I cannot believe it is a year since I last wrote a post for A Regency Reticule! Where has the time gone to? It has been a very busy year.
I thought I would look at Hallowe'en from the Regency perspective rather than the event we celebrate today.
Chiefly a northern
festival, Hallowe’en, Hallow Even or Holy Eve were all alternative
or colloquial terms (described by the Reverend John Platt in 1827 as
‘vulgar’) for All Hallows’ Eve, the last day of October. This
was the night before All Saints’ Day, the Christian appropriation
of the old Celtic feast of Samhain. This is the night when the veil
between the world of the living and that of the spirit realm is at
its’ thinnest, allowing the two to merge and the undead to live
again.
Dating from the
middle of the sixteenth century, the term All Hallow Eve was
overtaken by that of Hallow-e’en or Hallowe’en in the last years
of the seventeenth century, particularly in Scotland. It is not
therefore surprising that Sir Walter Scott should include a spirit in
one of his early works, The Monastery, published in 1820.
Central to the tale is the Glendinning family, the scion of which,
Halbert, is a sprightly, impetuous youth – and jealous of the
apparent affection Mary of Avenel holds for his brother.
‘He arrived at
length in a narrow and secluded cleuch, or deep ravine, which ran
down into the valley, and contributed a scanty rivulet to the supply
of the brook with which Glendearg is watered. Up this he sped with
the same precipitate haste which had marked his departure from the
tower, nor did he pause and look around until he had reached the
fountain from which the rivulet had its rise.
Here Halbert
stopt short, and cast a gloomy, and almost a frightened glance around
him. A huge rock rose in front, from a cleft of which grew a wild
holly-tree, whose dark green branches rustled over the spring which
arose beneath. The banks on either hand rose so high, and approached
each other so closely, that it was only when the sun was at its
meridian height, and during the summer solstice, that its rays could
reach the bottom of the chasm in which he stood. But it was now
summer, and the hour was noon, so that the unwonted reflection of the
sun was dancing in the pellucid fountain.
“It is the
season and the hour,” said Halbert to himself; “and now I—I
might soon become wiser than Edward with all his pains! Mary should
see whether he alone is fit to be consulted, and to sit by her side,
and hang over her as she reads, and point out every word and every
letter. And she loves me better than him—I am sure she does—for
she comes of noble blood, and scorns sloth and cowardice.—And do I
myself not stand here slothful and cowardly as any priest of them
all?—Why should I fear to call upon this form—this shape?—Already
have I endured the vision, and why not again? What can it do to me,
who am a man of lith and limb, and have by my side my father's sword?
Does my heart beat—do my hairs bristle, at the thought of calling
up a painted shadow, and how should I face a band of Southrons in
flesh and blood? By the soul of the first Glendinning, I will make
proof of the charm!”’
Halbert
then bowed three times to the holly tree and the same to the
fountain, uttering a rhyme, thus producing ‘...a figure
of a female clothed in white...’
'There’
something in that ancient superstition,
Which, erring
as it is, our fancy loves.
The spring
that, with its thousand crystal bubbles,
Bursts from the
bosom of some desert rock
In secret
solitude, may well be deem’d
The haunt of
something purer, more refined,
And mightier
than ourselves.
OLD
PLAY.
‘Young Halbert
Glendinning had scarcely pronounced the mystical rhymes, than, as we
have mentioned in the conclusion of the last chapter, an appearance,
as of a beautiful female, dressed in white, stood within two yards of
him. His terror for the moment overcame his natural courage, as well
as the strong resolution which he had formed, that the figure which
he had now twice seen should not a third time daunt him. But it would
seem there is something thrilling and abhorrent to flesh and blood,
in the consciousness that we stand in presence of a being in form
like to ourselves, but so different in faculties and nature, that we
can neither understand its purposes, nor calculate its means of
pursuing them.
Halbert stood
silent and gasped for breath, his hairs erecting themselves on his
head—-his mouth open—his eyes fixed, and, as the sole remaining
sign of his late determined purpose, his sword pointed towards the
apparition. At length with a voice of ineffable sweetness, the White
Lady, for by that name we shall distinguish this being, sung, or
rather chanted, the following lines:—
“Youth of the
dark eye, wherefore didst thou call me?
Wherefore art
thou here, if terrors can appal thee?
He that seeks
to deal with us must know no fear nor failing!
To coward and
churl our speech is dark, our gifts are unavailing.
The breeze that
brought me hither now, must sweep Egyptian ground,
The fleecy
cloud on which I ride for Araby is bound;
The fleecy
cloud is drifting by, the breeze sighs for my stay,
For I must sail
a thousand miles before the close of day.”
The astonishment
of Halbert began once more to give way to his resolution, and he
gained voice enough to say, though with a faltering accent, “In the
name of God, what art thou?” The answer was in melody of a
different tone and measure:—
“What I am I
must not show—
What I am thou
couldst not know—
Something
betwixt heaven and hell—
Something that
neither stood nor fell—
Something that
through thy wit or will
May work thee
good—may work thee ill.
Neither
substance quite nor shadow,
Haunting lonely
moor and meadow,
Dancing; by the
haunted spring,
Riding on the
whirlwind’s wing;
Aping in
fantastic fashion
Every change of
human passion,
While o'er our
frozen minds they pass,
Like shadows
from the mirror’d glass.
Wayward, fickle
is our mood,
Hovering
betwixt bad and good,
Happier than
brief-dated man,
Living twenty
times his span;
Far less happy,
for we have
Help nor hope
beyond the grave!
Man awakes to
joy or sorrow;
Ours the sleep
that knows no morrow.
This is all
that I can show—
This is all
that thou mayest know.”
The White Lady
paused, and appeared to await an answer; but, as Halbert hesitated
how to frame his speech, the vision seemed gradually to fade, and
became more and more incorporeal. Justly guessing this to be a
symptom of her disappearance, Halbert compelled himself to
say,—“Lady, when I saw you in the glen, and when you brought back
the black book of Mary Avenel, thou didst say I should one day learn
to read it.”
The White Lady
replied,
“Ay! and I
taught thee the word and the spell,
To waken me
here by the Fairies' Well,
But thou hast
loved the heron and hawk,
More than to
seek my haunted walk;
And thou hast
loved the lance and the sword,
More than good
text and holy word;
And thou hast
loved the deer to track,
More than the
lines and the letters black;
And thou art a
ranger of moss and of wood,
And scornest
the nurture of gentle blood.”
“I will do so
no longer, fair maiden,” said Halbert; “I desire to learn; and
thou didst promise me, that when I did so desire, thou wouldst be my
helper; I am no longer afraid of thy presence, and I am no longer
regardless of instruction.” As he uttered these words, the figure
of the White Maiden grew gradually as distinct as it had been at
first; and what had well-nigh faded into an ill-defined and
colourless shadow, again assumed an appearance at least of corporeal
consistency, although the hues were less vivid, and the outline of
the figure less distinct and defined—so at least it seemed to
Halbert—than those of an ordinary inhabitant of earth. “Wilt thou
grant my request,” he said, “fair Lady, and give to my keeping
the holy book which Mary of Avenel has so often wept for?”
The White Lady
replied:
“Thy craven
fear my truth accused,
Thine idlehood
my trust abused;
He that draws
to harbour late,
Must sleep
without, or burst the gate.
There is a star
for thee which burn’d.
Its influence
wanes, its course is turn’d;
Valour and
constancy alone
Can bring thee
back the chance that's flown.”
“If I have been
a loiterer, Lady,” answered young Glendinning, “thou shalt now
find me willing to press forward with double speed. Other thoughts
have filled my mind, other thoughts have engaged my heart, within a
brief period—and by Heaven, other occupations shall henceforward
fill up my time. I have lived in this day the space of years—I came
hither a boy—I will return a man—a man, such as may converse not
only with his own kind, but with whatever God permits to be visible
to him. I will learn the contents of that mysterious volume—I will
learn why the Lady of Avenel loved it—why the priests feared, and
would have stolen it—why thou didst twice recover it from their
hands.—What mystery is wrapt in it?—Speak, I conjure thee!” The
lady assumed an air peculiarly sad and solemn, as drooping her head,
and folding her arms on her bosom, she replied:
“Within that
awful volume lies
The mystery of
mysteries!
Happiest they
of human race,
To whom God has
granted grace
To read, to
fear, to hope, to pray,
To lift the
latch, and force the way;
And better had
they ne'er been born,
Who read, to
doubt, or read to scorn.”
“Give me the
volume, Lady,” said young Glendinning. “They call me idle—they
call me dull—in this pursuit my industry shall not fail, nor, with
God's blessing, shall my understanding. Give me the volume.” The
apparition again replied:
“Many a
fathom dark and deep
I have laid the
book to sleep;
Ethereal fires
around it glowing—
Ethereal music
ever flowing—
The sacred
pledge of Heav’n
All things
revere.
Each in his
sphere,
Save man for
whom ’twas giv’n:
Lend thy hand,
and thou shalt spy
Things ne’er
seen by mortal eye.”
Halbert
Glendinning boldly reached his hand to the White Lady.
“Fearest thou
to go with me?” she said, as his hand trembled at the soft and cold
touch of her own—
“Fearest thou
to go with me?
Still it is
free to thee
A peasant to
dwell:
Thou mayst
drive the dull steer,
And chase the
king's deer,
But never more
come near
This haunted
well.”
“If what thou
sayest be true,” said the undaunted boy, “my destinies are higher
than thine own. There shall be neither well nor wood which I dare not
visit. No fear of aught, natural or supernatural, shall bar my path
through my native valley.”
He had scarce
uttered the words, when they both descended through the earth with a
rapidity which took away Halbert's breath and every other sensation,
saving that of being hurried on with the utmost velocity. At length
they stopped with a shock so sudden, that the mortal journeyer
through this unknown space must have been thrown down with violence,
had he not been upheld by his supernatural companion.
It was more than
a minute, ere, looking around him, he beheld a grotto, or natural
cavern, composed of the most splendid spars and crystals, which
returned in a thousand prismatic hues the light of a brilliant flame
that glowed on an altar of alabaster. This altar, with its fire,
formed the central point of the grotto, which was of a round form,
and very high in the roof, resembling in some respects the dome of a
cathedral. Corresponding to the four points of the compass, there
went off four long galleries, or arcades, constructed of the same
brilliant materials with the dome itself, and the termination of
which was lost in darkness.
No human
imagination can conceive, or words suffice to describe, the glorious
radiance which, shot fiercely forth by the flame, was returned from
so many hundred thousand points of reflection, afforded by the sparry
pillars and their numerous angular crystals. The fire itself did not
remain steady and unmoved, but rose and fell, sometimes ascending in
a brilliant pyramid of condensed flame half way up the lofty expanse,
and again fading into a softer and more rosy hue, and hovering, as it
were, on the surface of the altar to collect its strength for another
powerful exertion. There was no visible fuel by which it was fed, nor
did it emit either smoke or vapour of any kind.
What was of all
the most remarkable, the black volume so often mentioned lay not only
unconsumed, but untouched in the slightest degree, amid this
intensity of fire, which, while it seemed to be of force sufficient
to melt adamant, had no effect whatever on the sacred book thus
subjected to its utmost influence.
The White Lady,
having paused long enough to let young Glendinning take a complete
survey of what was around him, now said in her usual chant,
“Here lies
the volume thou boldly hast sought;
Touch it, and
take it,—’twill dearly be bought!”
Familiarized in
some degree with marvels, and desperately desirous of showing the
courage he had boasted, Halbert plunged his hand, without hesitation,
into the flame, trusting to the rapidity of the motion, to snatch out
the volume before the fire could greatly affect him. But he was much
disappointed. The flame instantly caught upon his sleeve, and though
he withdrew his hand immediately, yet his arm was so dreadfully
scorched, that he had well-nigh screamed with pain. He suppressed the
natural expression of anguish, however, and only intimated the agony
which he felt by a contortion and a muttered groan. The White Lady
passed her cold hand over his arm, and, ere she had finished the
following metrical chant, his pain had entirely gone, and no mark of
the scorching was visible:
“Rash
thy deed,
Mortal
weed
To immortal
flames applying;
Rasher
trust
Has
thing of dust,
On his own
weak worth relying:
Strip thee of
such fences vain,
Strip, and
prove thy luck, again.”
Obedient to what
he understood to be the meaning of his conductress, Halbert bared his
arm to the shoulder, throwing down the remains of his sleeve, which
no sooner touched the floor on which he stood than it collected
itself together, shrivelled itself up, and was without any visible
fire reduced to light tinder, which a sudden breath of wind dispersed
into empty space. The White Lady, observing the surprise of the
youth, immediately repeated—
“Mortal warp
and mortal woof.
Cannot brook
this charmed roof;
All that mortal
art hath wrought,
In our cell
returns to nought.
The molten gold
returns to clay,
The polish’d
diamond melts away.
All is alter’d,
all is flown,
Nought stands
fast but truth alone.
Not for that
thy quest give o'er:
Courage! prove
thy chance once more.”
Imboldened by her
words, Halbert Glendinning made a second effort, and, plunging his
bare arm into the flame, took out the sacred volume without feeling
either heat or inconvenience of any kind. Astonished, and almost
terrified at his own success, he beheld the flame collect itself, and
shoot up into one long and final stream, which seemed as if it would
ascend to the very roof of the cavern, and then, sinking as suddenly,
became totally extinguished. The deepest darkness ensued; but Halbert
had no time to consider his situation, for the White Lady had already
caught his hand, and they ascended to upper air with the same
velocity with which they had sunk into the earth.
They stood by the
fountain in the Corri-nan-shian when they emerged from the bowels of
the earth; but on casting a bewildered glance around him, the youth
was surprised to observe, that the shadows had fallen far to the
east, and that the day was well-nigh spent. He gazed on his
conductress for explanation, but her figure began to fade before his
eyes—her cheeks grew paler, her features less distinct, her form
became shadowy, and blended itself with the mist which was ascending
the hollow ravine. What had late the symmetry of form, and the
delicate, yet clear hues of feminine beauty, now resembled the
flitting and pale ghost of some maiden who has died for love, as it
is seen indistinctly and by moonlight, by her perjured lover.
“Stay, spirit!”
said the youth, imboldened by his success in the subterranean dome,
“thy kindness must not leave me, as one encumbered with a weapon he
knows not how to wield. Thou must teach me the art to read, and to
understand this volume; else what avails it me that I possess it?”
But the figure of
the White Lady still waned before his eye, until it became an outline
as pale and indistinct as that of the moon, when the winter morning
is far advanced, and ere she had ended the following chant, she was
entirely invisible:—
“Alas! alas!
Not ours the
grace
These holy
characters to trace:
Idle forms
of painted air,
Not to us
is given to share
The boon
bestow’d on Adam's race!
With
patience bide.
Heaven will
provide
The fitting
time, the fitting guide.”
The form was
already gone, and now the voice itself had melted away in melancholy
cadence, softening, as if the Being who spoke had been slowly wafted
from the spot where she had commenced her melody.
It was at this
moment that Halbert felt the extremity of the terror which he had
hitherto so manfully suppressed. The very necessity of exertion had
given him spirit to make it, and the presence of the mysterious
Being, while it was a subject of fear in itself, had nevertheless
given him the sense of protection being near to him. It was when he
could reflect with composure on what had passed, that a cold tremor
shot across his limbs, his hair bristled, and he was afraid to look
around lest he should find at his elbow something more frightful than
the first vision. A breeze arising suddenly, realized the beautiful
and wild idea of the most imaginative of our modern bards {Footnote:
Coleridge.}—
It fann’d his
cheek, it raised his hair,
Like a meadow
pale in spring;
It mingled
strangely with his fears,
Yet it fell
like a welcoming.
The youth stood
silent and astonished for a few minutes. It seemed to him that the
extraordinary Being he had seen, half his terror, half his
protectress, was still hovering on the gale which swept past him, and
that she might again make herself sensible to his organs of sight.
“Speak!” he said, wildly tossing his arms, “speak yet again—be
once more present, lovely vision!—thrice have I now seen thee, yet
the idea of thy invisible presence around or beside me, makes my
heart beat faster than if the earth yawned and gave up a demon.”
But neither sound
nor appearance indicated the presence of the White Lady, and nothing
preternatural beyond what he had already witnessed, was again audible
or visible. Halbert, in the meanwhile, by the very exertion of again
inviting the presence of this mysterious Being, had recovered his
natural audacity. He looked around once more, and resumed his
solitary path down the valley into whose recesses he had penetrated.’
Fairies,
too, come abroad on Hallowe’en, making it a night full of charms
and spells. In 1785, Robert Burns wrote his poem of that name and
published it the following year. Here are just the first two stanzas:
UPON that night,
when fairies light,
On Cassilis
Downans dance,
Or owre the lays,
in splendid blaze,
On sprightly
coursers prance;
Or for Colzean
the route is ta’en,
Beneath the
moon's pale beams;
There, up the
cove, to stray an’ rove
Amang the rocks
and streams
To sport that
night.
Amang the bonnie
winding banks,
Where Doon rins,
wimplin, clear,
Where Bruce ance
ruled the martial ranks,
An’ shook his
Carrick spear,
Some merry,
friendly countra folks
Together did
convene,
To burn their
nits, an’ pu’ their stocks,
And haud their
Hallowe’en,
Fu’ blithe that
night.
Spells
and magic were very much at the root of the customs and traditions of
this night, which has very little to do with pumpkins, trick or
treating and dressing up in scary costumes, although the Lord of
Misrule does promote the last. With the exception of the Prince of
Misbehaviour, these are, of course, much enjoyed by modern children
of all ages but have come to
us from America.
On this side of the Pond,
superstition, witches
and warlocks, fairies and other magical spirits are the traditional
components
of this once pagan celebration on the last night of the year.
British customs, by which mainly
Scots and Irish, may well
have begun
with a festival to honour
Pomona, the goddess of fruits, for it was thought that this was the
time when the stores of fruit kept for winter consumption were
opened. Nuts were considered sacred by the
Romans, echoing the belief
from those pagan times.
Indeed, it was a Roman custom for a
bridegroom to toss nuts about the room, whereupon the boys might
scramble to gather them, intimating (as put forward by some) that the
new husband intended thereafter to set aside the games and sports of
boyhood. Nuts were also employed in perhaps the most ancient rite of
divination performed on this night – that of prophesying a
successful marital union. Two nuts, selected by the girl and her
proposed match, were put into the fire. If they lay still and burned
together, it was a sign of a happy marriage or a hopeful love. If
they bounced and jumped apart, it was considered to be a sign of
ill-omen. From this practice, and
from cracking nuts with the teeth,
came the rather charming appellation of ‘Nutcrack Night’. John
Gay (1685-1732)
described the custom quite beautifully in his poem, ‘Spell’.
‘Two hazel nuts I threw into the flame,
And to each nut I gave a sweetheart’s name,
This with the loudest bounce me sore amaz’d,
That in a flame of brightest colour blaz’d;
As blaz’d the fat, so may thy passion grow,
For t’was thy nut that did so brightly glow!’
The
nutty proceedings,
however, were
not the first to be
performed. The
foremost and first act of the evening was for the younger members of
the party to proceed into the garden. With eyes tightly closed, they
groped to the cabbage patch, where they each pulled up a stock. These
were then examined on their return to the house. The shape of each
stock was said to determine the figure of the maid or youth’s
future husband or wife. Thomas
Pennant, in his Tour In Scotland
of 1769, confirms this practice, saying: ‘The young
people determine the figure and size of their husbands by drawing
cabbages blindfold on All-Hallows Even...’
Then it was time to gather about the roaring fire and, with each
person given a certain number of nuts, one boy and one girl put
one nut into the fire, in an alternative version of the above ritual.
Depending on how seriously this was taken, the outcome could cause
much hilarity, happiness or horror!
Next,
a barrel of water was produced containing a few apples bobbing on the
surface. The young gentlemen of the company then ducked for them in
the time-honoured manner, their hands behind their back while they
tried to catch them with their teeth. The apples thus claimed were
given to the ladies, who,
according to the old
superstition, then lit a candle and went alone to a room. Here,
before a looking-glass, each combed her hair whilst eating the apple,
in order to see the face of her future husband peeping over her shoulder.
Three dishes were then placed on a
table. One contained clean water, one dirty water and one nothing at
all. Blindfolded, the young gentlemen were led to the table to dip a
finger in one bowl. This was repeated three times, with the bowls in
different positions. If the gentleman dipped his finger in the clean
water, it was a sign his future wife would be a pretty young girl; if
he chose the dirty water, she would be a widow; and if fate gave him
the empty bowl, he was destined to remain a bachelor.
After this came the second
apple-catching tradition, one
of great antiquity. From a length of thin rope or cord, a crossed
stick was suspended from the ceiling or horizontal beam. At the four
ends were hung, alternately, an apple and a lit candle. The cross was
then set spinning, and while it was whirling, the maids and their
swains tried to catch the apples with their mouths without being
burned. This activity may be likened to the ancient game of Quintain.
John Stow describes the sport, the province of squires and young
knights in medieval England, in his Survey of London.
‘I have seen a quinten set up on Cornehill, by the Leaden Hall,
where the attendants on the lords of merry disports have runne and
made greate pastime; for he that hit not the broad end of the quinten
was of all men laughed to scorne; and he that hit it full, if he rid
not the faster, had a sound blow in his necke with a bag full of sand
hanged on the other end.’
Different
parts of the kingdom and, indeed, different countries, have different
ceremonies and traditions. The inhabitants of St. Kilda, stated
Martin Martin in 1703,
observed the festival of All Saints by baking ‘a large
Cake, in form of a Triangle, furrowed round,’
and that ‘it must be all eaten that Night.’
This tradition, says a
correspondent in The
Gentleman’s Magazine Vol. LX, Part II
for 1790, had travelled
to Ripon in Yorkshire, where
‘On the eve of All Saints
the good women make a cake for every one in the family; so
this is generally called cake-night.’ John
Brand, in Popular Antiquities of Great Britain,
1813, adds, ‘There was formerly a custom in Warwickshire
to have Seed Cake at Allhallows [sic],
at the end of wheat seed-time...’
It was also the tradition in Scotland to light bonfires in every
village. Once the fire had been consumed, the ashes were carefully
drawn into a circle, and a stone placed near the edge for every
person of those families taking part. Any stone moved or damaged by
the following morning indicated that person to be fey and they were then expected
not to live above a twelvemonth from that day. The bonfire was lit by
consecrated fire received from the Druid priests and was supposed to
remain for a year.
A similar tradition was upheld in North Wales, where a fire was lit
on All Hallow Even, under the name of Coel Coeth. This was done in
the most conspicuous position near each house and then kept burning
for about an hour during the night. Once almost out, each person
flung a white stone, previously marked, into the ashes. The company
then paced about the embers, saying their prayers, before retiring to
bed. Early the following morning they searched for the stones, the
firm belief being that should any stone be missing, the one to whom
it belonged would die before All Saints’ Eve could come again.
Spooky!
On
the subject of foretelling the future, though, not everyone approved.
John Platt, as a minister of the church clearly did not and neither,
it seems, did Robert Burns.
‘“The passion of prying into futurity,” says Mr. Burns,
“makes a striking part of the history of human nature, in its rude
state, in all ages and nations; and it may be some entertainment to a
philosophic mind to see the remains of it among the more
unenlightened in our own.”’
I wonder what they would think if they could see the ghoulish, vampiric, tricking, pumpkin-grinning and treating celebration it has become?
© Heather King
All images are in the public domain.
