In Florence of Worcester's Chronicle, under the date, 1138, a singular story is related, which explains "how the devil, in the shape of a black dwarf, was made a monk." From some of the details, it appears to embody, in no slight degree, the popular superst.i.tion regarding the mischievous Puck. On three distinct occasions the cellars of a monastery at Prum, in the arch-diocese of Treves, had been invaded, bungs wantonly withdrawn from casks, and good wine spilled on the floor. The abbot, in despair, at length ordered the bungholes to be "anointed round with chrism." On the following morning "a wonderfully dwarfish black boy" was found "clinging by the hands to one of the bungs." He was released, dressed in a monk's habit, and made to a.s.sociate with the other boys. He, however, never uttered a word, either in public or private, or tasted food of any kind. A neighbouring abbot p.r.o.nounced him to be a devil lurking in human form; and, the chronicle informs us, "while they were in the act of stripping off his monastic dress, he vanished from their hands like smoke."

This sort of superst.i.tion was devotedly respected by even such men as Martin Luther. He tells us of a demon who officiated as _famulus_ in a monastery. He was a good hand at an earthly bargain too, and insisted on having full measure for his money, when employed to fetch beer for the monks.

I remember in my youth hearing a story of a headless boggart that haunted Preston streets and neighbouring lanes. Its presence was often accompanied by the rattling of chains. I forget now what was its special mission. It frequently changed its form, however, but whether it appeared as a woman or a black dog, it was always headless. The story went that this boggart or ghost was at length "laid" by some magical or religious ceremony in Walton Church yard. I have often thought that the story told by Weaver, a Preston antiquary, in his "Funerall Monuments,"

printed in 1631, and which I have transcribed at page 149 of the "History of Preston and its Environs," may have had some remote connection with this tradition. He relates how Michael Kelly, the celebrated Dr. Dee's companion, together with one Paul Wareing, "invocated some of the infernal regiment, to know certain pa.s.sages in the life, as also what might bee knowne by the devils foresight, of the manner and the time of the death of a n.o.ble young gentleman then in his wardship." He further relates how, on the following evening they dug up in Law (Walton) Church yard, the corpse of a man recently buried, when, "by their incantations, they made him (or rather some evil spirit through his organs) to speake, who delivered strange predictions concerning the said gentleman." From the whole of this narration, it is evident that Weaver honestly believed some special sorcery or _diablerie_ had been perpetrated in the localities referred to.

This belief that the devil made use of other organs than his own, in giving expression to his thoughts or opinions was shared in by the learned. Melanchthon tells us of an Italian girl who was "possessed"

with a devil, and who, although she knew no Latin, quoted Virgil fluently (at least Satan did through her organ of speech), when questioned by a Bolognese professor. This anecdote is rather unpleasantly suggestive of certain recent clairvoyant exhibitions.

Amongst other youthful terrors to which I remember being subjected, one had reference to a mythic monster styled "raw head and b.l.o.o.d.y bones."

This boggart appeared to partake of the cannibal nature of some of the giants and ogres in our nursery tales, one of which, on the approach of the redoubtable "Jack, the Giant-killer," called out to his wife, "I smell fresh meat!" or according to the popular rhyme--

Fee, fo, fam, I smell the blood of an Englishman!

Be he alive or be he dead, I'll grind his bones to salt and bread!

The said "raw head and b.l.o.o.d.y bones," I was seriously informed, preferred to breakfast on the bodies of naughty children, nicely roasted! I can likewise remember well being told that boggarts especially loved to haunt and otherwise annoy those who refused to _believe_ in their existence. After experience, I need scarcely say, has demonstrated the contrary to be much nearer the truth.

Mr. Edwin Waugh, in his "Grave of Grislehurst Boggart," gives a vivid picture of this species of superst.i.tion as it still exists in Lancashire. The story is admirably told in a conversation between the author, an old weaver and his dame, and is replete with characteristic traits. It seems this boggart, although it was supposed to be "laid" in the most orthodox manner, still troubled the neighbourhood. The old dame declares--"It's a good while sin it were laid; an' there were a c.o.c.k buried wi' it, we a stoop (a stake) driven through it. It 're nooan settled with a little, aw'll uphowd yo."

"'And do you really think,' said the author, 'that this place has been haunted by a boggart?'

"'Has bin--be far!' replied the dame. 'It is neaw! Yodd'n soon find it eawt, too, iv yo live't oppo th' spot. It's very mich iv it wouldn't may yor yure fair ston of an end, othur with one marlock or another.

There's noan so mony folk oppo this country side at likes to go deawn yon lone at after delit (daylight), aw con tell yo.'

"'But it's laid and buried,' replied the author, 'it surely doesn't trouble you much now.'

"'Oh, well,' said the old woman, 'iv it doesn't, it doesn't; so there needs no moor. Aw know some folk winnut believe sich things; there is some at'll believe naught at o' iv it isn't fair druven into um, wilto, shalto; but this is a different case, mind yo. Eh, never name it; thoose at has it to dhyel wi knows what it is; but thoose at knows naught abeawt sich like--whau, it's like summat an' nawt talkin' to 'um abeawt it; so we'n e'en lap it up where it is.'"

This boggart, from its doings, appears to have been an exact counterpart of George Cheetham's plague. On Mr. Waugh inquiring if the weaver never thought of digging into the grave in order to satisfy his curiosity on the matter, the old lady broke in with--"Naw; he'll delve noan theer, nut iv aw know it.... Nor no mon elze dar lay a finger oppo that greawnd. Joseph Fenton's a meeterly bowd chap, an' he's ruvven everything up abeawt this country side, welly, but he dar not touch Gerzlehus' Boggart for his skin! An' I howd his wit good, too, mind yo!"

The Grislehurst dame seems to have placed some emphasis on the fact, when their ghost or boggart was "laid," that "there was a c.o.c.k buried wi' it." This ceremony resulted, doubtless, from a lingering remnant of the ancient and almost universal superst.i.tion that the soul departeth from the body in the form of a bird. This Dr. Kuhn regards as intimately connected with the Aryan belief respecting birds being soul-bringers. I am not aware, however, whether the barn-door fowl is included amongst the numerous lightning birds, which Kelly describes as having "nestled in the fire-bearing tree," of which the clouds formed the foliage, and the sun, moon, and stars the fruit.

In Willsford's "Nature's Secrets" (1658), is, however, the following pa.s.sage, which shows the connection of the common fowl with stormy weather:--

"The vigilant c.o.c.k, the bird of Mars, the good housewife's clock and the Switzer's alarum, if he crows in the day-time very much, or at sun-setting, or when he is at roost at unusual hours, as at nine or ten, expect some change of weather, and that suddenly, and that from fair to foul, or the contrary; but when the hen crows, good men _expect a storm within doors and without_. If the hen or chickens in the morning come late from their roosts (as if they were constrained by hunger), it presages much rainy weather."

The Romans used fowls in divination. Mohammed, too, is said to have included amongst his domestic pets a white c.o.c.k, which he regarded as his friend, and considered that it protected him from the machinations of witchcraft, of genii and devils, and of the evil eye.

Mr. T. T. Wilkinson relates a curious anecdote, which he had, a few years ago, from a respectable gentleman, in the neighbourhood of Burnley, about "killing a witch." His informant was one of the farmers engaged in the mystical ceremony, the object of which was the destruction of a wizard who had wrought sad havoc amongst his neighbours' cattle. He says:--"They met at the house of one of their number, whose cattle were then supposed to be under the influence of the wizard; and, having procured a live c.o.c.k chicken, they stuck him full of pins and burnt him alive, whilst repeating some magical incantation....

The wind suddenly rose to a tempest, and threatened the destruction of the house. Dreadful moanings, as of some one in intense agony, were heard from without, whilst a sense of horror seized upon all within. At the moment when the storm was at the wildest, the wizard knocked at the door, and, in piteous tones, desired admittance. They had previously been warned, by the 'wise man' they had consulted, that such would be the case, and had been charged not to yield to their feelings of humanity by allowing him to enter." The violent death of the c.o.c.k, it appears, was necessary _to raise the storm_. The sequel of the story informs us that exposure to its violence killed the presumed wizard in the course of a week.

There is a superst.i.tion in Cornwall that the crowing of a c.o.c.k at midnight indicates that the angel of death is pa.s.sing over the house.

Mr. Hunt relates the following anecdote, from which it appears that chanticleer is largely credited in that district with supernatural attributes:--

"A farmer in Towednack having been robbed of some property of no great value, was resolved, nevertheless, to employ a test which he had heard the 'old people' resorted to for the purpose of catching a thief. He invited all his neighbours into his cottage, and when they were a.s.sembled, he placed a c.o.c.k under the 'brandice' (an iron vessel formerly much employed by the peasantry in baking, when this process was carried out on the hearth, the fuel being furze and ferns). Every one was directed to touch the brandice with his, or her third finger, and say, 'In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, speak.' Every one did as they were directed, and no sound came from beneath the brandice.

The last person was a woman, who occasionally laboured for the farmer in his fields. She hung back, hoping to pa.s.s un.o.bserved amidst the crowd. But her very anxiety made her a suspected person. She was forced forward, and most unwillingly she touched the brandice, when, before she could utter the words prescribed, the c.o.c.k crew. The woman fell faint on the floor, and, when she recovered, she confessed herself to be the thief, restored the stolen property, and became, it is said, 'a changed character from that day.'"

Shakspere appears to have been fully aware of the prevalence of a superst.i.tion which attributed to ghosts and wandering spirits a wholesome dread of the sonorous tones of chanticleer's early morning song. In the first scene in Hamlet, on the departure of the ghost, Bernardo says:--

It was about to speak when the c.o.c.k crew.

Horatio answers:--

And then it started like a guilty thing Upon a fearful summons. I have heard The c.o.c.k that is the trumpet of the morn, Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat, Awake the G.o.d of day; and, at his warning, Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, The extravagant and erring spirit hies To his confine: and of the truth herein This present object made probation.

To which Marcellus adds:--

It faded on the crowing of the c.o.c.k.

Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes, Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, This bird of dawning singeth all night long: And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad.

The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.

And again, Puck, in A Midsummer Night's Dream, referring to the morning star or early dawn, which awakeneth chanticleer, says:--

My fairy lord, this must be done with haste; For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger; At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there, Troop home to churchyards: d.a.m.ned spirits all, That in cross-ways and floods have burial, Already to their wormy beds are gone; For fear lest day should look their shames upon, They wilfully themselves exile from light, And must for aye consort with black-browed night.

Not so, however, with the fairies, for Oberon rejoins:--

But we are spirits of another sort: I with the morning's love have oft made sport; And, like a forester, the groves may tread, Even till the eastern gate, all fiery red, Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams, Turns into yellow gold his salt-green streams.

The c.o.c.k was one of the attendants or emblems of aesculapius or Asclepius, the G.o.d of medicine of the Greek mythology, and this fowl was commonly sacrificed to him. In addition to his knowledge in the art of healing disease, he possessed the power of raising the dead to life. He was believed to be the son of Apollo. According to Plato, the last words of Socrates were, "Criton, we owe a c.o.c.k to Asclepius." This bird, as well as the serpent, was one of his sacred emblems.

The Roman G.o.d Ja.n.u.s is regarded by many to be in some respects a Latin form of the Greek Asclepius. He opens the year and the daily morning, and is the porter of heaven. One of his peculiar emblems was a c.o.c.k, by the means of whose matutinal song he was supposed to announce the approach of the dawn.

The crowing of a c.o.c.k of the colour of gold is to be the signal of the dawn of _Ragnarock_, "the great day of arousing," according to Scandinavian mythology. A black c.o.c.k is likewise said to crow in the _Niflheim_, or "land of gloom."

J. Bossewell, in "Workes of Armourie" (1597), says:--"The lyon dreadeth the white c.o.c.ke, because he breedeth a precious stone called allectricium, like to the stone that bright Calcedonius, and for that the c.o.c.ke beareth such a stone, the lyon specially abhorreth him." The stone referred to was said to be similar to a dark crystal, and about the size of a bean.

A most astounding story affirming the supernatural attributes of chanticleer is related in Pinkerton's "General Collection of Voyages and Travels." In the "Voyage to Congo," a Capuchin "missioner," named Father Morolla, relates the following remarkable incident with the utmost gravity and evidently with perfect faith in the veracity of the story:--On the capture of a certain town by the army of Sogno, a large c.o.c.k was found with an iron ring attached to one of its legs. The unfortunate rooster was speedily placed in the pot and boiled in the most orthodox fashion. When, however, his captors were about to commence their improvised feast, to their astonishment the cooked "pieces of the c.o.c.k, though sodden and near dissolved, began to move about, and unite into the form they were in before, and being so united, the restored c.o.c.k immediately raised himself up, and jumped out of the platter upon the ground, where he walked about as well as when he was first taken.

Afterwards he leaped upon an adjoining wall, where he became new-feathered all of a sudden, and then took his flight to a tree hard by, where, fixing himself, he, after three claps of his wings, made a most hideous noise, and then disappeared. Every one may imagine what a terrible fright the spectators were in at this sight, who, leaping with a thousand Ave-Marias in their mouths from the place where this had happened, were contented to observe most of the particulars at a distance."

The fabulous animal, the c.o.c.katrice, was believed to result from a "venomous egg" laid by an aged c.o.c.k, and hatched by a toad. The monster had the head and breast of the dunghill champion, and "thence downwards the body of a serpent." Toads are frequently referred to by old writers in connection with witches and witchcraft.

In a MS. "Medycine Boke," belonging to Dr. Sampson Jones, of Bettws, Monmouthshire (1650-90), is the following strange recipe, ent.i.tled, "c.o.c.k water for a consumption and cough of the lungs":--"Take a running c.o.c.k and pull (pluck) him alive, then kill him and cutt him in pieces and take out his intrals and wipe him cleane, breake the bones, then put him into an ordinary still with a pottle of sack and a pottle of red cow's milk," etc., etc.

The mythical character and medical qualities of red cow's milk have been referred to in the previous chapter.

Lightning birds were supposed to come "down to earth either as incorporations of the lightning, or bringing with them a branch charged with latent or invisible fire." The eagle or the falcon was the form which Agni, the fire-G.o.d, a.s.sumed on such occasions. The fire-birds were very numerous, and included the woodp.e.c.k.e.r, the robin, the wren, the owl, the cuckoo, the stork, the swallow, and the hoopoe. Kelly quotes the Herefordshire rhyme as evidence that the ancient superst.i.tion respecting the wren is still alive in England, as well as in France, Scotland, Wales, and the Isle of Man. The peasants there say:--

Robin Redbreast and Jenny Wren Are G.o.d Almighty's c.o.c.k and hen.

In Lancashire, however, the rhyme is:--

A robin and a wren Are G.o.d's c.o.c.k and hen.

And it is generally followed by the intimation that

A spink and a sparrow Are the devil's bow and arrow.