EVIL EYE
After the long existence in this country of Christianity, while we talk composedly of the superstitions of the heathen and of other Christian nations, we are apt to forget our own, or if we speak of them, we look on them pityingly as peculiar to some individuals of whose opinion we reckon little. In towns, and among those who read many books, the constant friction of man against man hinders the survival of a belief in such a thing as the Evil Eye, now that a certain quantity of education is common property. Where the incidents of life are less crowded, and individual experiences are rarer and at longer intervals, that is, in country districts and especially in the more mountainous and less closely populated, the Evil Eye has yet in Scotland many believers, and consequently considerable influence. Such a remark as the following, made to a minister, is not so rare as one might suppose: “Nae doot whatever Mac had the Evil Eye, that’s certain. I have known many cases when a calf, or even a cow, died the day after he looked at her.” Another said of the same: “I was once in the dairy when he came in. ‘You should not have let that bad man in,’ said Nancy MacIntyre to me. ‘Why?’ said I. ‘Because he has an Evil Eye,’ said she. Now, I will not say that this was true, but this I know, that on that very day one of the cows bursted, and died from eating clover. What do ye say to that?”
Another sample is the following: A farmer’s son, whose father had lost a horse, was thus addressed by a neighbour, “You had a horse that was ill, is it better?” “Oh no, it is dead.” “You are unfortunate this year. Isn’t that four that have died on you?” “Yes, but we know now what was wrong with them.” “Weel, that’s well; ye’ll know what to do should any more take ill. What was wrong with them?” “They were air-an-cronachadh” (harmed). “Such nonsense! there is nothing of that now.” The lad did not agree with this, said they knew who did it, and the lad’s interrogator’s mother-in-law joined in the conversation, agreeing as to the correctness of the diagnosis; and the doubter rejoined, “Well, if you are all against me, I may stop.”
An Argyllshire islander says:—
“Tha buideachas uile air falbh anis agus is math gu bheil, oir be ni olc a bha ann. Ach, ma dh’fhalbh sin, tha rud eile nach d’fhalbh fathast, agus ‘se sin cronachadh. Chunnaic m’i ann mo thigh fein mucuircean, agus thainig ban-choimhearsnach a steach latha, agus thubhairt i gum bu mhuc ciatach a bha’n sin. ‘Tha i gle mhath,’ fhreagair mi fhein. Well, chaidh am boireannach a mach, agus cha robh i tiota air falbh, nur a thug a mhuc an aon sgreach aisde agus air dol mun cuairt dith, thuit i air an urlar. Le so, thainig D. ‘ac A. a stigh, agus fheoraich e ‘Co an t-aon mu dheireadh a chunnaic a mhuc?’ Dh’ innis mi fhein dha, gum be a leithid so ‘a bhean. ‘Mata’ ars esan, ‘s ise rinn an t-olc. Ach ma tha uillidh sam bi lar ruit, cha chreid mi gum bi mise fada ga cuir ceirt. Fhuair mi dha uillidh nam piocach, agus ghabh e a mhuc eadar a dha chois, agus thaom e lan copa dheth na beul. Thug a mhuc reibhig, agus shaoil mi fhein gu robh i air chuthach ach ann a’ mionaid a dh’uine, bha i ceirt gu leoir; Nis, nach be sud an droch bhean?”
(“Witchcraft is all gone now, and it is well it is, for it was a bad thing. But if that is gone, there is another thing that has not gone yet, and that is Cronachadh. I saw a breeding sow in my own house, and one day a neighbour came in, and she said that that was a splendid sow. I answered that she was very good. Well, the woman went out, and she was no time away when the sow gave such a scream, and going round about she fell on the floor. With this D. Mac A. came in, and he asked who was the last person that had seen the sow. I told him it was such and such a woman. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘it was she that did the harm, but if you have any oil beside you, I believe I shall not be long putting her right.’ I got saithe oil for him, and he took the sow between his two legs, and poured a cupful into her mouth. She screamed, and I thought she was mad, but in a minute’s time she was all right. Now, wasn’t that the bad woman?”)
A young fellow who had received a liberal education, in fact, a probationer of the Church, the son of a self-made man, fairly well-to-do, avowed his own belief in the Evil Eye. He said in effect: “As sure as you and I are sitting here there is an Evil Eye in it. I know that when I was in Harris, and our M. an infant, there was a certain woman who used to come in pretty often, the sister-in-law of H., you know, and my wife, who you know is not one to tell a lie or speak about these things, told me that every time that woman came in she would be praising the child, and the child was always unwell after it.”
We thus see, though we know that ministers of the Church are by their profession kept in the dark on matters of which they would express unbelief, yet that where a superstition is ingrained in a parishioner it is not concealed from the minister. Ministers may be misled by putting their own interpretation on the form in which the information comes to them. A clergyman in one of the Western Islands said: “I have observed that there is still a strong belief in blighting from the Evil Eye among the people in the parish of K. A respectable and intelligent man whom I visited often during a season of sickness, once and again, when talking about his illness, made the remark ‘fhuair mi cronachadh.’ I always misunderstood what the man meant by cronachadh, taking it in the sense of reproof, and therefore thinking that what was meant was that the sufferer was placed under chastisement by a dispensation of Providence. At last, however, I learned from a third person that the sick man was strongly impressed with the belief that his illness was caused by some evil-intentioned person who had wished him ill.” This suggests witchcraft as much as or even more than the Evil Eye; but the two things run into each other more or less. We have already seen one Gaelic reciter maintaining that witchcraft, buidseachas, did not now exist, but the Evil Eye did. Compare that with this from a native of Uist:—
“Ma ta bha buidseashas ann. Chaidh mi fhein aon latha gu tigh coimhearsnaich airson coileach oig, agus bha laogh aca ceangailte aig cul an doruis. Cha robh mi fada san tigh gus an d’thainig nighean a steach. ’Nuair a fhuair mise an t-eun, dh’fhalbh mi, agus cha robh mi ach beagan uine air falbh ’nuair a dh’fhas an laogh tinn. Chuir muinntir an tighe fios thun boireannach a bha ’n sin, aig an robh sgil mu bhuidseachas, mar bhiodh daoine ’g radh, ga h-iarruidh a thighinn a dh’-amhairc an laogh. Thainig am boireannach, ach ma thainig, bha an laogh marbh mus d’thainig i. Co luath ’s a dh’amhairc i air thubhairt i riutha air an spot gum b’e ’n “suill” a dh’aobhraich am bas. Agus air bharrachd air sin, dh’innis i dhoibh co rinn an gonadh. So mar thubhairt i. “Nach robh dithist bhoireannaich agaibh an so am eigin an diugh?” Agus ’nuair a fhreagair iad gun robh, thubhairt ise. “Bha h-aon diubh soilleir, agus an te eile dorcha. Bha shawl glas air an te shoilleir, agus b’bise a dh’oibrich am buidseachas.”
“Nis bha sin gle fhior, oir bha an nighean a thainig a steach nur bha mise san tigh soilleir, agus bha shawl glas oirre cuideachd.”
“Indeed, witchery was in it. I myself went one day to a neighbour’s house for a young cock, and they had a calf tied behind the door. I was not long in the house till a girl came in. When I got the bird I went away, and I was only a short time away when the calf became unwell. The people of the house sent word to a woman that was there, who had skill of witchery, as people would be saying, asking her to come to look at the calf. The woman came, but if (she) came, the calf was dead before she came. As soon as she looked on it, she said to them on the spot, that it was the ‘Eye’ that caused the death. And more than that, she told them who had done the mischief (wounding). Here is how she said: ‘Have you not had two women here sometime to-day?’ and when they answered that there had been, she said: ‘One of them was fair and the other dark. There was a grey shawl on the fair one, and it was she that wrought the witchery.’ Now that was quite true, for the girl that came in when I was in the house was fair, and there was a grey shawl on her.”
A woman of about sixty-five, a reader of history and Gaelic publications, remembers when the belief in the Evil Eye was so common in Islay, that when any disease came among a person’s cattle, it gave rise at once to a strong suspicion that they had been air an cronachadh. The disease was called “dosgach.” When one would come with the news of disease or death among a neighbour’s cattle, the person to whom it was told would say, “Mach an dosgach a so”; or, “Mach a so an droch sgeul” (“Away the plague from here;” or, “Away the evil news from here.”) At the same time, suiting the action to the words, he would tear some piece off the clothes he had on at the time and throw it into the fire. This was supposed to prevent the evil from coming his way.
Indeed there are very many who still act on the belief expressed in the following, by an old distillery workman, uneducated, but naturally shrewd, though we would say credulous: “They will be saying to me that we have no mention of cronachadh in the Bible, and they will be putting it down my throat, but I tell them that it is there. Both the Evil Eye and Witchcraft were in it from the beginning, and they will be in it till the end.”
We may mention here that there is a very strong belief among many of the influence of the “wish” for good or evil. “B. McL. affirms that if she wishes ill to any person ill is sure to follow, and if she wishes well good will come of it. She maintained that a person, lately dangerously ill, owed her recovery to her good wishes.” A person has only to maintain this view, and the superstitious will probably find reasons for believing that it is true. This, however, opens the question of the guidhe (imprecation or intercession, as the case may be), and there are not a few who are applied to to make guidhes of both sorts.
We must consider the meaning of the terms used.
In South Argyllshire the common expression regarding a person or thing affected is that it is air a chronachadh, or, as another in Northern Argyll expressed it, air a chronachen. Cron means a fault or defect, and the verb used seems to be an expression of the opinion that something is wrong with the object, the usual meaning of the word being best translated “reproved,” or “rebuked”; the speaker, as it were, finding some fault in the person or thing spoken to, he sees that it is faulty, and says so. In the case of a person with an Evil Eye, he actually causes defect to the object. Now the same would be true of black magic; thus, air a chronachadh is as apposite to a person affected by witchcraft as by the Evil Eye. It is necessary therefore to distinguish, when one hears of a case of cronachadh, whether it is by mischievous intention or not; and this is done sometimes by the reciter. Thus, a person consulted to cure an animal affected, when telling who it was that was to blame for the evil, said: “Well, ’se duine le ceann dubh a chronaich do bho leis an droch shuil” (“Well, it is a man with a black head that has injured your cow, with the Evil Eye”).
In many districts this expression would merely convey the idea of rebuke (Tyree, Lewis, Dornoch, Kiltearn). In these places the expression usually is Luidh droch shuil air (An evil eye rested on him). In Easter Ross, a person desirous of avoiding reflections would say: “Cha’n eil mi cuir mo shuil ann” (“I am not putting my eye in it”). Even in Arisaig in Southern Inverness-shire, marching with Argyllshire, they use this expression only.
We have already given above, from Uist, an instance in which the speaker simply called it “the Eye,” neither qualifying it as good or bad.
The rapidity of the action is sometimes expressed thus:—A healer called in, said in one case: “Teum do bho, a bhean,” equivalent to saying, “Your cow is bitten or stung,” the word teum being also applied to something snatched. The operation of the Evil Eye in Uist is described by a parallel phrase, air a ghonadh (stabbed), an expression which has been used in Kintyre as synonymous with cronachadh, though there it generally expresses pain felt either bodily or mentally.
An elderly woman, a native of Duthill, Inverness-shire, while stating that there were “plenty of people round about us here who have got the Evil Eye and hurt both cattle and people with it,” gave the following as the expressions used when mentioning it:—
Thuit droch shuil air (An evil eye fell on him).
Ghabh an droch shuil e (The evil eye took him).
Laidh droch shuil air (An evil eye settled on him).
Bhuail droch shuil e (An evil eye struck him).
In the part of Ireland nearest to Scotland at any rate, and so far as the writer knows also in other places, the expression used in English is “blinked.” The readiest conclusion come to as to what is wrong with a sick cow is that “she has been blinked.” Blinked milk, therefore, is milk which yields no butter. Blinked beer, beer which has become sour.
All these expressions, then, of the action of an suil dona, the common expression in part of Inverness-shire, which, seeing “Donas” is the Devil, we might translate the “diabolical eye,” evidently point to the fact that a mere look will do the damage; so the remark of the Islay man, “Ni an fheadhainn aig am bheil an t-suil so cron air beathach neo duine ged nach dean iad ach amhairc orra” (“Those who have this eye will do injury to beast or person, though they do nothing but look on them”), expresses clearly what seems to have been the original notion conveyed in the expressions used.
A strange charm for the closure of the eye was expressed in Arran by the following saying: “Cronachadh air do shuil, cac eun air muin sin” (“Ill on your eye, birds’ excrement on the back of that”). This was an old practice, according to the reciter, who is a woman of about eighty. The account she gave was as follows:—Her father had bought some cattle at the market. “They were fine beasts, and the servantman and I, then a young girl, were driving them home. When we were passing King’s Cross a man stood and looked keenly at them. The servantman did not like this, and turning towards him said the words recited.” They were avowedly used to save the cattle from being hurt by the man’s eye, and as the old lady said, “Whether that saved them or no I could not tell, but in any case we reached home safely and no harm came to the cows.”
The Islay expression already quoted, Mach an dosgach, contains within it the suggestion of evil coming to the unprotected, Dosgadh (calamity, misfortune), etymologically having the signification, without protection.[3] Subsequently we will find that no grown person need be unprotected if he will take a very small amount of trouble.
[3] Macbain, “Etymological Dictionary of the Gaelic Language.“
Another Arran formula used in connection with the Evil Eye, and said to be protective, was mentioned in an account of a shepherd who lived in the island, said to have an Evil Eye. He could hurt cattle, and also cure the effect of the Evil Eye of another. The reciter said he was a queer fellow, and remembers him at the first Cattle Show ever he (reciter) attended, and being frightened by being addressed, with other boys, for being in his road: “Mach a sin leibh. Cha’n ann airson an itheadh a tha iad” (“Out of that with you. They are not for eating”), said the shepherd, as he drove his cattle. His mentioning eating recalled to the boys’ minds his Evil Eye, and the following formula to be repeated in cases of cronachadh. “Ma dh’itheas iad thu, gun sgeith iad thu, agus gun garbh sgeith iad thu” (“If they eat you, may they vomit you, and roughly vomit you”). This seems to be chaff from non-believers to believers, possibly also the case with the formula above, more than a thing really said with a belief in its curative power.