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Tree-worship—Ygdrasil—Personality
of Plants—Tree-ancestors — " Wassailing" — Relics of Tree-worship — Connla's
Well—Cutting down Trees Unlucky—Spring at Monzie—Marriage Well—Pear-Tree
Well--Some Miraculous Trees---External Soul—Its Connection with Trees,
&c.—Arms of Glasgow.
TREES were at one time
worshipped as well as fountains. Ygdrasil, the world-tree of Scandinavian
mythology, had three roots, and underneath each, was a fountain of wonderful
virtues. This represents the connection between tree and well in the domain
of mythology. But the same superstition was connected with ordinary trees
and wells. Glancing back over the history of civilisation, we reach a
period, when vegetation was endowed with personality. As plants manifested
the phenomena of life and death like man and the lower animals, they had a
similar kind of existence attributed to them. Among some savages to-day, the
fragrance of a flower is thought to be its soul. As there was thus no hard
and fast line between man and the vegetable kingdom, the one could be
derived from the other; in other words, men could have trees as their
ancestors. Curious survivals of such a belief lie both revealed and
concealed in the language of to-,day. Though we are far separated from such
a phase of archaic religion, we speak of the branches of a family. At one
time such an expression represented a literal fact, and not a mere metaphor.
In like manner, we call a son, who resembles his father, "a chip of the old
block." But how few when using the phrase are alive to its real force! Mr.
Keary, in his "Outlines of Primitive Belief," observes, "Even when the
literal notion of the descent from a tree had been lost sight of, the close
connection between the prosperity of the tribe and the life of its fetish
was often strictly held. The village tree of the German races was originally
a tribal tree with whose existence the life of the village was involved."
The picturesque ceremony
known as the "Wassailing of Apple-trees," kept up till lately in Devon and
Cornwall, carries our thoughts back to the time when tree-worship was a
thriving cult in our land. It was celebrated on the evening before Epiphany
(January 6th). The farmer, accompanied by his labourers, carried a pail of
cider with roasted apples in it into the orchard. The pail was placed on the
ground, and each one of the company took from it a cupful of the liquid.
They then stood before the trees and repeated the following lines --
"Health to thee, good apple
tree,
Well to bear pocket-fulls, hat-fulls,
Peck-fulls, bushel bag-fulls."
Part of the contents of the
cup was then drunk, and the remainder, was thrown at the tree amid shouts
from the by-standers. Relics of the same cult can be traced in the
superstitious regard for such trees as the rowan, the elder, &c., and in the
decoration of the May-pole and the Christmas Tree. According to an ancient
Irish legend, a certain spring in Erin, called Connla's Well, had growing
over it nine mystical hazel trees. Year by year these trees produced their
flowers and fruit simultaneously. The nuts were of a brilliant crimson
colour and contained in some mysterious way the knowledge of all that was
best in poetry and art. Professor O'Curry, in his "Lectvcres on the Manners
and Customs of the Ancient Irish," refers to this legend, and says, "No
sooner were the beautiful nuts produced on the trees than they always
dropped into the well, raising by their fall a succession of shining red
bubbles. Now, during this time the water was always full of salmon, and no
sooner did the bubbles appear than these salmon darted to the surface and
ate the nuts, after which they made their way to the river. The eating of
the nuts produced brilliant crimson spots on the bellies of these salmon,
and to catch and eat these salmon became an object of more than mere
gastronomic interest among those who were anxious to become distinguished in
the arts and in literature without being at the pains and delay of long
study, for the fish was supposed to have become filled with the knowledge
which was contained in the nuts, which, it was believed, would be
transferred in full to those who had the good fortune to catch and eat
them."
In many cases it was counted
unlucky to cut down trees, since the spirits, inhabiting them, would resent
the injury. In the sixteenth century the parishioners of Clynnog, in
Caernarvonshire, refrained from destroying the trees growing in the grounds
of St. Beyno. Even though he was their patron saint, he was quite ready to
harm anybody who took liberties with his grove. Loch Siant Well, in Skye,
was noted for its power to cure headaches, stitches, and other ailments, and
was much frequented in consequence. Martin says, "There is a small coppice
near to the well, and there is none of the natives dare venture to cut the
least branch of it for fear of some signal judgment to follow upon it."
Martin also tells us that the same reverence was for long paid to the peat
on the island of Lingay. This island, he says, "is singular in respect of
all the lands of Uist, and the other islands that surround it, for they are
all composed of sand, and this, on the contrary, is altogether moss covered
with heath, affording five peats in depth, and is very serviceable and
useful, furnishing the island Borera, &c., with plenty of good fuel. This
island was held as consecrated for several ages, insomuch that the natives
would not then presume to cut any fuel in it."
When trees beside wells had
rags hung on them as offerings, they would naturally be reverenced, as the
living altars for the reception of the gifts. But even when not used for
this purpose, they were sometimes thought to have a mysterious connection
with the springs they overshadowed. In the parish of Monzie, Perthshire, is
a mineral well held in much esteem till about the year 1770. At that time
two trees, till then the guardians of the spring, fell, and with their fall
its virtue departed. On the right bank of the Clyde, about three-quarters of
a mile from Carmyle village, is the once sylvan district of Kenmuir. There,
at the foot of a bank, is a spring locally known as "The Marriage Well," the
name being derived, it is said, from two curiously united trees beside its
margin. These trees were recently cut down. In former times, it was
customary for marriage parties, the day after their wedding, to visit the
spring, and there pledge the bride and bridegroom in draughts of its
sparkling water. On the banks of the Kelvin, close to the Glasgow Botanic
Gardens, once flowed a spring styled the Pear-Tree, Pea-Tree, or Three-Tree
Well, the last name being probably the original one. In former times it was
a recognised trysting-place for lovers. A tragic story is told in connection
with it by Mr. James Napier in his "1'Totes and Reminiscences of Partick." A
maiden, named Catherine Clark, arranged to meet her lover there by night,
"nor did she ever dream
But that he was what he did ever seem."
She never returned to her
home. "A few days after," remarks Mr. Napier, " her body was found buried
near a large tree which stood within a few yards of the Pea-Tree Well. This
tree was afterwards known as `Catherine Clark's Tree,' and remained for many
years an object of interest to the visitors to this far-famed well, and many
a sympathising lover carved his name in rude letters on its bark. But the
tree was also an object of terror to those who had to pass it in dark and
lonely nights, and many tales were told of people who had seen a young
female form dressed in white, and stained with blood, standing at the tree
foot." The tree was removed many years ago. The spring too is gone, the
recent extension of the Caledonian Railway to Maryhill having forced it to
quit the field.
Near the moat of Listening,
in county Kilkenny, Ireland, is a holy well dedicated to St. Mullen, who is
said to have lived for a while in its neighbourhood. A fine hawthorn,
overshadowing it, grew—if we can believe a local legend—from the staff of
the saint, which he there stuck into the ground. This reminds one of the
famous Glastonbury Thorn, produced from the staff of Joseph of Arimathea,
who fixed it in the ground one Christmas Day. The staff took root at once,
put forth branches, and next day was covered with milk-white blossoms. St.
Servanus's staff, too, had a miraculous ending. He threw it across the Firth
of Forth, and when it fell on the Fife coast, it took root and became an
apple-tree. A group of thorn-bushes, near Aghaboe, in Queen's County,
Ireland, was dedicated to St. Canice. The spring, overshadowed by them, was
much resorted to for the purposes of devotion. At Rearymore, in the same
county, some hawthorns, growing beside St. Finyan's spring, were, and
doubtless still are, religiously preserved by the natives. In the Isle of
Man is Chibber Unjin, signifying The Well of the Ash. Beside it grew an ash
tree, formerly decorated with votive offerings.
What has been called the
external soul has an important place in folklore, and forms the theme of
many folk-tales. Primitive man does not think of the soul as spiritual, but
as material—as something that can be seen and felt. It can take different
shapes. It can leave the body during sleep, and wander about in the guise of
an animal, such as a mouse. Considerable space is devoted to this problem in
Mr. J. G. Frazer's "Golden Bough." Mr. Frazer there remarks, "There may be
circumstances in which, if the life or soul remains in the man, it stands a
greater chance of sustaining injury than if it were stowed away in some safe
and secret place. Accordingly, in such circumstances, primitive man takes
his soul out of his body and deposits it for security in some safe place,
intending to replace it in his body when the danger is past; or, if he
should discover some place of absolute security, he may be content to leave
his soul there permanently. The advantage of this is, that so long as the
soul remains unharmed in the place where he has deposited it, the man
himself is immortal; nothing can kill his body, since his life is not in
it." Sometimes the soul is believed to be stowed away in a tree, injury to
the latter involving disaster to the former. The custom of planting trees,
and calling them after certain persons may nowadays have nothing to do with
this notion; but, undoubtedly, a real connection was at one time believed to
exist between the partners in the transaction. A certain oak, with mistletoe
growing on it, was mysteriously associated with the family of Hay. The
superstition is explained in the following lines :--
"While the mistletoe bats on
Errol's oak
And that oak stands fast,
The Hays shall flourish, and their good grey hawk
Shall not flinch before the blast.
But when the root of the oak
decays
And the mistletoe dwines on its withered breast,
The grass shall grow on the Earl's hearthstone,
And the corbies craw in the falcon's nest."
At Finlarig Castle, near
Killin, in Perthshire, are several trees, believed to be linked with the
lives of certain individuals, connected by family ties with the ruined
fortress. Aubrey gives an example of this superstition, as it existed in
England in the seventeenth century. He says, "I cannot omit taking notice of
the great misfortune in the family of the Earl of Winchelsea, who, at
Eastwell, in Kent, felled down a most curious grove of oaks near his own
noble seat, and gave the first blow with his own hands. Shortly after, the
countess died in her bed suddenly, and his eldest son, the Lord Maidstone,
was killed at sea by a cannon bullet." In the grounds of Dalhousie Castle,
about two miles from Dalkeith, on the edge of a fine spring is the famous
Edgewell Oak. Sir Walter Scott, in his "Journal," under date May 13th, 1829,
writes, "Went with the girls to dine at Dalhousie Castle, where we were very
kindly received. I saw the Edgewell Tree, too fatal, says Allan Ramsay, to
the family from which he was himself descended." According to a belief in
the district, a branch fell from this tree, before the death of a member of
the family. The original oak fell early in last century, but a new one
sprang from the old root. An editorial note to the above entry in the
"Journal" gives the following information:—"The tree is still flourishing
(1889), and the belief in its sympathy with the family is not yet extinct,
as an old forester, on seeing a branch fall from it on a quiet still day in
July, 1874, exclaimed, `The laird's deed, noo 1' and, accordingly, news came
soon after that Fox Maule, eleventh Earl of Dalhousie, had died."
The external soul was
sometimes associated with objects other than living trees. Dr. Charles
Rogers tells us that "a pear, supposed to have been enchanted by Hugh
Gifford, Lord of Yester, a notable magician in the reign of Alexander III.,
is preserved in the family of Brown of Colston, as heirs of Gifford's
estate." The prosperity of the family is believed to be linked with the
preservation of the pear. Even an inanimate object would serve the purpose.
The glass drinking-cup, known as the "Luck of Edenhall," is connected with
the fortunes of the Musgrave family, and great care is taken to preserve it
from injury. Tradition says that a company of fairies were making merry
beside a spring near the mansion-house, but that, being frightened by some
intruder, they vanished, leaving the cup in question, while one of them
exclaimed
"If this cup should break or
fall,
Farewell the luck of Edenhall."
Some living object, however,
either vegetable or animal, was the usual repository of the external soul. A
familiar folk-tale tells of a giant whose heart was in a swan, and who could
not be killed while the swan lived. Hunting was a favourite occupation among
the inhabitants of the Western Isles; but on the mountain Finchra, in Rum,
no deer was killed by any member of the Lachlan family, as it was believed
that the life of that family was in some way linked with the life of these
animals. A curious superstition is mentioned by Camden in his "Britannia."
In a pond near the Abbey of St. Maurice, in Burgundy, were put as many fish
as there were monks. When any monk was taken ill, one of the fish was seen
to float half-dead on the surface of the pond. If the fish died the monk
died too, the death of the former giving warning of the fate of the latter.
In this case the external soul was thought of as stowed away in a fish. As
is well known, the Arms of the City of Glasgow are a bell, a tree, a fish
with a ring in its mouth, and a bird. The popular explanation of these
emblems connects them with certain miracles, wrought by Kentigern, the
patron saint of the burgh. May we not hold that an explanation of their
symbolism is to be sought in a principle, that formed an article in the
beliefs of men, long before Kentigern was born, as well as during his time
and since? The bell, it is true, had, doubtless, an ecclesiastical
association; but the other three symbols point, perhaps, to some
superstitious notion like the above. In various folk-tales, as well as in
Christian art, the soul is sometimes typified by a bird. As we have just
seen, it has been associated with trees and fish. We are entitled therefore
to ask whether the three symbols may not express one and the same idea under
different forms. It is, of course, open to anyone to say that there were
fish in the river, on whose banks Kentigern took up his abode, and quite a
forest with birds singing in it around his cell, and that no further
explanation of the symbolism need be sought. All these, it is true, existed
within the saint's environment, but may they not have been regarded as types
of the soul under the guise of objects familiar to all, and afterwards
grouped together in the burgh Arms? On this hypothesis, the symbols have
survived the belief that gave them birth, and serve to connect the practical
life of to-day, with the vague visions and crude conjectures of the past.
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