Another Saint for our Saint

It’s coming’ right up now, that supremely exciting holiday! Where does the time go? It seems like just yesterday since the last St. Agnes’ Eve!
The feast of St Agnes, a maiden martyred in Rome in 304 because she wouldn’t marry a Roman soldier, instead opting to remain a virginal Bride of Christ, is Jan 21. But it’s the “eve” of her feast day, the night of Jan 20, that’s the big deal, at least if you are an unmarried young woman. Because on Jan 20, IF you fast, and look only straight ahead before bed, you will dream about the man you’re going to marry!

if you like or can tolerate poetry at all, please read Kets’ great poem The Eve of St Agnes. The heroine, Madeline, is prepping for beddy-bye with scrupulous attention to the mandatory rituals:

:”They told her how, upon St Agnes’ Eve/Young virgins might=have visions of delight,/ And soft adoring of their loves receive/ Upon the honeyed middle of the night-/ If they but supperless to bed retire/And couch supine their beauties, lily-white/Nor look behind, nor sideways, but aspire/ To Heav’n with upward eyes for all that they require.”
(…or possibly “ desire”.. this is a good time to tell you that when I write about poetry I’m quoting from memory, and sometimes I make mistakes…like in the Kipling poem, it shoulda been “if he finds you and you find him” because him rhymes with swim. So please read the originals. )

Anyway, pursuant to the legend of St Agnes, there have always (since the 4th century) been widespread folk customs relating to how a girl achieves the Agnes dream ,or vision, of her future husband. Personally, I’ve always wondered how much suspense there could actually be about it, in a tiny, isolated hamlet: the field of suitors couldnta been too numerous. Musta been like, “Oh. It’s you, Hansi. That’s what I was afraid of…” but y’know what they say, hope springs eternal. And also, I believe the matchmakers may have introduced some fresh bloods, meaning potential grooms, which the maidens may not have seen urinating against the sides of their hovels all their lives. I think the officious old crones brought together a buncha young folk from neighboring villages (well, mebbe only like, ten miles away, but that was a big trip back then and there, especially in January. ) She’d then hold court, like, y’know, a mixer, and at least a few of the young’uns would couple off. Our wedding customs, with the bride and groom flanked by a regiment of their peers who line the aisle as they receive the sacrament of the wedding, mimics the matchmaker’s court.

In Keats’ poem, Madeline wakes up to see the face of her beloved, Porphyro, but delight quickly turns to fear and shame as she realizes this ain’t no dream: he’s there, actually in her virginal bedchamber! It’s a Romeo and Juliet type scenario: her family hates him. He has come, on the worst possible night because all her violent relatives are houseguests in the castle for a drunken revelry :”They are all here tonight, the whole bloodthirsty race!”—to take her away from all this. So, it’s okay, his intentions are honorable, he isn’t there to rape her but to elope with her. After he considerately spreads out a picnic on her counterpane, (I guess cuz, you remember, she did skip dinner) the lovers “flee away into the storm”.

I will remind my daughter about St Agnes’ Eve, I always do. S’kinda an in-joke between us. I never got to try it out myself, but I wish there were some companion ritual a mother could do, to see the face of her future son-in-law. I wrote in the Mischief a few weeks ago about how the choice of MY son-in-law is too Important to ME, to be left up to my daughter; I oughta be able to choose them ( yes, I have 2 in mind) independently of whom she marries! ( I thought it would be funny, a laffriot! but I got rather, ah, sober, judicious responses from the gents over there, like, don’t be silly, Hypatia , you’ll have to settle for friendship with these boys. Duh! )

There’s also a poem by Tennyson, about a young nun observing St Agnes’ Eve in her convent, fantasizing ecstatically about the mystical union of her soul with its intended divine Bridegroom. “Break up the heavens, O Lord! and far,/ Thro’ all yon starlight keen, /Draw me, Thy bride, a glittering star/In raiment white and clean.”

I think all of these ancient feasts, or “masses” (as in ChristMAS, MichalMAS, etc) do still retain a lingering magic, a potential for the brief union or collision of the mundane with the numinous. So, whether you read the poems I mention or not, think of the devout maiden Agnes on the eve of her feast day, and permit yourself a vicarious frisson of anticipation!