Читать книгу Domestic folk-lore - T. F. Thiselton-Dyer - Страница 4

Table of Contents

Value of Superstitions—Lucky Days and Hours of Birth—The Caul—The Changeling—The Evil Eye—"Up and not Down"—Rocking the Empty Cradle—Teeth, Nails, and Hands—The Maple and the Ash—Unchristened Children.

Around every stage of human life a variety of customs and superstitions have woven themselves, most of which, apart from their antiquarian value, as having been bequeathed to us from the far-off past, are interesting in so far as they illustrate those old-world notions and quaint beliefs which marked the social and domestic life of our forefathers. Although, therefore, many of these may appear to us meaningless, yet it must be remembered that they were the natural outcome of that scanty knowledge and those crude conceptions which prevailed in less enlightened times than our own. Probably, if our ancestors were in our midst now, they would be able in a great measure to explain and account for what is often looked upon now-a-days as childish fancy and so much nursery rubbish. In the present chapter it is proposed to give a brief and general survey of the folk-lore associated with birth and infancy, without, however, entering critically into its origin or growth, or tracing its transmigration from one country to another. Commencing, then, with birth, we find that many influences are supposed to affect the future fortune and character of the infant. Thus, in some places great attention is paid to the day of the week on which the child is born, as may be gathered from the following rhyme still current in Cornwall:—

"Sunday's child is full of grace,

Monday's child is full in the face,

Tuesday's child is solemn and sad,

Wednesday's child is merry and glad,

Thursday's child is inclined to thieving,

Friday's child is free in giving,

Saturday's child works hard for his living"—

a piece of folk-lore varying, of course, in different localities. By general consent, however, Sunday is regarded as a most lucky day for birth, both in this country and on the Continent; and according to the "Universal Fortune-teller"—a book very popular among the lower classes in former years—"great riches, long life, and happiness" are in store for those fortunate beings born on Sunday, while in Sussex they are considered safe against drowning and hanging. Importance is also attached to the hour of birth; and the faculty of seeing much that is hidden from others is said to be granted to children born at the "chime hours," i.e., the hours of three, six, nine, or twelve—a superstition found in many parts of the Continent. There is, too, an idea prevalent in Germany that when a child is born in leap-year either it or its mother will die within the course of the year—a notion not unknown in our own country. Again, from time immemorial various kinds of divination have been in use for the purpose of discovering the sex of an infant previous to its birth. One of these is by means of a shoulder-of-mutton bone, which, after the whole of the flesh has been stripped clean off, must be hung up the last thing at night over the front door of the house. On the following morning the sex of the first person who enters, exclusive of the members of the household, indicates the sex of the child.

We will next turn to some of the countless superstitions connected with the new-born child. A highly popular one refers to the caul—a thin membrane occasionally found covering the head at birth, and deemed specially lucky, as indicating, among other things, that the child will never be drowned. It has been, in consequence, termed the "holy" or "fortunate hood," and great care is generally taken that it should not be lost or thrown away, for fear of the death or sickness of the child. This superstitious fancy was very common in the primitive ages of the Church, and St. Chrysostom inveighs against it in several of his homilies. The presence of a caul on board ship was believed to prevent shipwreck, and owners of vessels paid a large price for them. Most readers will, no doubt, recollect how Thomas Hood wrote for his early work, "Whims and Oddities," a capital ballad upon this vulgar error. Speaking of the jolly mariner who confidently put to sea in spite of the ink-black sky which "told every eye a storm was soon to be," he goes on to say—

"But still that jolly mariner

Took in no reef at all;

For in his pouch confidingly

He wore a baby's caul."

It little availed him, however; for as soon as the storm in ruthless fury burst upon his frail bark, he

"Was smothered by the squall.

Heaven ne'er heard his cry, nor did

The ocean heed his caul!"

Advocates also purchased them, that they might be endued with eloquence, the price paid having often been from twenty to thirty guineas. They seem to have had other magical properties, as Grose informs us that any one "possessed of a caul may know the state of health of the person who was born with it. If alive and well, it is firm and crisp; if dead or sick, relaxed and flaccid." In France the luck supposed to belong to a caul is proverbial, and être né coiffé is an expression signifying that a person is extremely fortunate. Apart from the ordinary luck supposed to attach to the "caul," it may preserve the child from a terrible danger to which, according to the old idea, it is ever exposed—namely, that of being secretly carried off and exchanged by some envious witch or fairy for its own ill-favoured offspring. This superstition was once very common in many countries, and was even believed by Martin Luther, if we are to rely on the following extract from his "Table Book:"—"Changelings Satan lays in the place of the genuine children, that people may be tormented with them. He often carries off young maidens into the water." This most reprehensible of the practices attributed to the fairies is constantly spoken of by our old writers, and is several times mentioned by Shakespeare. In the speech of Puck, in A Midsummer Night's Dream (Act ii., sc. 1), that jovial sprite says of Titania's lovely boy—the cause of quarrel between the King and Queen of Elfland:—

"She never had so sweet a changeling."

In the Winter's Tale (Act iv., sc. 4) the Shepherd, on discovering the babe Perdita, tells the Clown, "It was told me I should be rich by the fairies. This is some changeling." As a preservation against this danger, sundry charms are observed. Thus, in the North of England, a carving-knife is still hung from the head of the cradle, with the point suspended near the child's face. In the Western Isles of Scotland idiots are believed to be the fairies' changelings, and in order to regain the lost child, parents have recourse to the following device:—They place the changeling on the beach, below high-water mark, when the tide is out, and pay no heed to its screams, believing that the fairies, rather than allow their offspring to be drowned by the rising waters, will convey it away and restore the child they had stolen. The sign that this has been done is the cessation of the child's crying. In Ireland, too, the peasants often place the child supposed to be a changeling on a hot shovel, or torment it in some other way. A similar practice is resorted to in Denmark, where the mother heats the oven, and places the child on the peel, pretending to put it in; and sometimes she whips it severely with a rod, or throws it into the water. The only real safeguard, however, against this piece of fairy mischief is baptism, and hence the rite has generally been performed among the peasantry as soon as possible after birth.

Another danger to which the new-born child is said to be exposed, and to counteract which baptism is an infallible charm, is the influence of the "evil eye;" certain persons being thought to possess the power of inflicting injury by merely looking on those whom they wish to harm. Although this form of superstition has been gradually dying out for many years past, yet it still retains its hold in certain country places. It is interesting to trace this notion as far back as the time of the Romans; and in the late Professor Conington's translation of the "Satires of Persius" we find it thus laughably spoken of:—"Look here! A grandmother or a superstitious aunt has taken baby from his cradle, and is charming his forehead against mischief by the joint action of her middle finger and her purifying spittle; for she knows right well how to check the evil eye." Confining ourselves, however, to instances recorded in our own country, we find that, even now-a-days, various charms are practised for counteracting the baneful influence of this cruel species of witchcraft. Thus, in Lancashire, some of the chief consist in spitting three times in the child's face, turning a live coal in the fire, exclaiming, "The Lord be with us;" whilst in the neighbourhood of Burnley "drawing blood above the mouth" was once a popular antidote. Self-bored or "lucky stones" are often hung by the peasantry behind their cottage doors; and in the South of England a copy of the apocryphal letter of our Lord to Abgarus, King of Edessa, may occasionally be seen pasted on the walls. In many places, when a child pines or wastes away, the cause is often attributed to the "evil eye," and one remedy in use against this disaster is the following:—Before sunrise it is brought to a blacksmith of the seventh generation, and laid on the anvil. The smith then raises his hammer as if he were about to strike the hot iron, but brings it gently down on the child's body. This is done three times, after which the child is considered certain to amend. This superstition survives in Cornwall; and the late Mr. Hawker, of Morwenstow, a noted authority on such topics, tells us that two-thirds of the inhabitants of the Tamar side firmly believe in the power of the evil eye. In Scotland this piece of folk-lore has prevailed extensively from time immemorial, and one of the charms to avert it is the "gold and silver water." A sovereign and a shilling are put into water, which is sprinkled over the patient in the name of the Trinity. Again, in the Highlands of Scotland, ash-sap is given to new-born children, because, in common with the rowan, that tree is supposed to possess the property of resisting the attacks of witches, fairies, and other imps of darkness. The Irish think that not only their children but their cattle are "eye-bitten" when they fall suddenly sick.

Among other important items of folk-lore associated with birth may be mentioned the popular belief that a child should go up in the world before it goes down. On leaving its mother's room for the first time, it is considered absolutely necessary that it should be carried up-stairs before it goes down-stairs, otherwise it will always keep low in the world, and never rise in after-life either to riches or distinction. When, however, as often happens, the mother's room is on the top storey, the nurse overcomes the obstacle by placing a chair near the door, on which she steps before leaving the room. In Yorkshire it is further stated that a new-born infant should always be placed first in the arms of a maiden before any one else touches it. It has been aptly questioned by Mr. Henderson, in his "Folk-lore of the Northern Counties," whether we may not trace in this practice an outgrowth of the mediæval belief that the Virgin Mary was present at the birth of St. John the Baptist, and received him first in her arms. Some, too, will never permit an infant to sleep upon bones—that is, the lap—a piece of folk-lore founded on some degree of truth; for it has been pointed out that it is undoubtedly better for a child to support it throughout its whole length, than to allow its head or legs to hang down, as they might probably do if the infant was sleeping on the lap. Again, there is a common idea that a baby and a kitten cannot thrive in the same house; and should, therefore, as is not unfrequently the case, a cat have kittens at the time of a birth, these are immediately either destroyed or given away. Few nurses, also, can be found courageous enough to weigh a young child, from a superstitious conviction that it is unfortunate so to do, the child often dying, or, at any rate, not thriving afterwards. Equally unlucky, too, is it considered to rock baby's empty cradle, it being an omen of its death—a belief which also prevails in Scotland. The same notion exists in many parts of the Continent, and the Swedish folk tell us that it should be avoided, as it is apt to make the child noisy and given to crying. It is also deprecated on another ground, that it is ominous of another claimant for that place of rest—a piece of folk-lore which the Sussex peasantry express in the following rhyme:—

"If you rock the cradle empty,

Then you shall have babies plenty."

Many consider it a bad sign when the first tooth makes its appearance in the upper jaw, denoting, it is said, that the child will not survive its infancy. Whilst speaking of teeth, it may be noted that they occupy an important place in the folk-lore of infancy. Many readers will no doubt recollect how the Duke of Gloucester, in 3 Henry VI. (Act v., sc. 6), when describing the peculiarities connected with his birth, relates that—

"The midwife wondered, and the women cried,

'O Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!'

And so I was, which plainly signified

That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog."

In Sussex it is still customary for little children to wear a necklace of beads made from the root of the peony, as this is supposed to act as a charm in assisting the cutting of their teeth. In the same county, too, the peasantry have a great dislike to throwing away the cast teeth of young children, believing that should any be accidentally found and gnawed by an animal, the child's new tooth would exactly correspond with the animal's which had bitten the old one. Once more, in Scotland and the North of England, when the first teeth come out, sundry precautions are taken, to make sure that the fresh ones may be sound and healthy. One of these consists in filling the cavity with salt, after which the tooth must be burnt, while the following formula is repeated:—

"Fire! fire! burn bone;

God send me my tooth again."

This practice exists in Sweden, and likewise in Switzerland, where the tooth is wrapped up in paper, with a little salt, and then thrown into the fire. The teeth, however, are not the only objects of superstition in infancy, similar importance being attached to the nails. In many places, for instance, it is considered imprudent to cut them till baby is a year old, and then they should be bitten off, or else there is a likelihood of its growing up dishonest, or of its being, as the Sussex peasantry say, "light-fingered." Anyhow, special attention is to be paid to the day of the week on which the child's nails are cut, if there be any truth in a well-known proverb—

"Better a child had ne'er been born,

Than cut his nails on a Sunday morn."

The same warning is given in Germany, and if it is disregarded, it is said that the child will be liable to stammer as it grows up. A curious Northumberland belief affirms that if the first parings of a child's nails are carefully buried under an ash-tree, it will turn out in after-life a capital singer. It is also a popular fancy in nursery folk-lore that the child's future career in this world can be easily augured from the little specks on its nails, a species of palmistry still extensively credited by even educated persons, and one, too, not confined to infancy. Again, the infant's tiny hands are not free from superstition, and here and there, throughout the country, there is a notion that for the first few months after its birth the right one should remain unwashed, the reason assigned for this strange piece of eccentricity being that it may gather riches. According to another idea, children born open-handed are said to be of a bountiful disposition. In Scotland, too, great attention is paid as to which hand a child uses when taking up for the first time a spoon to eat. If it should happen to be the left, then, alas! he is doomed to be an unlucky fellow all through his life. Indeed, as far as we can judge from the numerous items of folk-lore still in vogue, it would seem that the early period of infancy, in one way or another, furnishes countless opportunities for ascertaining what kind of life is in store for the child in years to come, almost every trivial action being regarded as indicative of something or other that shall befall it. Although many of these ideas may seem to us in this nineteenth century apparently senseless, yet it must be remembered they are frequently survivals of primitive culture, and are interesting as having been handed down to us from the distant past. According to an old superstition, parents desirous of securing long life for their children should pass them through the branches of a maple. A few years ago one of these trees had long been resorted to for this purpose in West Grinstead Park, and as soon as a rumour spread through the parish that it was about to be demolished, quite a consternation prevailed in the neighbourhood. Similar properties are supposed to belong to the ash, weakly infants that do not thrive being drawn through a cleft in its trunk. This charm, as performed in Cornwall, is thus:—A large knife is inserted into the trunk of a young ash, about a foot from the ground, and a vertical opening made for about three feet. Two men then forcibly pull the parts asunder, and hold them so, whilst the mother passes the child through the cleft three times. The ceremony does not end here, as the child has to be washed for three successive mornings in the dew from the leaves of the "charmed ash." This supposed magical property of the ash has an additional interest, when we consider that some thousands of years ago our ancestors regarded it as one of their wonder-working trees, and associated it with some of their oldest traditions. At the present day, too, it is the subject of an extensive folk-lore, to which we shall have occasion to refer in a succeeding chapter.

Again, if a baby frets and does not appear to thrive, it is supposed by some to be "longing." Thus, a Sussex nurse one day said to a lady, "Baby is so uncommon fretty, I do believe he must be longing for something." When asked what he could be longing for, she replied, "Something that his mother longed for, but did not get, before he was born, and the best way to satisfy him would be, I think, to try him with a brandied cherry, or some hare's brains." This piece of superstition, however, is not confined to Sussex. Once more, in addition to the popular notion that cats suck the breath of infants and so cause their death—one, indeed, without a particle of truth—there is another in which poor pussy is the victim, an illustration of which we quote from "Rambles in an Old City," by a Norfolk author:—"Not long since a woman, holding quite a respectable rank among the working classes, avowed herself determined to 'drownd' the cat as soon as ever her baby, which was lying ill, should die. The only explanation she could give for this determination was that the cat jumped upon the nurse's lap as the baby lay there soon after it was born, from which time it ailed, and ever since that time the cat had regularly gone under its bed once a day and coughed twice. These mysterious actions of poor 'Tabby' were assigned as the cause of the baby wasting, and its fate was to be sealed as soon as that of the poor infant was decided. That the baby happened to be the twenty-fourth child of his mother, who had succeeded in rearing only four of the two dozen, was a fact that seemed to possess no weight whatever in her estimation." This strange antipathy to our domestic animal no doubt took its origin in the old belief that the cat's is one of the numerous forms which witches are fond of assuming, and on this account, in days gone by, poor pussy was oftentimes subjected to gross ill-treatment at the hands of the ignorant classes. At the present day, in Germany, there is a deep-rooted belief that witches, when bent on doing mischief, take the form of a cat, and many stories are current of their frightening their victims by appearing as "the nightmare;" or, if dishonestly disposed, of their drinking their neighbour's beer. Returning, however, again to the subject of our present chapter, there is a superstitious fancy in the North of England that it is unlucky to walk over the graves of unchristened children, which is vulgarly called "unchristened ground," the person who does so rendering himself liable to catching the fatal disease of the "grave-scab." This complaint, we are told by Mr. Henderson, "comes on with a trembling of the limbs and hard breathing, and at last the skin burns as if touched with hot iron," in allusion to which an old ballad tells us—

"And it ne'er will be cured by doctor on earth,

Tho' every one should tent him, oh!

He shall tremble and die like the elf-shot eye,

And return from whence he came, oh!"

There is, however, a remedy, though not easy of attainment—"It lies in the wearing a sark, thus prepared:—The lint must be grown in a field which shall be manured from a farmyard heap that has not been disturbed for forty years. It must be spun by Habbitrot, the queen of spinsters; it must be bleached by an honest bleacher, in an honest miller's mill-dam, and sewed by an honest tailor. On donning this mysterious vestment, the sufferer will at once regain his health and strength." Unfortunately the necessary conditions for the successful accomplishment of this charm are so difficult, that he must be a clever man who can fulfil them. In the South of England, on the other hand, we do not find the same dread attaching to the graves of still-born children. Thus on a certain occasion, when one of the Commissioners of Devonport complained that a charge of one shilling and sixpence should have been made upon the parish authorities for the grave and interment of a still-born child, he added that "when he was a young man it was thought lucky to have a still-born child put into an open grave, as it was considered to be a sure passport to heaven for the next person buried there." According to another superstitious notion, if a mother frets and pines after her baby when it is dead, it is said that it cannot rest, and will come back to earth again. Various stories are on record of children thus visiting their mothers after death, an instance of which we quote from the "Dialect of Leeds:"—It appears that soon after the birth of the mother's next child, the previous one that had died entered her room with eyes deeply sunken, as if with much weeping, and on approaching the bed, said, "Mother, I can't rest if you will go on fretting." She replied, "Well, lad, I wean't fret any more." He then looked upon the bed and said, "Let's luke at it, mother!" She turned down the coverlet and let him look at her new-born babe. "It'll die," he said, and vanished. These, then, are some of the boundless dangers and difficulties that are supposed to beset the beginnings of life; and, taking into consideration the importance of that momentous crisis, when a fresh actor is introduced upon the world's great stage, it is not surprising that this event has, in most ages and countries, been associated with divers superstitions, and given rise to sundry customs, each of which has helped to invest man's entry into this world with all that grandeur which such a solemn occasion requires.