The Child and Childhood in Folk-Thought by Alexander F. Chamberlain (read full novel txt) 📖

the Middle Ages, when mothers abandoned their infants, they used to place beside them a little salt in token that they were unbaptized (326. I. 284); in Scotland, where the newborn babe is “bathed in salted water, and made to taste it three times, because the water was strengthening and also obnoxious to a person with the evil eye,” the lady of the house first visited by the mother and child must, with the recital of a charm, put some salt in the little one’s mouth. In Brabant, during the baptismal ceremony, the priest consecrates salt, given him by the father, and then puts a grain into the child’s mouth, the rest being carefully kept by the father. The great importance of salt in the ceremonies of the Zuñi and related Indians of the Pueblos has been pointed out by Mr. Gushing.

Salt appears also at modern European wedding-feasts and prenuptial rites, as do also rice and meal, which are also among the first foods of some primitive races. Among the Badagas of the Nilgiri Hills, when the child is named (from twenty to thirty days after birth), the maternal uncle places three small bits of rice in its mouth (326. I. 284).

 

Folk-Medicine.

Among the Tlingit Indians, of Alaska, the newborn infant “is not given the breast until all the contents of its stomach (which are considered the cause of disease) are removed by vomiting, which is promoted by pressing the stomach” (403. 40), and among the Hare Indians, “the infant is not allowed food until four days after birth, in order to accustom it to fasting in the next world” (396. I. 121). The Songish Indians do not give the child anything to eat on the first day (404. 20); the Kolosh Indians, of Alaska, after ten to thirty months “accustom their children to the taste of a sea-animal,” and, among the Arctic Eskimo, Kane found “children, who could not yet speak, devouring with horrible greediness, great lumps of walrus fat and flesh.” Klutschak tells us how, during a famine, the Eskimo of Hudson’s Bay melted and boiled for the children the blood-soaked snow from the spot where a walrus had been killed and cut up (326. II. 181).

In Culdaff, in the county of Donegal, Ireland, “an infant at its birth is forced to swallow spirits, and is immediately afterwards [strange anticipation of Dr. Robinson] suspended by the upper jaw on the nurse’s forefinger. Whiskey is here the representative of the Hindu sôma, the sacred juice of the ash, etc., and the administration of alcoholic liquors to children of a tender age in sickness and disease so common everywhere but a few years ago, founded itself perhaps more upon this ancient belief than upon anything else” (401. 180).

The study of the food of sick children is an interesting one, and much of value may be read of it in Zanetti (173), Black (401), and other writers who have treated of folk-medicine. The decoctions of plants and herbs, the preparations of insects, reptiles, the flesh, blood, and ordure of all sorts of beasts (and of man), which the doctrines of signatures and sympathies, the craze of similia similibus, forced down the throat of the child, in the way of food and medicine, are legion in number, and must be read in Folkard and the herbalists, in Bourke (407), Strack, etc.

In some parts of the United States even snail-water and snail-soup are not unknown; in New England, as Mrs. Earle informs us (221. 6), much was once thought of “the admirable and most famous snail-water.”

 

Milk and Honey.

As we have abundantly seen, the first food of the child is the “food of the gods,” for so were honey and milk esteemed among the ancient Germans, Greeks, Slavs, Hindus, etc., and of the Paradise where dwelt the Gods, and into which it was fabled children were born, we have some recollection, as Ploss suggests, in the familiar “land flowing with milk and honey,” into the possession of which the children of Israel entered after their long wandering in the wilderness (462. II. 696). Of the ancient Hindu god Agni, Letourneau (100. 315) observes: “After being for a long time fed upon melted butter and the alcoholic liquor from the acid asclepias, the sacred Sôma, he first became a glorious child, then a metaphysical divinity, a mediator living in the fathers and living again in the sons.” It was the divine Sôma that, like the nectar of the Greeks, the elixirs of the Scandinavians, conferred youth and immortality upon those who drank it.

According to Moslem legend, after his birth, Abraham “remained concealed in a cave during fifteen months, and his mother visited him sometimes to nurse him. But he had no need of her food, for Allah commanded water to flow from one of Abraham’s fingers, milk from another, honey from the third, the juice of dates from the fourth, and butter from the fifth”

(547. 69).

 

Poison.

In the Gesta Romanorum (Cap. XI.) we read of the “Queen of the North,” who “nourished her daughter from the cradle upon a certain kind of deadly poison; and when she grew up, she was considered so beautiful, that the sight of her alone affected one with madness.” Moreover, her whole nature had become so imbued with poisons that “she herself had become the deadliest poison in existence. Poison was her element of life. With that rich perfume of her breath she blasted the very air. Her love would have been poison, her embrace death.” Hawthorne’s story of “Rappaccini’s Daughter,”—“who ever since infancy had grown and blossomed with the plants whose fatal properties she had imbibed with the air she breathed,”—comes from the same original source (390. II. 172). Here we are taken back again to the Golden Age, when even poisons could be eaten without harm.

 

Priest and Food.

With the giving of the child’s food the priest is often associated. In the Fiji Islands, at Vitilevu, on the day when the navel-string falls off, a festival is held, and the food of the child is blest by the priest with prayers for his life and prosperity. In Upper Egypt, a feast is held at the house of the father and the child consecrated by the cadi or a priest, to whom is brought a plate with sugar-candy. The priest chews the candy and lets the sweet juice fall out of his mouth into that of the child, and thus “gives him his name out of his mouth” (326. I.

284).

 

The over-indulgence of children in food finds parallels at a later period of life, when, as with the people of southern Nubia and the Sahara between Talifet and Timbuktu, men fatten girls before marriage, making them consume huge quantities of milk, butter, etc.

For children, among many primitive peoples, there are numerous taboos of certain classes and kinds of food, from religious or superstitious motives. This taboo-system has not lost all its force even to-day, as no other excuse can reasonably be offered for the refusal of certain harmless food to the young.

 

Tobacco.

Concerning certain Australian tribes, Lumholtz remarks: “Before the children are big enough to hold a pipe in their mouth they are permitted to smoke, and the mother will share her pipe with the nursing babe” (495. 193). In like manner, among the natives of the Solomon Islands, Mr. Guppy witnessed displays of precocity in this regard: “Bright-looking lads, eight or nine years of age, stood smoking their pipes as gravely as Haununo [a chief] himself; and even the smallest babe in its father’s arms caught hold of his pipe and began to suck instinctively” (466.42). With the Jivaro Indians of Ecuador, according to Simson, the child, when three or four years old, is initiated into the mysteries of tobacco-smoking, amid great festivities and ceremonies

(533. 388).

 

Drink of Immortality.

Feeding the dead has been in practice among many primitive peoples. The mother, with some of the Indian tribes of New Mexico, used to drop milk from her breast on the lips of her dead babe; and in many parts of the world we meet with the custom of placing food near the grave, so that the spirits may not hunger, or of placing it in the grave or coffin, so that on its way to the spirit-land the soul of the deceased may partake of some refreshment. Among the ancient natives of Venezuela, “infants who died a few days after their birth, were seated around the Tree of Milk, or Celestial Tree, that distilled milk from the extremity of its branches”; and kindred beliefs are found elsewhere (448. 297).

We have also the tree associated beautifully with the newborn child, as Reclus records concerning the Todas of the Nilgiri Hills, in India: “Immediately the deliverance has taken place—it always happens in the open air—three leaves of the aforementioned tree [under which the mother and father have passed the night] are presented to the father, who, making cups of them, pours a few drops of water into the first, wherewith he moistens his lips; the remainder he decants into the two other leaves; the mother drinks her share, and causes the baby to swallow his. Thus, father, mother, and child, earliest of Trinities, celebrate their first communion, and drink the living water, more sacred than wine, from the leaves of the Tree of Life” (523. 201).

The sacred books of the Hebrews tell us that the race of man in its infancy became like the gods by eating of the fruit of the tree of knowledge, and in the legends of other peoples immortality came to the great heroes by drinking of the divine sap of the sacred tree, or partaking of some of its fruit. The ancient Egyptians believed that milk from the breast of the divine mother Isis conferred divinity and immortality upon him who drank of it or imbibed it from the sacred source. Wiedemann aptly compares with this the Greek story of the infancy of Hercules. The great child-hero was the son of the god Jupiter and Alcmena, daughter of Electryon, King of Argos. He was exposed by his mother, but the goddess Athene persuaded Hera to give him her breast (another version says Hermes placed Hercules on the breast of Hera, while she slept) and the infant Hercules drew so lustily of the milk that he caused pain to the goddess, who snatched him away. But Hercules had drunk of the milk of a goddess and had become immortal, and as one of the gods (167. 266).

 

CHAPTER X.

 

CHILDREN’S SOULS.

The soul that rises with us, our life’s star, Hath elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar.—_Wordsworth_.

And rest at last where souls unbodied dwell In ever-flowing meads of Asphodel. —_Homer (Pope’s Transl_.).

 

Baptism.

With certain Hindu castes, the newborn child is sprinkled with cold water, “in order that the soul, which, since its last existence, has remained in a condition of dreamy contemplation, may be brought to the consciousness that it has to go through a new period of trial in this corporeal world” (326. II. 13). Perhaps, among the myriad rites and ceremonies of immersion and sprinkling to which the infant is submitted with other primitive peoples, some traces of similar beliefs may be found.

When the new world-religion was winning its way among the gentiles, baptism was the great barrier erected between the babe and the power of ill, spirits of air, earth, and water, survivals of old heathenism antagonistic to Christianity. Before that holy rite was performed, the child lay exposed to all their machinations. Baptism was the armour of the infant against the assaults of Satan and his angels, against the cunning of the wanderers from elfin-land, the fairy-sprites, with their changelings and their impish tricks.

Hence, the souls