FOLKLORE AND MYTH
Folk-tale, and indeed folklore of every description, is worthy of
study by the student of myth; for not only will he often find that
the principles which govern it are identical with those of myth, but
he will glean much knowledge of methods from those who work this
neighbouring row in the vineyard of tradition.
Some people regard mythology as merely a branch of wider study of
folklore, but in the definitions in the first the chapter of this
work we called the former "the study of a primitive or early form of
religion while it was a living faith," and folklore "the study of
primitive religion and customs still practised." Let us now examine the
writings of the great authorities on folklore and see what they have to
say upon this interesting subject.
Sir George Gomme, in his _Folklore as an Historical Science_ (p. 148),
says: "The folk-tale is secondary to the myth. It is the primitive
myth dislodged from its primitive place. It has become a part of the
life of the people independently of its primary form and object and
in a different sense. The mythic or historic fact has been obscured,
or has been displaced from the life of the people. But the myth lives
on through the affections of the people for the traditions of their
older life. They love to tell the story which their ancestors revered
as myth, even though it has lost its oldest and most impressive
significance. The artistic setting of it, born of the years through
which it has lived, fashioned by the minds which have handed it down
and embellished it through the generations, has helped its life. It
has become the fairy tale or the nursery tale. It is told to grown-up
people, not as belief, but as what was once believed; it is told to
children, not to men; to lovers of romance, not to worshippers of the
unknown; it is told by mothers and nurses, not by philosophers or
priestesses; in the gathering ground of home life, or in the nursery,
not in the hushed sanctity of a great wonder."
Coming down to hard-and-fast definition, Sir George Gomme says: "The
myth belongs to the most primitive stages of human thought, and is the
recognisable explanation of some natural phenomenon, some forgotten or
unknown object of human origin, or some event of lasting influence; the
folk-tale is a survival preserved amidst culture-surroundings of a more
advanced stage, and deals with events and ideas of primitive times in
terms of the experience or of episodes in the lives of unnamed human
beings; the legend belongs to an historical personage, locality, or
event. These are new definitions, and are suggested in order to give
some sort of exactness to the terms in use. All these terms--myth,
folk-tale, and legend--are now used indiscriminately with no particular
definiteness. The possession of three such distinct terms forms an
asset which should be put to its full use, and this cannot be done
until we agree upon a definite meaning for each."
Dean Macculloch in his valuable _Childhood of Fiction_ (p. 432) says:
"The mythological school represented by the writings of De Gubernatis,
Cox, Max Müller, and others, have found the origin of folk-tales in
the myths of the Aryan race. Folk-tales are the detritus of such Aryan
myths, when the meaning of the myths themselves was long forgotten. The
whole theory falls to the ground when it is discovered that exactly
similar stories are told by non-Aryan races, and that the incidents
of such stories are easily explainable by actual customs and ideas
of savages and primitive folk everywhere. On the other hand, many
folk-tales have originated as myths explanatory of existing customs,
or by way of explaining phenomena which seemed to depend on these
customs, and when the customs fell into desuetude the myths remained
as folk-tales. The incidents of existing folk-tales, again, have
frequently been embodied in mythologies--Greek, Celtic, Japanese.
Thus there is throughout an intimate connection between mythology and
folk-tales, though not of the kind which De Gubernatis and others
imagined." Again: "Folk-tales have a vital connection with myth and
saga, though the connection is far from that insisted on by Max Müller
and the mythological school. Still another link of connection may be
perceived in many European _Märchen_, where the gods and mythic figures
of an earlier faith have been metamorphosed into ogres, witches,
and fairies, and where the dimly-remembered customs of that earlier
religion have supplied incidents for the story inventor of a later age."
In a note to his _Mythology and Folklore_ (p. 7) Sir George Cox
furnishes the philological view of the relation of mythology to
folklore: "It is, perhaps, open to doubt whether the terms mythology
and folklore are likely to retain permanently their present relative
meanings. Neither term is altogether satisfactory; but the distinction
between tales susceptible of philological analysis and those which are
not must nevertheless be carefully maintained, as indispensable to
any scientific treatment of the subject. In his introduction to _The
Science of Language_ Mr Sayce admits 'that it is often difficult to
draw the line between folklore and mythology, to define exactly where
the one ends and the other begins, and there are many instances in
which the two terms overlap one another.'"
It is demonstrable that the author of the term folklore, the late Mr
W. J. Thorns (1803-1885), deputy librarian of the House of Lords and
founder and editor of _Notes and Queries,_ did not intend it to include
mythology. He said that he intended it to designate "that department
of the study of antiquities and archæology which embraces everything
relating to ancient observances and customs, to the notions, beliefs,
traditions, superstitions, and prejudices of the common people." It
will be remarked that this definition does not include "the study of a
primitive or early religion _while it was a living faith_."
But the study of folklore is, as has been said, greatly capable of
assisting the student of myth. A Roman sword or a Saxon cup exhumed
after many centuries are no less the blade once wielded by a Roman,
or the vessel from which the Saxon imbibed, solely because centuries
have elapsed since they were in use by their original owners, nor do
they fail to yield us information concerning the lives and habits of
those to whom they belonged. In the same manner a story or custom long
embedded in the earth of superstition is no less capable of throwing
light upon ancient religion and thus upon ancient myth. Many folk-tales
are merely 'broken-down' myths, but by no means _all_ folk-tales are
so, as numbers were invented for purposes of amusement and partake of
the character of fiction.
As an instance of the manner in which folk-belief can influence true
myth we have only to look at the tales of the Knights of the Round
Table. Arthur, Merlin, and many of the lesser figures of the galaxy
of Camelot are in reality British Celtic deities metamorphosed into
medieval knights. A similar instance, perhaps of added interest because
of its novelty, has recently come under the notice of the writer.
THE LEGEND OF ST TRIDUANA
The story of St Triduana and her healing well, situated at Restalrig,
near Edinburgh, is a tale of the kind the student of myth delights to
encounter; for what may appear to the uninitiated to be an ordinary
saintly legend is, he readily sees, a fragment of true myth.
The story of the sainted lady who, in her latter days, dwelt at
Restalrig, or Lestalryk, is in the grand style, and combines the
poignant pathos of Euripidean tragedy with the fanaticism of mistaken
religious zeal. The glorious virgin Triduana of Colosse, we are told,
arrived in Scotland from Achaia, in Greece, with the holy St Regulus,
or Rule, the traditional founder of St Andrews, at some date between
A.D. 237 and the eighth century. This mission was evidently that
entrusted to bring the relics of St Andrew to Scotland and charged with
the plantation of the Christian faith in that country. The lady found
a retreat at Rescobie, in Forfarshire, where she dwelt in great piety;
but her Grecian beauty proved a snare for the susceptibilities of the
Pictish king Nectanivan or Nechtan, who became hotly enamoured of her.
Flying before his zealous wooing, she came to Dunfallandy in Athol,
where his emissaries speedily discovered her. Perturbed and seemingly
incredulous that a monarch should rate her charms so highly, Triduana
asked of the King's messengers what so great a prince desired of her,
a poor virgin dedicated to God. The reply was couched in terms which
betray the Celt, and we are left with the firm conviction that he who
vouchsafed it was none other than the King's _seanachaidh_ or bard.
"He desireth," said that person, "the most excellent beauty of thine
eyes, which if he obtain not he will surely die." Triduana's retort was
typical of the Christian martyr, and we are left wondering whether she
was possessed with a fanaticism which surpassed her sense of humour, or
of a grim penchant for the ridiculous which transcended all fanaticism.
"What he seeketh he shall surely have," she exclaimed, and thereupon
she plucked out her eyes, skewered them on a thorn, and handed them
to the King's messengers with the words: "Take that which your prince
desireth." Later she betook herself to Restalrig, where she pursued the
life religious until her death.
Throughout the Middle Ages the shrine and well of St Triduana were
famous for the cure of blindness, and to it came pilgrims from all
parts of Scotland and the north of England. Sir David Lyndsay makes two
allusions to it. Devotees thronged to St Tredwell, he says, "to mend
their eine," and again he states in his curious inventory of saints in
_The Monarchie_:
Sanct Tredwall, als, thare may be sene
Quhilk on ane prick hes baith her ene.
At Rescobie, her first place of sojourn in Scotland, each September
brought round a St Trodlin's Fair.
Authorities are divided as to the exact site of St Triduana's Well.
Indeed, much confusion attaches to the subject. A well dedicated
to St Margaret, and roofed by a structure obviously copied from or
copied by the chapter-house hard by Restalrig Church, stood for many
generations on a site now covered by the locomotive works of the North
British Railway Company. (Its groined roof now shelters _another_ St
Margaret's Well in the King's Park.) This well I do not believe to
have been, as is generally stated, that of St Triduana, afterward known
as St Margaret's. I incline to the belief that the building known as
the 'chapter-house,' close to Restalrig Church, and almost certainly
a chapel of St Triduana, sheltered the original well. This building
was erected at the close of the fifteenth century, and was probably
the second or third so raised over the miraculous well to which came
the stricken from all over broad Scotland. It is a notable fact that
since the restoration of this chapter-house modern engineering skill
has proved unequal to the task of stemming the flow of water, which
constantly remains at the same level here. Was not this, then, the
ancient bath-house of the shrine of St Trid, down whose steps groped
the sightless in hope of the precious boon of light?
What is the mythical kernel to this saintly tale?
Firstly, be it noted, St Triduana does not figure in the Roman calendar.
Secondly, such wells as hers are by no means uncommon in Britain.
Well-worship is still to be traced in the Celtic or semi-Celtic
portions of the country--Wales, Lancashire, and Scotland. In Teutonic
Southern England, although many wells are still known as 'holy,' no
trace of any reason for regarding them as such remains; but a fully
developed ritual is still observed in drawing from many wells in Wales.
Thus at St Tegla's Well, near Wrexham, coppers are cast into the water,
the well is thrice perambulated, and a cock left as an offering by the
patient who suffers from epilepsy. Semi-Celtic Shropshire, too, is rich
in wells which cure sore eyes, and Miss C. S. Burne of that county, in
_Shropshire Folklore_, suggests that the legend in the Scandinavian
prose Edda of Odin giving his eye in return for a draught of water
from the wisdom-giving well of Mimir might perhaps account for it. I
myself had arrived at the same conclusion before perusing Miss Burne's
work, and I further think that the theory is strengthened by Odin being
a sun-god; the round 'eye' of the sun pierces the depths of the dark
water in which it is reflected. Indeed I advanced some such explanation
in the article "Mimir" in my _Dictionary of Mythology_, published in
1910.
We know that after the introduction of Christianity into ancient
Gaul those well-spirits in which Celtic imagination delighted were
frequently metamorphosed into saints, and that the teeming Gallic
pantheon added many a name to the calendar of Rome. May not the same
be true of our Restalrig saint? The name is obviously Latinized. It
appears as 'Triduana' in a charter of James IV, but to the people she
was St Trid, and we have seen that Rescobie folk called her Trodlin--an
affectionate diminutive. We probably have in Trid-well a spot where
the mystic rites of some Celtic goddess of the spring were celebrated.
Was not the 'Young Tamlane' of Carterhaugh, near Selkirk, such a
well-spirit or deity?
There's nane that goes by Carterhaugh
But maun leave him a wad
or pledge. Also he was "a wee, wee man." The portion of the ballad
that makes him a mortal kidnapped by fairies is only a clumsy late
explanation of the older myth of well-sprite or god, obviously lurking
beneath. Is Triduana the old British goddess Keridwen who possessed
the mystic cauldron Amen, conferring inspiration (or clear sight) on
whoever drank of its waters?
Another good example of myth run to seed in folk-tale is the fairly
widespread story of the musician who ventures to explore an underground
passage, and never returns. The mythological pedigree of this tale
is very clear indeed; but it seems better in the interests of the
reader (having first reasoned from effect to cause) to reverse the
usual method of folklore for once and argue from known cause to
effect. Starting, then, with such myths as those of Orpheus, Ishtar,
and others, in which the object is to demonstrate how death may be
vanquished and the dead restored, we find the plot turned to the uses
of folklore, the heroes entering upon a quest in the Underworld of
Fairyland or the abode of a dishonoured goddess, rather than in the
sad shades of Hades. Thus Ogier the Dane essays the Land of Faerie,
and Tannhäuser enters the Hill of Venus or Holda--the Hörselberg--as
Thomas the Rhymer enters the Hill of Ercildoune. Is there a formula?
Can we reduce the general circumstances to a least common denominator
something like this?
An adventurous person, usually a musician or maker of poetry, ventures
underground (1) in myth to recover a beloved one from the clutches of
death, (2) in folklore to gain the love of the Queen of Faerie, or some
discredited goddess who takes her place.
But we have not yet plumbed the depths of mythic degeneration. From the
allurements of Fairyland we descend still farther to the more dusty
shadows of the underground passage. Very numerous are the local tales
which tell of these. Thus in Edinburgh a piper accompanied by his dog
(for so were the dead ever accompanied in primitive times) dares the
dangers of an underground passage from the cliff-perched Castle to
Holyrood Palace. The sound of his pipes guides those who follow his
progress standing in the streets above, but at a certain point the
music ceases and the piper never returns.
A SCOTTISH FAUST
In this volume it has been the policy of the author to give where
possible examples which have come within his own personal notice,
thus avoiding such as have done service again and again in works on
myth and folklore; but to show how a folk-tale of universal fame and
interest may become localized we will repeat one of these here. The
Faust legend, based upon the pact with Satan, has many variants; but
surely it is surprising to a degree to discover it as a local story in
a Scottish lowland community.
Persons who sell themselves to the Devil are met with in the popular
fiction of all European countries; but the legend of the 'Warlock
Laird' of Leith, or its _dénouement_ at least, so closely resembles the
Faust story that we can hardly help ascribing a common origin to them.
In that part of Leith once known as the Lees quarter resided a person
known as the Warlock Laird. His house was dissimilar from those which
surrounded it, for although the portion which served as a dwelling was
only one story in height, from the back of it rose a tall, circular
tower about fifty feet high, enriched with curious little turrets and
lit with many strange windows. For what purpose the tower had been
erected is not known, and although it had been built for many years
when Gordon first took up residence in the cottage attached to it, it
was locally understood that he had erected it for the convenience of
private consultations with the enemy of mankind. In popular romance a
magician usually does business in a tower; _ergo_, a magician must have
a tower; or is it necessary that every tower should have its magician?
However that may be, Gordon, not a native, and well past middle age
when he came to reside in Leith, specially selected this house as most
suitable to his requirements, whatever those requirements were.
He gave out that he had spent many years at sea. When he first came
his resources were slender, and he was glad to accept the situation of
a labourer in a cooper's yard for a very small weekly stipend. When
he had been for some months in this employment, he requested leave of
absence for a week. On his return at the termination of that period it
was remarked that he appeared to be better off than before: he looked
sleeker, wore good clothes, and had money to spend; but he continued
his work, and matters took their normal course until, a year later,
he asked for another holiday. At the expiry of this vacation a still
more marked change was visible in his circumstances: he purchased a
ruinous old house and gave more for it than was considered fair value.
Suspicion began to be aroused among his neighbours. He spent his money
freely, and this in itself may have suggested that he must have come by
it lightly. It was even whispered that he had been a pirate, and that
he was drawing gold from some hidden hoard as necessity arose. Once
more he demanded a holiday, and his request was granted as usual, but
this time he was not permitted to go away without a watch being set
upon his movements. Those who had resolved to observe his actions while
on holiday were rather disappointed, as on the first day of his leave
he remained at home all the time. But on the following day he took ship
for Kirkcaldy, on the sands of which he landed without any suspicions
that he was being watched by a person, disguised as an elderly woman,
sitting next him in the boat.
When Gordon landed he made straight for an inn, where he ordered a
copious supply of liquor. After a brief exit he returned with half a
dozen boatmen dressed in their best, and commenced a drinking-bout
which lasted until two o'clock next morning. For two successive days
after this he loafed about the town and the shore, chatting with
the boatmen, much to the annoyance of the person who was engaged to
watch his movements. Two days only remained now, and on the morning
of the sixth day of his holiday he was seen to embark in a ferryman's
boat, in which he proceeded down the Firth alone. His follower found
some difficulty in hiring a craft, and by the time he had procured
one Gordon's little vessel was concealed behind the huge bulk of
Inchkeith. The boatman who hired out the vessel to the spy insisted on
accompanying him, and he had perforce to assent to this. After they
had passed Inchkeith, Gordon's boat was seen far in advance and close
inshore on the Midlothian side of the river. On the right, near North
Berwick, Gordon steered his craft inside of the rocky islet known as
the Lamb, nearly opposite to where the picturesque village of Dirleton
now stands. Here the Leith man shipped his oars, and gazing ahead
fancied that he saw two gigantic figures moving to and fro, busily
engaged in digging. At this point the boatman refused to approach any
farther, rowed his passenger back, and landed him at Prestonpans,
whence he made his way home.
Gordon returned as usual, but on the very same day he gave a week's
notice of his intention to leave his situation. At the end of that time
it was rumoured that he had bought up nearly the entire buildings on
one side of the Broad Wynd, and it was this gigantic investment which
gave rise to the story that he must have sold himself to the Devil.
He was now known and addressed as 'Laird' Gordon, visited his tenants
in turn, and when they announced their intention of giving up their
houses "because they disliked becoming tenants of the Deil," he passed
no comment upon their resolution. But there was not much house-room
in Leith in those days, and one by one the objectors returned; but
they never succeeded in getting an interview with Gordon, for when
they called upon him he was either deeply engaged or had just left the
house. As term-time drew nigh frantic endeavours were made to see him,
but he could never be found alone: a tall dark man of authoritative
mien always accompanied him. This personage was silent unless directly
appealed to, but he seemed to control the Warlock Laird's every
movement. On one occasion Gordon summoned all the tenants together,
and, entering alone the room where they were met, he desired such of
them as were in earnest in their applications to stand on their heads
and strike their feet against the wall. This they very naturally
refused to do, whereupon his sombre-looking companion appeared, and
at once every man found himself standing on his head and kicking his
heels in the air. Those who wished to retain their houses were allowed
to do so, but were subjected to many annoyances by Gordon and his
familiar, who paid them visits at all manner of unreasonable hours. On
one occasion they were brought together into one house and compelled
to dance until they fell down through sheer exhaustion. Those who had
occupied new dwellings were so persecuted and tormented that they
were glad to return to the Broad Wynd in order to free themselves
of annoyance. But one day these cantrips ceased, and for many weeks
nothing was seen of the Warlock Laird. When the day came round to
call upon him and disburse rents, the tenants went in a body to the
Yard-heads. A strange-looking man opened the door of Gordon's house at
their summons and they were ushered into an apartment where they did
not remain long before they heard piercing shrieks of agony mingled
with prayers for mercy proceeding from the room directly overhead. They
were about to leave the house, when the door of the room they were in
was dashed open and Gordon rushed into their midst, closely pursued by
his fiendish companion. He earnestly besought their protection, but
they were so paralysed with fear as to be incapable of assisting him
in any way. The dark and sinister-looking being who had companioned
him so long threw himself on the trembling wretch and dragged him
forcibly into the passage outside. A great slamming of doors and
clanking of chains followed: then a terrible explosion shook the house
from cellar to garret. Terrified beyond expression, Gordon's tenants
made what haste they could to escape from so dangerous a locality, and
on reaching the doorway they discovered that the tower connected with
the house had been hurled to earth and that a strong sulphurous odour
hung about its ruins. Some of them even asserted that as they crossed
the threshold the ground in front of the house opened and they saw
Gordon descending through it, accompanied by his mysterious companion.
Nevermore was Anthony Gordon seen in the streets of the port, and his
house remained a shunned and dreaded spot until time laid the cottage
in ruins beside the prostrate tower.
Some twenty years afterward a beggar unacquainted with the local
traditions was taking shelter among the ruins of the Warlock's house
when he stumbled upon a small iron-bound chest, in which were the
titles of the properties in Broad Wynd. With these he immediately
absconded, and returning some six months afterward posed as the
Warlock's heir and assumed possession of the property; but a curse
seemed to rest upon it. The tale says that the dreadful visions by
which he was haunted drove him to seek refuge in intoxication, although
the converse is more probably true! He drank heavily, and was found
dead one morning with his throat cut. So, in this very commonplace
manner, the legend ends. The date of it cannot be ascertained, but
it is probable that it may be placed somewhere about the end of the
seventeenth or the beginning of the eighteenth century.
The manner in which the legend ends bears a strong resemblance to at
least one version of the Faust story--that given by Wierus or Wier, the
great demonologist, who in his _De præstigiis dæmonum_ (Basel, 1563)
tells how Faust was found with his neck wrung after the house had been
shaken by a terrific din. Some students who occupied a chamber near
by said that between twelve and one o'clock at midnight there blew a
mighty storm of wind against the house as though it would have shaken
the foundations out of their place. The students, alarmed, leapt from
their beds, and then they became aware of a hissing in the hall as of
thousands of snakes and adders. With that the hall door flew open and
Dr Faustus rushed out, crying, "Murder, murder!" but after a little
they heard him no more. Next day they found his mangled remains in the
hall where the Devil had destroyed him.
There can be very little doubt that the Leith legend was based, in part
at least, upon the German one. The story of Faust was commonly known in
Britain by the end of the sixteenth century, and so had plenty of time
to take on local colour and evolve under local superstition into the
shape in which it is here given.
THE 'COMPLEMENTARY' PROCESS
One process in use among folklorists is of interest to students of
myth because of its application to mythic material. This process I
will call the 'complementary' process for want of a better name. It
consists in building up or restoring a ritual act or tale from a
number of fragmentary examples, perhaps scattered all over the world.
For example, if we find a certain custom in England and an analogous
custom in India plus some ritual circumstance which the English custom
does not possess, we are justified in believing that the English
custom once included it. Or if we find a certain tale in Africa, we
may discover another closely resembling it in Ireland and possessing
features which explain some break in the African story. The comparative
and complementary methods are necessary to both folklorists and
mythologists, because an isolated instance is of little use in the
study of either science. These must be restored to association with all
the known examples of their kind, and the earliest and most complete
form may thus be discovered.
Sir George Gomme in his _Folklore as an Historical Science_ (p. 171)
says that a "restored and complete example is in a position to be
compared either with similar survivals in other countries on the same
level of culture, or within the same ethnological or political sphere
of influence, or with living customs, rites, or beliefs of peoples
of a more backward state of culture or in a savage state of culture.
Comparison of this kind is of value. Comparison of a less technical or
comprehensive kind may be of value in the hands of a great master; but
it is often not only valueless but mischievous in the hands of less
experienced writers, who think that comparison is justified wherever
similarity is discovered."
One of the common grounds of folklore and myth is that where religious
elements obviously enter into folk-belief and custom. These may furnish
us with new knowledge of a god or a cult. For example, many fragments
of the old religion of Central America still linger in the folklore of
the Indians of Guatemala; the witch-lore of Italy is full of obscure
allusions to the classical deities of Rome; and the folklore of the
Arabs of Egypt here and there touches hands with the ancient religion
of that country. In Scotland such examples are frequent. That of the
thunder-god Brounger has already been alluded to. It is on record that
the fishermen of Newhaven, which Brounger haunted, have an almost
equal dislike to hearing the name of a certain Johnny Boag or Boggie,
and that they have been known to stay from sea because this name had
been mentioned in their hearing while on the way to the boats. The
Slavonic word for god is _bôg_--a word which has run through a number
of modifications, but has finished with us Britons as 'bogy,' or
'bogle,' and 'bugbear' (compare Welsh _brog_, a goblin). At the fishing
on the Cromarty Firth a salmon must never be spoken of. If it were, the
whole crew would start, grasp the nearest iron thowel, and fervently
exclaim, "Cauld iron, cauld iron!" in order to avert the omen. Thus the
name was taboo, and it looks as if it were of the class of 'names of
power' which may not be spoken. Certain 'hidden' names of the Egyptian
deities also must not be spoken, or dire consequences would ensue. "If
one of them is uttered on the bank of the river the torrent is set
free."[1] It appears then as if 'Salmon' was the appellation of an
ancient fish-totem whose name was taboo. Iron is of course the terror
of all 'tricksy sprites,' and the theory has been advanced that the
prehistoric bronze-users, in whom some see the fairies of folklore,
detested and feared the metal employed by the conquering iron-users,
seeing in their trenchant blades, against which the bronze leaf-shaped
falchion would shiver into pieces, the evidence of a magic power. "In
the North of Ireland an iron poker laid across the table kept away the
fairies till the child was baptized,"[2] and the efficacy of iron in
warding off fairy attacks is notorious all over the Highlands.
Another name which is taboo in the Highlands is that of the minister. I
am at a loss to assign a reason for this, unless as the 'descendant' of
the pagan priest he was regarded as 'magical.' More understandable is
the terror when such words as cat, pig, dog, and hare were mentioned;
and of this class the salmon name-taboo may be a member. The first
two of the above words should be pronounced 'Theebet' and 'Sandy.' To
allude to any animal at sea is unlucky. From Campbell (_op. cit_., p.
239) we learn that among the Highlanders when in a boat at sea "it
is forbidden to call things by the names by which they were known on
land." Thus a boat-hook should not be called _croman_ in Gaelic, but
_a chliob_; a knife not _sgian_ but _a ghair_ (the sharp one); a fox,
the 'red dog'; and a seal, the 'bald beast.' Even places seen from the
sea undergo a change of appellation when the speaker is afloat. It is
evident that these precautions were originally adopted from a desire
not to incur the displeasure of powerful supernatural beings. Thus
when certain tribes of North American Indians periodically sacrifice
an eagle, the totem of their tribe, they strive to avert the vengeance
of the bird by saying to each other: "A snow-bird has been slain."
The supernatural power must be hoodwinked at all costs. What could be
the character of a supernatural power who must be deceived in this
way? Although Christianity had a firm grip enough on land, was it a
negligible quantity when afloat? It is from such examples as these
that folklore may assist the mythologist who gropes for the principles
of ancient mythic ideas. The student of the mythic system of any race
should apply himself with the utmost earnestness to the study of the
folklore of its modern representatives.
THE MAGIC OF ITALY
As showing how ancient myth may be embedded in modern folklore, the
discoveries of the late Charles Godfrey Leland have an importance it
would be difficult to over-estimate. In his preface to his _Aradia, the
Gospel of the Witches of Italy_, he says:
"There are in Italy great numbers of _strege_, fortune-tellers or
witches, who divine by cards, perform strange ceremonies in which
spirits are supposed to be invoked, make and sell amulets, and, in
fact, comport themselves generally as their reputed kind are wont to
do, be they Black Voodoos in America or sorceresses anywhere.
"But the Italian _strega_ or sorceress is in certain respects a
different character from these. In most cases she comes of a family in
which her calling or art has been practised for many generations. I
have no doubt that there are instances in which the ancestry remounts
to mediæval, Roman, or it may be Etruscan times. The result has
naturally been the accumulation in such families of much tradition.
But in Northern Italy, as its literature indicates, though there has
been some slight gathering of fairy tales and popular superstitions
by scholars, there has never existed the least interest as regarded
the strange lore of the witches, nor any suspicion that it embraced an
incredible quantity of old Roman minor myths and legends, such as Ovid
has recorded, but of which much escaped him and all other Latin writers.
"This ignorance was greatly aided by the wizards and witches
themselves, in making a profound secret of all their traditions, urged
thereto by fear of the priests. In fact, the latter all unconsciously
actually contributed immensely to the preservation of such lore,
since the charm of the forbidden is very great, and witchcraft, like
the truffle, grows best and has its raciest flavour when most deeply
hidden. However this may be, both priest and wizard are vanishing now
with incredible rapidity.
"However, they die slowly, and even yet there are old people in the
Romagna of the North who know the Etruscan names of the Twelve Gods,
and invocations to Bacchus, Jupiter, and Venus, Mercury, and the Lares
or ancestral spirits, and in the cities are women who prepare strange
amulets, over which they mutter spells, all known in the old Roman
time, and who can astonish even the learned by their legends of Latin
gods, mingled with lore which may be found in Cato or Theocritus. With
one of these I became intimately acquainted in 1886, and have ever
since employed her specially to collect among her sisters of the hidden
spell in many places all the traditions of the olden time known to
them. It is true that I have drawn from other sources, but this woman
by long practice has perfectly learned what few understand, or just
what I want, and how to extract it from those of her kind.
"For brief explanation I may say that witchcraft is known to its
votaries as _la vecchia religione_, or the old religion, of which
Diana is the Goddess, her daughter _Aradia_ (or Herodias) the female
Messiah, and that this little work sets forth how the latter was born,
came down to earth, established witches and witchcraft, and then
returned to Heaven. With it are given the ceremonies and invocations or
incantations to be addressed to Diana and Aradia, the exorcism of Cain,
and the spells of the holy-stone, rue, and verbena, constituting, as
the text declares, the regular church-service, so to speak, which is to
be chanted or pronounced at the witch-meetings. There are also included
the very curious incantations or benedictions of the honey, meal, and
salt, or cakes of the witch-supper, which is curiously classical, and
evidently a relic of the Roman Mysteries."
[1] _Magical Papyrus_ (Harris) 7, I _et seq._
[2] Campbell's _Superstitions of the Scottish Highlands_, p. 152.