# Transactions of the Second International Folk-Congress/The Historical Aspect of Folk-Lore

THE HISTORICAL ASPECT OF FOLK-LORE.
By DAVID MacRITCHIE.
Although what is known as folk-lore, or popular belief, has been regarded from various points of view, from which it has been studied by many very eminent students, the importance of that phase of it which may be described as "traditional history" does not appear to me to have yet received due recognition. For, of course, folk-lore, in one of its aspects, is history; and, conversely, every account professing to be historical, but not written immediately after the occurrence of the events chronicled, is, in a measure, folk-lore. Such accounts as those of the Gaelic "seannachies", which have been transmitted from father to son for many generations, but only recently committed to paper, are both unquestionably folk-lore, and at the same time, though with less certainty, history. And the same may be said of many other professedly historical works.
Now, the important point is. How much of this "traditional history" is reliable? How far does the popular memory go back, with precision? That it may be trusted, within certain limits, is undeniable. For example, there may be men yet living in the neighbourhood of Waterloo who remember the great battle of 1815. Moreover, they may remember this or that detail of the fight that has never yet been placed on record. The right of such men to be regarded as actual historians, so long as they retain their faculties, cannot be disputed. What they relate is equally folk-lore and history. And the story related by them is also history, although it may be re-told by their sons or their grandsons. I have recently read of a Suffolk labourer who died in the year 1853, almost a centenarian, and who was once asked by the clergyman of his parish, "What is the earliest thing you can remember to have heard of?" "When I was a big bor," he answered, "I've heard my grandfather say he could remember the Dutch king comin' over." And, adds the narrator, by the register's ​showing, it was really quite possible. Now, had this man been asked anything about William of Orange, he would probably have professed entire ignorance of that personage. But, even although he had never opened a book in his life, he would have stoutly maintained that in or about the seventeenth century a certain king came over from Holland to ascend the British throne. Which was undoubtedly the case. Thus, what we know from books, he knew from tradition. Similarly, I have read of a peasant in Sussex, who, within the last few years, when in conversation with an archaeologist, referred to William the Conqueror as "Duke William" This term, we may be sure, he never learned in any school but that of tradition. Yet, by using this expression, he preserved the memory of an actual historical fact—the arrival in Sussex of "Duke "William of Normandy", not "William I of England". In both of these cases, then, tradition, or folk-lore, was history.
But in these two cases folk-lore has only preserved what was otherwise known by written chronicle. The latter substantiates the former. Yet, if the popular memory may be trusted so far, ought it not to be trusted farther? May tradition not have preserved some things, perhaps many things, that written history has overlooked? One interesting piece of evidence in this direction is supplied in my own experience.
Some years ago I was engaged in tracing the genealogy of a certain family, which I may call Family A. This family was socially of too little importance, during the past seven or eight generations, to find a place in even local history—that is to say, printed history. But it had retained, together with various family papers dating back to the year 1685, a certain family tradition, handed down from father to son. This was to the effect that the family was descended from an important clan, which I shall call B., and that the surname borne by Family A. had previously been that of the chiefs of the Clan B., from whom they believed themselves descended. Owing, it was said, to some family feud, the ancestors of this minor family had relinquished their former surname, and assumed that of A., now borne by their descendants. Now, although the history of this important clan. Clan B., had recently been written by a gentleman very well qualified for the task, that history contained no reference to anyone of the ​surname A., and the historian himself knew nothing whatever of even an alleged connection between that family and the Clan B. Yet, after an interesting correspondence with that gentleman, and after some research on his part and mine, we found that various entries in public records, some relating to transference of land, others to marriages, others to political events of two or three centuries ago, clearly showed that a certain branch, or sub-division, of the Clan B., during the seventeenth century, was accustomed to style itself by the name now borne by the Family A., alternatively with the recognised surname of the clan. In short, the historian of the Clan B. recognised, as beyond a doubt, that, whatever the exact date of the separation, this Family A. was really (what it believed itself to be) a branch of the Clan B., whose surname it had once borne. It is to be remembered that the Family A. possessed not a single written evidence of this ancient connection; and the historian of Clan B. was previously quite ignorant of such a connection. What brought the fact to light was the existence of an oral tradition, reaching back two centuries or more, which, when accepted as a guide, led to the discovery of this truth.
In this instance, then, we see that the memory—what I may call the inherited or transmitted memory—of a family may go back correctly two or three hundred years; and not only, as in the case of the Suffolk peasant, agree with what has already been written down as "History", but, more than that, act as guide towards a "Supplementary History", which otherwise would never be written. And what applies to a family applies also, in this connection, to that larger family which constitutes a tribe or nation.
Two similar examples of the trustworthiness of tradition were recently cited by Sir Herbert Maxwell in his address inaugurating the last meeting of the Royal Archæological Institute: and these go much farther back than any of those I have mentioned. Sir Herbert referred in one instance to a cave on the Wigtownshire coast, which, ten years ago, apparently "differed in no respect from scores of others on the same rocky coast" " But local tradition had assigned to this particular cleft in the rocks the name of St. Ninian—St. Ninian's Cave. There was no evidence beyond tradition of religious occupation, but some local ​antiquaries in 1883 determined to dear out this cave, and verify or confute the tradition if possible; and after much labour, and removal of several hundred tons of earth and fallen rock, they did find ample confirmation of the legends. No fewer than eighteen crosses, carved either upon the walls of the cave or on detached rocks, a pavement, apparently that of a religious cell, and various objects of great interest were found, showing that the tradition had had sufficient vitality to survive the fourteen centuries and a half which had intervened since its occupation by St. Ninian." Another tradition in the same county was to the effect that a certain loch—Dowalton Loch—contained in its depths an ancient village. The loch was drained in the year 1862, though not for archaeological reasons; and the old tradition was verified by the appearance of the remains of an ancient settlement of the lakedwellers.
In the last three instances, then, tradition appears, not as the mere henchman of history, but as the actual leader. Had the statements of the Wigtownshire countryfolk been listened to with respect a century ago, our grandfathers would have increased the sum of their knowledge by the addition of at least two facts. And the situation has its parallel at the present day. Folk-lore, as a popular inheritance, is perishing fast; but there is, I believe, much veritable history yet to be gleaned from it. One cannot, of course, accept all its statements literally; but, because this or that traditional account appears at the first glance incredible, it does not follow that there is no actual germ of truth concealed in it. For example, when one hears some wild story of a dreaded giant or ogre living in a castle surrounded with walls of glass, one knows that, according to modern speech, such a castle could not have existed. But it seems to me that the real explanation of such a statement is indicated by Lady Ferguson, when speaking of the "Fomorians" of Irish tradition and "their famous glass castle upon Tor Inis, or Tory Island", off the north coast of Ireland. This glass castle, she suggests, "may possibly have been a vitrified fort". And this, it appears to me, is the simple solution of the difficulty. Whether Tory Island does contain a vitrified fort, I do not know, but as there are many in the neighbouring district of Galloway, and in Western, Northern, and ​Central Scotland, it is quite likely that one or more may be found in that island. And all these vitrified forts are so many "glass castles". Not "glass" as we now conventionally understand the word, but glass in its cruder form. Thus, the fairy tales which tell of kings or giants dwelling in castles surrounded by walls of glass may be historically true, in so far as concerns the materials of the castle walls. Of course, when a tale has outlived by many centuries the circumstances in which it originated, the truth which it embodies may become gradually enshrouded with error. And in such a case as this one can see how the tale, long surviving the use of vitrified castles—whose very existence became forgotten—would by degrees take on the appearance of impossibility. The walls of an impregnable castle could never have been formed of glass, as that word is understood by modern people; and, owing to this misinterpretation of a word, the modern reciter of the tale and the modern artist, yielding to their own imagination, conspire to render the whole story utterly incredible, as they believe it to be.
Now this solution of the "glass castle" of tradition—which I, at least, am ready to recognise as not only quite reasonable but also probably correct—represents a method which is capable of wide application. That these traditions of the common people are baseless nonsense I do not believe. Sir Walter Scott, by the mouth of his Mrs. Bethune Baliol, makes a remark in this connection which is well worth considering, although it cannot be held to have any direct application to any serious student of folk-lore. "I profess to you," says Mrs. Baliol, in response to the arguments urged by her kinsman in support of the authenticity of tradition, "I profess to you that I am very willing to be converted to your faith. We talk of a credulous vulgar, without always recollecting that there is a vulgar incredulity, which, in historical matters, as well as in those of religion, finds it easier to doubt than to examine, and endeavours to assume the credit of an esprit fort by denying whatever happens to be a little beyond the very limited comprehension of the sceptic." Thus (to apply Mrs. Baliol's dictum to the case just cited), a man of this kind, ignorant of the existence of vitrified forts, will at once dismiss the "glass castles" of tradition as utter nonsense. Whereas a student of tradition, such as Lady Ferguson, will endeavour to find—as in this instance she has ​succeeded, I believe, in finding—a reasonable and plausible explanation of the statement, thereby reducing apparent nonsense to actual sense.
A sceptic of another order, however, equally incredulous but less impatient, will explain the whole difficulty by assuming that the "glass castle"—to pursue this illustration—is the creation of the popular fancy. Now, although I hold no settled opinion on this subject, I am strongly inclined to doubt whether the uncultivated mind is more poetical and imaginative than the cultivated. The play of fancy seems to me much more the outcome of culture than of ignorance; and the imaginative faculty stronger in the gentleman than in the peasant. Unquestionably the lower class is swayed by deep-rooted feelings and beliefs which it cannot explain; but are these not the shadows of what was once substantial? When the Saracen rider used to ask his startled horse, "If he thought King Richard was hiding behind that bush?" or when the Scottish peasant woman frightened her child into obedience with threats of "the Black Douglas", there was, it is true, no real cause for terror in either case, except during the brief lifetime of Richard and Douglas. But Richard and Douglas were not creations of the popular fancy, although the dread of them eventually became a popular imagination.
This last illustration brings me to what I regard as the most interesting phase of this question—the popular recollections of real people, continuing long after those people ceased to exist. Nor is this theme rendered less interesting by the consideration that the features of such people may have become distorted and indistinct through lapse of time; until, like the "glass castles", they may seem, at the first glance, impossibilities or myths. But for their peculiarities, also, a reasonable explanation may be attainable. What folk-lore says of such real, or hypothetically real, people may require much sifting before the grain can be separated from the chaff The popular memory is far from perfect, and real events and real people are not always faithfully remembered by ignorant castes or nations. For example, we know that Columbus and his contemporaries appeared to the natives of the West Indies as supernatural beings, armed with strange power, and borne thither from the sky, or out of the ocean, in their white-winged vessels. Had this intercourse been only temporary, and America not again visited by Europeans until the present century, we should probably ​find the record of those visits and visitors of four centuries ago still preserved in what some would call the "mythology" of the West Indians. Yet we should know that such visits were actual historical events, and that the visitors were ordinary human beings, whose alleged "supernatural" qualities are wholly explainable in the light of our superior knowledge. But it is certain that, if the European records of those visits had accidentally been lost, and if we had long ago forgotten that such visits ever were made, many modern investigators of West Indian folk-lore would at once pronounce those tales of "supernatural" beings to be nothing but the creation of West Indian fancy.
There is, of course, nothing new in the belief that the so-called " mythology" of nations is simply their ancient traditional history more or less distorted. This theory, originated by Euhemerus fifteen centuries ago, has had many exponents; although it is not so much in vogue at the present day as it has been in former times. But, for my own part, I am not concerned in demonstrating that all mythology is nothing but traditional history. Whether so sweeping an assertion can or can not be defended is not the question which interests me primarily. What appears to me the most important view of folk-lore is this: That the first and most natural theme for the tales and traditions of unlettered castes or races is the recital of actual events in their own past, and that therefore no assertion made by tradition ought to be classified as fiction until it is clearly shown that it cannot possibly be grounded on fact. My own impression is that a vast amount of what many people regard as fiction is essentially fact; and, further, that a critical study of many so-called myths will eventually throw a great light upon history. Some of my views in this direction I have recently embodied in a published work, which is known to some gentlemen present—The Testimony of Tradition. I shall not further encroach upon the time of this meeting by any detailed reference to that work, but will merely explain that it deals specially with those traditions referring to the past existence of a race, or races, of dwarfs in Europe; the general correctness of which traditions is best demonstrated by the still-existing chambered mounds and underground chambers ascribed to those people; it being evident that such of those structures as have incontrovertibly been used as dwellings could not, by reason of their dimensions, have been inhabited by any but people of dwarfish size.
Discussion.
Professor A. C. Haddon said, in the course of his studies during the last one or two years he had come to the conclusion that savages never invented, but always copied patterns and designs. In collecting material in a district they would be able to hunt down any pattern or name to its origin (except a zig-zag line which could not be traced), as being originally a representation of some natural object. Therefore, in savage folk-lore, they must in the first place look for some natural original, and only in the second place to fancy. Seeing that they had to deal with a complex matter, he rather reckoned himself on the side of the anthropologists.
Professor John Rhys said that he agreed with everything that Mr. MacRitchie had said. He had just lately published something on the same lines, and there come to the conclusion with regard to fairy tales that the materials certainly come from two sources—perhaps comparatively few from the mere storehouse of imagination, and a good deal more from reflecting the traditions of some ancient race. With regard to dwarfs, the subject was very interesting, and he would like to hear more about it.
Mr. Stuart-Glennie did not think that people imagined things without having a certain basis for their ideas, either in their own experience or that of others. Then exaggeration stepped in, just as in the case of a little boy who, having seen a large brown dog, ran home to tell his mother that he had seen a bear. He believed that fairy tales had originated on the same principle, and he therefore thoroughly agreed with the theory propounded in Mr. MacRitchie's paper.
Miss H. Dempster asked whether she might take the liberty of disagreeing with Mr. MacRitchie's paper. She had spent a great many years in the northern provinces of Sutherlandshire, to collect the native tales for a friend. She had found it a futile task to look for any historical basis for the stories she had found; there was a deeper, nobler, and greater foundation for them than anything we could dignify by the name of history. She thought those stories to -be true. There was certainly a true foundation for them. One was a very wonderful story of a great chief, who, getting into a cave, met the devil in the shape of a yellow dog whom he drove into a cask. But the devil escaped by the bung-hole. He sometimes did now. Upon further investigation she had found that these things were attributed to a certain, keen, grasping, clever Highlander of the hard-headed type, not of the sympathetic type. Patriotic man that he was, he had given his allegiance to William of Orange, for whom he raised a regiment, and who conferred ​great honours upon him, and gave him his title. Now, Miss Dempster asked, was the historical element the peg to hang these wild legends on? All these stories, she contended, were much older; they had some far distant root. According to the German saying, "es liegt ein tiefer Sinn im kind'schen Spiel"; did they not think it possible that there was a higher ground even than history for these stories, that their real root was in the human emotions, in the love of wonder, in the fear of deliverance, in the necessity of the human creature to ally himself with the divine? There had been an allusion to Cupid. That underlied the history of the relation of the sexes, the perpetual mystery. He always came to us as a tree, or a lizard, or something wonderful. Those emotions seemed to her to betray the wish to believe that we are in some way strange beings, and closely related to the beast, the tree, the flower, and the powers of nature. People would always wish to be delivered; they had their hope everywhere, and that would last until there was no more sea.
Mr. Oswald thought that Mr. Stuart-Glennie's illustration of the child's notion of the dog and the bear was a capital mistake: a child knowing a dog, but not knowing a bear, being more apt to exclaim that it had seen a big brown dog when really seeing a bear, than vice versâ. To this Mr. Glennie retorted that the child knew the bear from the picture-books, and that the child's mind being predisposed to exaggerate, he must maintain that his illustration held perfectly good. The incident he had described had actually happened with his own dog.
Mr. Gomme was in doubt whether the historical people to which Mr. MacRitchie had drawn attention were the historical people of fifty or a hundred years ago, or the historical people which we called primitive. He had noticed in the book to which the lecturer had referred, that he started with the consideration of the historical people of fifty or a hundred years ago, and then gradually went back to the prehistoric houses, and one was at a loss to know whether he based his arguments on the aboriginal people or on the people of a hundred years ago. If enlightened on this point, they would be better able to test the theory before them on something like scientific ground. He agreed with the theory when applied to the conditions of the prehistoric race, but he found himself stopped when he applied the same argument to the people of only a century ago.
The Rev. W. S. Lach-Szyrma said, in his studies of folk-lore he had noticed that scenes of horror dwelt more upon the mind than scenes of joy. He had tried to get some traditions of the battle of Sedgemoor in Somerset, and he found them to be very different from those chronicled by history. A child would remember certain things which seemed unimportant to a grown-up person, and thus the child's ​mind of the peasant would remember, and hand down in tradition, things which were not recorded in history.
Mr. Hugh Nevill wished to explain that the belief that people in Ceylon lived in hollow trees had absolutely no foundation. The Ceylonese word for their habitations really meant "rock cave", and from the fact that the word had been translated into "hollow tree", some of our English historians had said that the Ceylonese lived in trees. Seeing that such a mistake had occurred, the idea suggested itself whether such a thing might not also have happened in folk-lore, and that, for instance, the word "glass tower" had perhaps never had the meaning which we now associated with it.