(For some reason, this post didn’t go through yesterday…so much for making a feast day post!)

For the first time in many years, I don’t have anything special planned for Magdalene’s feast day. It’s a small miracle in itself that I didn’t have to work today–in favor of tomorrow–so I’ve decided to spend some time with my family.

This is a post I started around Easter with the intention of posting today. Only a couple of items, but still a quaint reminder of some folkloric traditions of Mary Magdalene:

“It is said that roses fade on St. Magdalene’s day.”

Beals, Katharine M. “Flower Lore and Legend.” Henry Holt & Co., 1917, pg. 121.

“The following charm was said to be very potent: On the eve of St.
Magdalene three maidens all under twenty-one must be gathered in the bed
chamber of one of the number and together must prepare a mixture of
wine, vinegar, and water in a ground glass vessel. Each maid must take
three sips of the liquid, into which she must dip a spray of rosemary to
be placed in her bosom. They must then all go silently to sleep in the
same bed. One spoken word will break the charm. If the conditions were
carefully complied with the dream of each, it was said, would reveal her
fate.”

ibid., p 237.

Best wishes to all on this Magdalene’s feast day!

For many years now I have had the email username “redegg,” in honor of an old legend that is retold in Orthodox Christianity. There are several variations, but the thrust of the story is this: after the Resurrection, Mary Magdalene travels to Rome and dines with Tiberius Caesar. As they eat, she tells him about Jesus, the crucifixion, and his resurrection. Incredulous, Caesar exclaims, “A man could no more rise from the dead than that egg in your hand could turn red!” The egg, miraculously, is transformed to a deep red color before his eyes in testimony to the power of God to raise Jesus from the grave.

Mary Magdalene herself is occasionally pictured holding an egg in Orthodox iconography, a splendid example of which occurs in a mural in the Church of St. Mary Magdalene on the Mount of Olives. She is deeply connected to the Orthodox practice of exchanging red eggs during Pascha. A Russian friend of mine described a typical scenario in the church of his upbringing, in which parishoners would greet one another with red eggs after the Pascha service with the words, “He is risen!” This greeting was then answered with “Yes, he is risen.”

In some versions of the Mary Magdalene egg legend, the back story is eliminated and she simply holds an egg that turns red while announcing the resurrection. This can occur at Tiberius’ table, on the road to Rome, to the Caesar, or to Roman soldiers. This year I was surprised to hear a few variations on the folklore surrounding Mary Magdalene and the red egg. In one version, according to Venetia Newall in An Egg At Easter (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1971), she gave a red egg to Pontius Pilate as she begged for Jesus’ life before the crucifixion. In yet another,

[she] was arrested by a centurion in Alexandria. She offered him an egg and he allowed her to pass.

It seems that in one Polish folktale, Mary Magdalene carried with her to Jesus’ sepulchre a basket of eggs, which she intended to eat while carrying out the work of anointing his body. Newall says:

But no sooner had she arrived than they were all miraculously changed, their shells stained with brilliant hues.

Perhaps the most interesting variation on all of these tales that I’ve seen this year has absolutely nothing to do with eggs, but is a parallel sort of story. Chris dredged this one up from a 1916 issue of the journal Folklore, for which I’m extremely grateful.

In the Cathedral of Lismore, in County Waterford, Ireland, there is an altar tomb with a peculiar statue: a three-legged cooking pot on the lid of which is a crowing rooster. The sexton of the church explains this symbolism with what is allegedly an ancient story: the Roman soldiers who were guarding Jesus’ tomb joked among themselves that Jesus would be able to rise from the dead as well as the chicken that was currently cooking in the pot. Immediately, the lid of the pot was thrown off, the rooster emerged and crowed loudly.

A badly articulated poem was recited by a Galway peasant for the author Dr. D. Hyde, for his book, Religious Songs of Connacht:

There was a flag in the doorway, and surely it was so firm
That a hundred men would not raise it without breaking it up
Until an angel came out of heaven, till he ‘redded’ the road
And he lifted the flag out of their presence.

Mary Magdalene came hastily into it
That she might heal the wounds of Our Lord.
She searched the tomb all round about, hurriedly
And she did not get one sight of Jesus

Until she saw the gravestones ready beside the wall
In the portion that the cover was off (1) (?) it was
She asked timidly, “Are you a man or a ghost (?)
Or where have ye made the room (?) of Our Lord?”

“I never left this place,” said the guard who was watching Him,
“And I do not know who would go looking for Him
I have a small little bird of a cock boiling in this pot”
(And they making a mock of Our Lord.)

“I have a small little bird of a cock boiling in the pot,”
said he, mocking at Our Lord
“And until the cock rises up out of the pot
It is impossible to make a resurrection.”

But up rose the cock out of the pot
He shook his two wings and put a crow out of him.
“My ochone,” says the guard, and surely not without cause,
“There is no use putting a stoppage on Jesus.”

Tonight, as I colored eggs with my three-year-old, trying time and again to get an egg dyed to a true red, I thought of these stories. I look forward to sharing them with him as he gets older.

For the first time in many years, I don’t have anything special planned for Magdalene’s feast day. It’s a small miracle in itself that I didn’t have to work today–in favor of tomorrow–so I’ve decided to spend some time with my family.

This is a post I started around Easter with the intention of posting today. Only a couple of items, but still a quaint reminder of some folkloric traditions of Mary Magdalene:

“It is said that roses fade on St. Magdalene’s day.”

Beals, Katharine M. “Flower Lore and Legend.” Henry Holt & Co., 1917, pg. 121.

“The following charm was said to be very potent: On the eve of St.
Magdalene three maidens all under twenty-one must be gathered in the bed
chamber of one of the number and together must prepare a mixture of
wine, vinegar, and water in a ground glass vessel. Each maid must take
three sips of the liquid, into which she must dip a spray of rosemary to
be placed in her bosom. They must then all go silently to sleep in the
same bed. One spoken word will break the charm. If the conditions were
carefully complied with the dream of each, it was said, would reveal her
fate.”

ibid., p 237.

Best wishes to all on this Magdalene’s feast day!

My husband, Chris, does quite a bit of research on folklore, and has always been on the lookout for lore related to Mary Magdalene. Recently he came across two different medieval verbal charms used to staunch the flow of blood. The one below comes from The Folk-Lore of the Isle of Man, by A. W. Moore (1891), Chapter 5, “MAGIC, WITCHCRAFT, &C.”:

Three Moirraghyn hie dyn Raue, ny Ke imee as ny Cughtee, Peddyr as Paul, dooyrt Moirrey jeu, shass, dooyrt Moirrey jeu, shooyl, dooyrt Moirrey elley, Dy gast yn uill shoh, myr chast yne uill haink as lottyn Chreest: mish dy ghra eh, as mac Voirrey dy chooilleeney eh.

Three Maries went to Rome, the Spirits of the Church stiles and the Spirits of the houghs, Peter and Paul, a Mary of them said, stand; a Mary of them said, walk; the other Mary said, may this blood stop as the blood stopped which came out of the wounds of Christ: me to say it and the son of Mary to fulfil it.”

Two things stand out. First, the fascinating Gaelic word moirraghyn (queens?) in the first line, which brings to mind the Celtic Morrighan, a goddess-figure who often appears in a triple aspect. Second, the last line is intriguing; it invokes the power of Jesus as the son of Mary rather than as the son of God. Very unusual!

Reading this charm inspired me to do some searches on the “three marys” or “three maries.” I was amazed to find at just how many stories there are related to this collective. From islands to towns to rock formations, the Three Marys show up in the lore of many Christian cultures. In South America, the three stars that make up Orion’s belt are even known as “Les Tres Marias.”

Today I came across a poem called Mireio by 19th century Provençal poet, Frédéric Mistral. As Charles Alfred Downer describes the epic in his 1901 book, Frédéric Mistral: Poet and Leader in Provence:

The story of Mirèio may be told in a few words. She is a beautiful young girl of fifteen, living at the mas of her father, Ramoun. She falls in love with a handsome, stalwart youth, Vincèn, son of a poor basket-maker. But the difference in worldly wealth is too great, her father and mother violently oppose their union, and so, one night, the maiden, in despair, rushes away from home, across the great plain of the Crau, across the Rhone, across the island of Camargue, to the church of the three Maries. Vincèn had told her to seek their aid in any time of trouble. Here she prays to the three saints to give Vincèn to her, but the poor girl has been overcome by the terrible heat of the sun in crossing the treeless plains and is found by her parents and friends unconscious before the altar. Vincèn comes also and joins his lamentations to theirs. The holy caskets are lowered from the chapel above, but no prayers avail to save the maiden’s life. She expires, with words of hope upon her lips.

The theme of the three Marys is heavy in this poem, rich in Provençal folk beliefs and legends. At one point the main character, Mirèio, prays:

O Holy Maries, who can change our tears to blossoms, incline quickly an ear unto my grief!

As the girl prays in the chapel of the church of the three Marys, finally collapsing of exhaustion, she has a vision of the saints descending to her from heaven. Tragically, she then dies.

Apparently this poem is Mistral’s greatest work, and it gives us some insight into the authentic beliefs and pastoral lifestyle of Provence at the time when it was written. It’s a far cry from what popular Mary Magdalene authors would have us believe, namely, that everyone in Provence believes that Mary Magdalene came to the region bearing Jesus’ offspring. That aside, I was moved by the imagery conveyed by Downer, and am now searching for an English translation of the poem.

In 1864, an opera called Mireille debuted in France. Written by Charles Gounod, who had met Mistral in Provence, the opera is based on Mirèio. There is an English translation of the libretto at the UW library, which we will likely pick up this weekend. I hope it will give me more insight into the original poem and Provençal legends of the three Marys.