One small creature - important to our forebears because of its alleged magical powers - is seldom discussed in superstitious circles these days, although it is of immense interest to environmentalists and wildlife enthusiasts who are battling to preserve its habitat and save it from extinction. Nonetheless, the sight of a colourful butterfly alighting on a fragrant bush or flower is still one of the most enchanting spectacles of the English summer months, and it is easy to understand why this delicate and beautiful insect was once treated with such enormous respect.
Ancient Shamanistic religions believed that a human spirit could briefly leave the body and acquire supreme wisdom. One such fable tells of a young man who drifted into a deep sleep beneath the warm afternoon sun and dreamt he was a butterfly. In his vision he fluttered over a wide river, through a lush forest and in through the window of a glorious palace with many rooms. Upon waking, his companion excitedly told him that as he slumbered, she had noticed a beautiful butterfly emerge from his mouth. The creature had flown over a small brook and danced amongst the blades of grass on the other side before disappearing into the gleaming white skull of a dead horse. At hearing this, the young man became alarmed, but his companion merely smiled and said, "Do not fear, you and I have both seen a miracle. We shall never take the beauty of our world for granted ever again" - and the young man knew this was true.
A great many superstitions that existed in rural England during the nineteenth century have now died out, yet there are people alive who can recall the myths surrounding butterflies and moths. Old folk in Northamptonshire and the northern counties of England may recollect that the appearance of a trio of butterflies was considered a particularly bad omen, often held to presage misfortune and occasionally death.
On 12th July 1890, readers of The Hospital Nursing Supplement were informed:
"A white butterfly settles on White Parsley growing near. It is the first I have seen this year, so I shall eat white bread till Spring comes round again, which does not seem such an advantage as in olden days. Of course, everybody knows that a brown butterfly means brown bread."
This superstition appears to have originated in Gloucestershire, where the locals believed that if the first butterfly to appear in the spring were white, they would eat only white bread and have good luck. If, however, the first butterfly were brown, they would eat only brown bread and have bad luck.
There are various beliefs surrounding the death of a butterfly, yet by far the most common is the one relating to the first butterfly of the year killed by human hand. In 1827, the following passage appeared in Hone’s Devonshire Table Book:
"Tis a butterfly, miss, the furst hee’th a zeed for the year; and they zay that a body will have cruel bad luck if a dit’en kill a furst zeeth."
Roughly translated this meant that should a person fail to kill the first butterfly of the season, they should expect to be plagued by ill fortune throughout the remaining months of the year.
In 1937, the diaries of Francis Kilvert (a nineteenth century clergyman living in Wales) were published in three volumes. In one particular entry for 1874, he recorded a conversation he overheard between two boys at Chippenham Station in Wiltshire.
“Was that the first butterfly thee’st seed this year?” “Ees,” replied the second boy. The first boy looked amazed. "Why didn’st kill him then?” “What for?” enquired the second boy. “Cause theed’s had good luck, mon,” replied the first. At this the second boy cried, “Don’t tell I, I know thee woulds’t then have good luck too."
The people of Sussex were at one time familiar with a rather grizzly little rhyme, which was first published by E.V. Lucas in 1904:
The first butterfly you see,
Cut off his head across your knee,
Bury the head under a stone
And plenty of money will be your own
In 1944, the same superstition prompted Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, the English critic and novelist who published under the pseudonym of ‘Q’, to recount the following event in Short Stories:
“One Saturday afternoon the mason came over to look at the ground. It was bright weather, and while the two men talked a white butterfly floated past them – the first of the year. Immediately the mason broke off his sentence and began to chase the butterfly round the garden: for in the West country there is a superstition that if a body neglect to kill the first butterfly he may see... he will have ill luck throughout the year.”
If you had lived in Somerset early last century, you may have heard a slight variation on the same theme. The first butterfly would bring you good luck if you were able to catch it, however, if you failed, you would still be granted a single wish.