The young maid stole through the cottage door,
And blushed as she sought the Plant of pow'r;--
'Thou silver glow-worm, O lend me thy light,
I must gather the mystic St. John's wort tonight,
The wonderful herb, whose leaf will decide
If the coming year shall make me a bride.
In addition
to the four great festivals of the Pagan Celtic year, there are four lesser
holidays as well: the two solstices, and the two
equinoxes.
In folklore, these are referred to as the four 'quarter-days' of the year,
and modern Witches call them the four 'Lesser
Sabbats',
or the four 'Low Holidays'. The Summer Solstice is one of them.
Technically,
a solstice is an astronomical point and, due to the procession of the equinox,
the date may vary by a few days depending on the year. The summer solstice
occurs when the sun reaches the Tropic of Cancer, and we experience the
longest day and the shortest night of the year. Astrologers know this as
the date on which the sun enters the sign of Cancer.
However,
since most European peasants were not accomplished at reading an ephemeris
or did not live close enough to Salisbury
Plain to
trot over to Stonehenge and sight down its main avenue, they celebrated
the event on a fixed calendar date, June 24th. The
slight
forward displacement of the traditional date is the result of multitudinous
calendrical changes down through the ages. It is
analogous
to the winter solstice celebration, which is astronomically on or about
December 21st, but is celebrated on the traditional
date of
December 25th, Yule, later adopted by the Christians.
Again, it
must be remembered that the Celts reckoned their days from sundown to sundown,
so the June 24th festivities actually
begin on
the previous sundown (our June 23rd). This was Shakespeare's Midsummer
Night's Eve. Which brings up another point: our
modern
calendars are quite misguided in suggesting that 'summer begins' on the
solstice. According to the old folk calendar,
summer
begins on May Day and ends on Lammas (August 1st), with the summer solstice,
midway between the two, marking
mid-summer.
This makes more logical sense than suggesting that summer begins on the
day when the sun's power begins to wane
and the
days grow shorter.
Although
our Pagan ancestors probably preferred June 24th (and indeed most European
folk festivals today use this date), the
sensibility
of modern Witches seems to prefer the actual solstice point, beginning
the celebration on its eve, or the sunset
immediately
preceding the solstice point. Again, it gives modern Pagans a range of
dates to choose from with, hopefully, a weekend
embedded
in it.
Just as
the Pagan mid-winter celebration of Yule was adopted by Christians as Christmas
(December 25th), so too the Pagan
mid-summer
celebration was adopted by them as the feast of John the Baptist (June
24th). Occurring 180 degrees apart on the
wheel of
the year, the mid-winter celebration commemorates the birth of Jesus, while
the mid-summer celebration commemorates
the birth
of John, the prophet who was born six months before Jesus in order to announce
his arrival.
Although
modern Witches often refer to the holiday by the rather generic name of
Midsummer's Eve, it is more probable that our
Pagan ancestors
of a few hundred years ago actually used the Christian name for the holiday,
St. John's Eve. This is evident from
the wealth
of folklore that surrounds the summer solstice (i.e. that it is a night
especially sacred to the faerie folk) but which is
inevitably
ascribed to 'St. John's Eve', with no mention of the sun's position. It
could also be argued that a Coven's claim to antiquity
might be
judged by what name it gives the holidays. (Incidentally, the name 'Litha'
for the holiday is a modern usage, possibly based
on a Saxon
word that means the opposite of Yule. Still, there is little historical
justification for its use in this context.) But weren't
our Pagan
ancestors offended by the use of the name of a Christian saint for a pre-Christian
holiday?
Well, to
begin with, their theological sensibilities may not have been as finely
honed as our own. But secondly and more
importantly,
St. John himself was often seen as a rather Pagan figure. He was, after
all, called 'the Oak King'. His connection to the
wilderness
(from whence 'the voice cried out') was often emphasized by the rustic
nature of his shrines. Many statues show him as
a horned
figure (as is also the case with Moses). Christian iconographers mumble
embarrassed explanations about 'horns of light',
while modern
Pagans giggle and happily refer to such statues as 'Pan the Baptist'. And
to clench matters, many depictions of John
actually
show him with the lower torso of a satyr, cloven hooves and all! Obviously,
this kind of John the Baptist is more properly a
Jack in
the Green! Also obvious is that behind the medieval conception of St. John
lies a distant, shadowy Pagan deity, perhaps the
archetypal
Wild Man of the Wood, whose face stares down at us through the foliate
masks that adorn so much church architecture.
Thus medieval
Pagans may have had fewer problems adapting than we might suppose.
In England,
it was the ancient custom on St. John's Eve to light large bonfires after
sundown, which served the double purpose of
providing
light to the revelers and warding off evil spirits. This was known as 'setting
the watch'. People often jumped through the fires
for good
luck. In addition to these fires, the streets were lined with lanterns,
and people carried cressets (pivoted lanterns atop
poles)
as they wandered from one bonfire to another. These wandering, garland-bedecked
bands were called a 'marching watch'.
Often they
were attended by morris dancers, and traditional players dressed as a unicorn,
a dragon, and six hobby-horse riders.
Just asMay
Day was a time to renew the boundary on one's own property, so Midsummer's
Eve was a time to ward the boundary of
the city.
Customs
surrounding St. John's Eve are many and varied. At the very least, most
young folk plan to stay up throughout the whole of
this shortest
night. Certain courageous souls might spend the night keeping watch in
the center of a circle of standing stones. To do
so would
certainly result in either death, madness, or (hopefully) the power of
inspiration to become a great poet or bard. (This is, by
the way,
identical to certain incidents in the first branch of the 'Mabinogion'.)
This was also the night when the serpents of the island
would roll
themselves into a hissing, writhing ball in order to engender the 'glain',
also called the 'serpent's egg', 'snake stone', or
'Druid's
egg'. Anyone in possession of this hard glass bubble would wield incredible
magical powers. Even Merlyn himself
(accompanied
by his black dog) went in search of it, according to one ancient Welsh
story.
Snakes were
not the only creatures active on Midsummer's Eve. According to British
faery lore, this night was second only to
Halloween
for its importance to the wee folk, who especially enjoyed a ridling on
such a fine summer's night. In order to see them,
you had
only to gather fern seed at the stroke of midnight and rub it onto your
eyelids. But be sure to carry a little bit of rue in your
pocket,
or you might well be 'pixie-led'. Or, failing the rue, you might simply
turn your jacket inside-out, which should keep you from
harm's
way. But if even this fails, you must seek out one of the 'ley lines',
the old straight tracks, and stay upon it to your
destination.
This will keep you safe from any malevolent power, as will crossing a stream
of 'living' (running) water.
Other customs
included decking the house (especially over the front door) with birch,
fennel, St. John's wort, orpin, and white lilies.
Five plants
were thought to have special magical properties on this night: rue, roses,
St. John's wort, vervain and trefoil. Indeed,
Midsummer's
Eve in Spain is called the 'Night of the Verbena (Vervain)'. St. John's
wort was especially honored by young maidens
who picked
it in the hopes of divining a future lover.
And the glow-worm came
With its silvery flame,
And sparkled and shone
Through the night of St. John,
And soon has the young maid her love-knot tied.
There
are also many mythical associations with the summer solstice, not the least
of which concerns the seasonal life of the God of
the sun.
Inasmuch as I believe that I have recently discovered certain associations
and correspondences not hitherto realized, I have
elected
to treat this subject in some depth in another essay. Suffice it to say
here, that I disagree with the generally accepted idea
that the
Sun-God meets his death at the summer solstice. I believe there is good
reason to see the Sun-God at his zenith -- his
peak of
power -- on this day, and that his death at the hands of his rival would
not occur for another quarter of a year. Material drawn
from the
Welsh mythos seems to support this thesis. In Irish mythology, Midsummer
is the occasion of the first battle between the
Fir Bolgs
and the Tuatha De Danaan.
Altogether,
Midsummer is a favorite holiday for many Witches in that it is so hospitable
to outdoor celebrations. The warm summer
night seems
to invite it. And if the celebrants are not in fact skyclad, then you may
be fairly certain that the long ritual robes of
winter
have yielded place to short, tunic-style apparel. As with the longer gowns,
tradition dictates that one should wear nothing
underneath
-- the next best thing to skyclad, to be sure. (Incidentally, now you know
the real answer to the old Scottish joke, 'What
is worn
beneath the kilt?')
The two
chief icons of the holiday are the spear (symbol of the Sun-God in his
glory) and the summer cauldron (symbol of the
Goddess
in her bounty). The precise meaning of these two symbols, which I believe
I have recently discovered, will be explored in
the essay
on the death of Llew. But it is interesting to note here that modern Witches
often use these same symbols in the
Midsummer
rituals. And one occasionally hears the alternative consecration formula,
'As the spear is to the male, so the cauldron is
to the
female...' With these mythic associations, it is no wonder that Midsummer
is such a joyous and magical occasion!
