I do not know the why or the wherefore, but in every part of England I have
visited, there appears to be a deep-rooted prejudice in the eyes of the
million against people with red hair. Tradition, whether truly or not must
remain a mystery, assigns to Absalom's hair a reddish tinge; and Judas, the
traitorous disciple, is ever painted with locks of the same unhappy colour.
Shakspeare, too, seems to have been embued with the like morbid feeling of
distrust for those on whose hapless heads the invidious mark appeared. In
his play of _As You Like It_, he makes Rosalind (who is pettishly
complaining of her lover's tardiness coming to her) say to Celia:
"_Ros._ His very hair is of the dissembling colour.
_Celia._ Something browner than Judas'."
It will be apparent from this quotation, that in England, at any rate, the
prejudice spoken of is not of very recent development; and that it has not
yet vanished before the intellectual progress of our race, will, I think,
be painfully evident to many a bearer of this unenviable distinction. It
seems to be generally supposed, by those who harbour the doctrine, that
red-headed people are dissemblers, deceitful, and, in fact, not to be
trusted like others whose hair is of a different colour; and I may add,
that I myself know persons who, on that account alone, never admit into
their service any whose hair is thus objectionable. In Wales, _pen coch_
(red head) is a term of reproach universally applied to all who come under
the category; and if such a wight should by any chance involve himself in a
scrape, it is the signal at once for a regular tirade against all who have
the misfortune to possess hair of the same fiery colour.
I cannot bring myself to believe that there is any really valid foundation
for this prejudice; and certainly, if not, it were indeed a pity that the
superstitious feeling thus engendered is not at once and for ever banished
from the memory.