ST JOHN'S DAY

It's St John's Day and as Hans Sachs sits in his cobbler's workshop contemplating the dawn light streaming through his window, he reflects on the madness of the events of the night before in the streets of his beloved Nuremberg where a riot of conflict and violence erupted amongst the townsfolk. Clearly disturbed, the poet cobbler meditates on the insanity of man to turn against his neighbour and becomes momentarily depressed about the futility of this 'wahn' (madness) that seems inescapable throughout the history of civilisation.

Madness! Madness!
Everywhere madness!
Wherever I look searchingly
in city and world chronicles,
to seek out the reason
why, till they draw blood,
people torment and flay each other
in useless, foolish anger!
No-one has reward
or thanks for it:
driven to flight,
he thinks he is hunting;
hears not his own cry of pain;
when he digs into his own flesh
he thinks he is giving himself pleasure!
Who will give it its name?
It is the old madness.

Perhaps this midsummer eve madness that Sachs laments is a consequence of the June solstice where 'spirit night' a pivotal time of the year where supernatural forces make mischief with the living as they cross the threshold between our world and their spirit world which become briefly indistinguishable.

God knows how that befell!
A goblin must have helped:
a glow-worm could not find its mate;
it set the trouble in motion.
It was the elder-tree: Midsummer Eve!

Shakespeare made use of this notion in his 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' with all his wood sprites, fairies and goblins. It might explain some part of the etymology behind the term 'Midsummer Madness' which is still used to this day to account for the heat, sun and madness that makes people go a little crazy at this time of year also. Many rituals have marked this time throughout history, including in Europe where it was common to light a huge wheel (symbolising the sun) on fire and roll it down into a river or lake. If it failed to reach the water it was often considered a harbinger for a poor harvest ahead.

Another tradition around the solstice period was for young women to weave flower and herbs they had collected into headbands in order to encourage finding love while unmarried women would often place flowers under their pillows to help them dream of their future husbands through the long Midsummer nights.

For me, however, the midsummer solstice that reaches its apex around St John's Eve and St John's Day, has come to symbolise the passing of my father (two years ago to this day). Strangely, though I hadn't made the connection before, a dour Scottish woman I always had cantankerous arguments with in the street, pointed out the cultural significance of the date and I have since found it to be a strange comfort. Add to this my life long love of Richard Wagner's comic opera 'Die Meistersinger Von Nurnberg' which is entirely set around these two days with Hans Sachs and friends and I feel both a mixture of sadness and happiness that life, art and death all converge somehow now.

I think with the greatest of art, we should find the full spectrum of humanity contained within it and certainly I can relate to many of the central characters in 'Meistersinger's' rich operatic tapestry, including Walther (the creative revolutionary), Sachs (the reflective sage) and even Beckmesser (the mediocre competitor).

But this morning I mostly feel like Sachs, drinking my coffee and contemplating the nature of existence. Listening to my favourite recording of 'Meistersinger' from 1976 conducted by Solti on Decca I'm reminded of my first encounter with it, borrowing it from a certain Mr Stringer and finding the outer box to be covered in sticky Advocaat which he drank with all the enthusiasm of a banana milkshake. Back then I had no idea what the opera was all about but somehow in the spacious dynamic recording an atmosphere of midsummer was conjured to my teenage ears which evoked the time and place the story is set and I felt familiar with it as if it had been a past life. Now, years later, I am a relative expert on the opera and marvel at how it has travelled through time with me like a consoling friend. The Act 3 prelude particularly combines perfectly the dichotomy of middle age where sadness and despair, acceptance and resolute happiness can find a common bond.

Happy St John's Day!

Digital Renegade

24th June, 2024