon peasantry of Transylvania
relate oftenest to household matters, such as the well-being of cattle
and poultry and the success of the harvest or vintage. There is more of
the quack, and less of the romantic element to be found here, and the
invisible spiritual world plays less part in their beliefs.
Some of the most prevalent Saxon superstitions are as follows:
1. Whoever can blow back the flame into a candle which has just been
extinguished will become pastor.
2. In going into a new-built house one must throw in a dog or a cat
before entering, otherwise one of the family will soon die.