It is also thought that the cocks crow all night at Christmas, and Bourne says, anent this belief, that it was about the time of cock crowing when our Saviour was born, and the heavenly host had then descended to sing the first Christmas carol to the poor shepherds in the fields of Bethlehem.
Shakespeare mentions this popular tradition in Hamlet, act i. sc. i.:—
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Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long: And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad; The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. |
But there is yet another legend of cock-crowing which is found in a carol for St. Stephen's Day, temp. Henry VI.:—
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Saint Stephen was a clerk In King Herod his hall, And served him of bread and cloth, As ever King befall. Stephen out of kitchen came With boar his head on hand, He saw a star was fair and bright Over Bethlem stand. He cast adown the boar his head, And went into the hall. "I forsake thee, King Herod, And thy works all. "I forsake thee, King Herod, And thy works all, There is a Child in Bethlem born, Is better than we all." "What aileth thee, Stephen, What is thee befall? Lacketh thee either meat or drink, In King Herod his hall?" "Lacketh me neither meat nor drink, In King Herod his hall; There is a Child in Bethlem born, Is better than we all." "What aileth thee, Stephen, Art thou wode,[47] or ginnest to brede[48] Lacketh thee either gold or fee, Or any rich weed?"[49] "Lacketh me neither gold nor fee, Nor none rich weed, There is a child in Bethlem born Shall help us at our need." "That is all so sooth, Stephen, All so sooth, I wis, As this capon crow shall, That lyeth here in my dish." That word was not so soon said, That word in that hall, The Capon crew, Christus natus est! Among the lords, all. Riseth up my tormentors, By two, and all by one, And leadeth Stephen out of this town And stoneth him with stone. Tooken they Stephen And stoned him in the way, And therefore is his even, On Christ his own day. |
There are several minor legends of animals and Christ-tide—for instance, at this time the bees are said to hum the Old Hundredth Psalm, but this is mild to what Olaus Magnus tells us Of the Fiercenesse of Men, who by Charms are turned into Wolves:—"In the Feast of Christ's Nativity, in the night, at a certain place, that they are resolved upon amongst themselves, there is gathered together such a huge multitude of Wolves changed from men, that dwell in divers places, which afterwards, the same night, doth so rage with wonderfull fiercenesse, both against mankind, and other creatures that are not fierce by nature, that the Inhabitants of that country suffer more hurt from them than ever they do from the true natural Wolves. For, as it is proved, they sit upon the houses of men that are in the Woods, with wonderfull fiercenesse, and labour to break down the doors, whereby they may destroy both men and other creatures that remain there.
"They go into the Beer-Cellars, and there they drink out some Tuns of Beer or Mede, and they heap al the empty vessels one upon another in the midst of the Cellar, and so leave them; wherin they differ from the natural and true Wolves. But the place, where, by chance they stayed that night, the Inhabitants of those Countries think to be prophetical; Because, if any ill successe befall a Man in that place; as if his Cart overturn, and he be thrown down in the Snow, they are fully persuaded that man must die that year, as they have, for many years, proved it by experience. Between Lituania, Samogetia and Curonia, there is a certain wall left, of a Castle that was thrown down; to this, at a set time, some thousands of them come together, that each of them may try his nimblenesse in leaping. He that cannot leap over this wall, as commonly the fat ones cannot, are beaten with whips by their Captains."
There is a story told of another Magnus, only in this case it was a Saint of that name. On Christmas eve, in the year 1012, a party of about thirty-three young men and women were merrily dancing in the churchyard of a certain church, dedicated to St. Magnus. A priest was at his devotions inside the church, and was so much disturbed by their merriment that he sent to them, asking them to desist for a while. But of this they took no heed, although the message was more than once repeated. Thereupon, waxing indignant, the holy man prayed his patron saint, St. Magnus, to visit the offenders with condign punishment. His prayer was heard, and the result was that the festive crew could not leave off dancing. For twelve whole months they continued dancing; night and day, winter and summer, through sunshine or storm, they had to prance. They knew no weariness, they needed no rest, nor did their clothes or boots wear out; but they wore away the surface of the earth so much that at the end of the twelvemonths they were in a hole up to their middles. The legend goes on to say, that on the expiration of their Terpsichorean punishment they slept continuously for three days and nights.
There are some curious legends of underground bells which sound only at Christmas. A writer in Notes and Queries (5 series, ii. 509) says—"Near Raleigh, Notts, there is a valley said to have been caused by an earthquake several hundred years ago, which swallowed up a whole village, together with the Church. Formerly, it was a custom of the people to assemble in this valley every Christmas Day morning to listen to the ringing of the bells of the Church beneath them. This, it was positively stated, might be heard by placing the ear to the ground, and hearkening attentively. As late as 1827 it was usual on this morning for old men and women to tell their children and young friends to go to the valley, stoop down, and hear the bells ring merrily. The villagers heard the ringing of the bells of a neighbouring church, the sound of which was communicated by the surface of the ground. A similar belief exists, or did, a short time ago, at Preston, Lancashire."
This legend is not peculiar to England, for there is the same told of a place in the Netherlands, named Been, near Zoutleeuw, now engulphed in the ocean. It was a lovely and a stately city, but foul with sin, when our Lord descended to earth upon a Christmas night to visit it. All the houses were flaming with lights, and filled with luxury and debauchery; and, as our Lord, in the guise of a beggar, passed from door to door, there was not found a single person who would afford Him the slightest relief. Then, in His wrath, He spoke one word, and the waves of the sea rushed over the wicked city, and it was never seen more; but the place where it was immersed is known by the sound of the church bells coming up through the waters on a Christmas night.