A Yule Story for your enjoyment
Dec. 21st, 2004 10:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
capri0mniSeveral years ago, I decided to put together a collection of traditional folktales (from Grimms and other sources) organized around the theme of the Wiccan sabbats. I opened my collection with a tale that screamed "Yule!" at me from the moment I read it.
Here is the introduction I wrote for it. ... I'll put the story itself under a cut.
Yule
Yule falls at the time of the winter solstice, when the powers of darkness are at their height. For three long months, night has been more powerful than day. Many animals have retreated into their dens to hibernate, and so too with the fields -- the final harvest has long since been gathered, and the winter wheat has been sown, its life hidden in the depths of the earth.
But Yule is also the turning point, when the sun once again begins its ascension. Like a newborn child, however, its life is still fragile and must be encouraged and protected. For centuries, people have lent magical aid to the young sun with the lighting of fires and festooning of the houses with wreaths of pine, holly, and bay - round, like the sun itself, their evergreen leaves symbolizing the eternal life we wish for the sun.
When I first read Mother Holle, the story I've chosen to represent Yule, I was struck by the strong winter solstice motifs woven throughout the story. The heroine, like the Sun Child, begins the tale in a world of cold and dark, the thread she must constantly spin lost to the depths of the earth. As Patricia Monaghan points out in her book O, Mother Sun! A New View of the Cosmic Feminine, spinning is one of the most enduring symbols of northern European sun goddesses. "Fiber and whorl - both of these spinning symbols are connected with the sun goddess. The round sun is like a spindle, anchoring the strands of light; light rays jut from the sun like hair or yarn" (106). Leaping after her lost spindle, the heroine enters a fertile, womb-like paradise where the goddess figure of Mother Holle presides over her healing and rebirth, sending her back to earth golden and shining. The rooster even announces her return - crowing as he would at dawn.
The conversations with Mother Holle over the dinner table and the aftermath of the adventure are my own additions (as are the specific names for the characters).
Work consulted:
Monaghan, Patricia. Mother Sun! A New View of the Cosmic Feminine. Freedom, California: The Crossing Press. 1984.
Mother Holle
Once upon a time, there was a widow who lived with her daughter Julia, and her stepdaughter Mary. Every time she looked at Julia, she remembered the sweet days of her own youth, and couldn't help giving compliments and treats whenever her daughter wanted them. But Mary only reminded her of her husband's death. The girl's cheerful kindness and patient labor seemed to mock her broken heart.
She scolded Mary every day and gave her the hardest work she could think of, hoping that she would leave and not come back. Even on the coldest winter days, she sent her outside to the well to spin, giving her so much wool that her fingers bled from the work. Mary often had to dip the spindle in the well to wash off the blood.
Mary bore it all as well she could. The work still needed to be done - holding grudges neither chopped the wood nor cooked the meals. Despite the widow's harsh words, her father's hut had been the only home she had ever known, and she still remembered the days when she and Julia played together as sisters.
One cold winter day, her happy reveries were interrupted when the spindle slipped from her fingers as she tried to rinse it, sinking to the bottom of the well. Fighting down a wave of frustration, Mary gathered up the finished yarn and headed back to the hut where the widow was waiting for her, hoping to explain and to apologize.
But the old woman showed no mercy. "You were careless," she said. "You let it fall in. Go back there and pick up what you dropped. I don't want to see you at this door again without that spindle!"
Mary left the house with a broken heart. She had expected the scolding, and even told herself it was deserved. But her stepmother's impossible demand let her know that there was no love left for her in that house. She was in such despair that she jumped into the well to drown herself.
But instead of falling into the icy water, she landed in the tall green grass of a summer meadow. At first she thought she was dreaming, but the ground remained solid beneath her and the breeze blew steadily across her cheeks, so Mary rose to her feet, squared her shoulders, and started to explore. Swallows darted gracefully through the sky. The air buzzed sleepily with the voices of bees and crickets, and the scent of wild roses filled the air.
Before long, she came to an oven and a cooling rack by the side of the road.
"Please take us out!", the loaves inside called to her. "We were done long ago, and if we stay in here much longer, we'll burn to the core!"
"I'd be glad to help," Mary said. She carefully lifted the loaves out of the oven and set them neatly on the rack to cool.
She hadn't gone much farther before she came to an apple tree.
"Please shake me," the tree said to her. "All my apples are ripe, and my branches are so tired from holding them."
"I'd be glad to," Mary responded. She shook the tree until the apples fell around her like rain, and then paused to carefully stack them into a neat pile before continuing on her way.
Next, she came to a little house in the middle of a meticulous garden. Mary stood at the edge simply gazing at it for a long time, but finally curiosity got the better of her and she carefully stepped between the rows, studying all that grew there, hoping to learn something of this place. She knew some of the herbs well, but many were strange to her.
She straightened from her inspection of a strange blue flower to see an old woman staring at her from the door of the house. Her wild white hair stood out from her head like a lion's mane, and the points of her sharp teeth poked out from between her lips.
Mary turned to run.
"Don't be afraid, Mary," the old woman called out to her in a kindly voice. "I am Mother Holle, and I've known you all your life - I wouldn't hurt you. If you come work for me, and do your work well, you may live here, and always have a place to stay."
It had been such a long time since anyone had called her by name, or had spoken kindly to her, that Mary stopped being afraid, and she gladly followed Mother Holle.
So it was that Mary became Mother Holle's servant, learning to care for the garden, and to make the bed as the old woman taught her - shaking it out until the feathers flew.
"For when the feathers fly," her mistress said, "snow falls on earth."
Mary lived in peace with Mother Holle, patiently learning whatever secrets she wished to teach, and doing her work while the seasons passed. New blossoms filled the branches of the apple tree, and before long the tree once more bent its branches under the weight of all the fruit.
"Why did you jump down the well, Mary?" Mother Holle asked one night, when the apples were almost ripe.
Mary blushed. "Because I didn't think there was anyone in the whole world who loved me," she answered at last.
"Ah, but 'the whole world' is so much wider than one small hut and a cold well," Mother Holle said. "And what about those whom you can love, my dear?"
From that moment on, a shadow began to form over Mary's heart. It was so subtle that she didn't notice it at first, but her sorrow grew with each passing day until she knew she was homesick, and missed the widow and Julia.
"I'm sorry, Mother Holle," she said one day. "You have been so kind to me, and I do love you, but I miss my family, and want to go home."
Mother Holle smiled at her. "I'm glad to hear what you are saying," she said. "Your place is in the world above." She handed Mary the spindle she had dropped and took her hand. As she did so, a little door appeared in the wall where none had been before, and Mother Holle led her through.
As Mary stepped over the threshold, a shower of gold fell from the sky, covering her from head to foot, until her whole being shone. When she turned around to say goodbye, the little house and summer meadow were gone. She was back beside the well, and not an hour had passed, it seemed, since she had been there last.
When she came up to the gate of her father's house, the rooster perched on the roof began to crow:
"Cock-a-doodle-doo!
Our golden girl is home anew!"
The widow and Julia ran to the door, and were amazed by what they saw. They cooed and fussed, and wouldn't stop asking questions until Mary had told them everything about her adventure.
The widow decided that her beloved Julia should also be covered in gold. So she bundled her daughter up in layers of warm furs, gave her a picnic basket filled with cakes to eat, and a skein of wool and a spindle. Then she sent her out to the well with high expectations. "I'm sure you could do just as well as Mary - if not better," she said. "You're so strong and iron-willed, just like I was when I was your age. A little blister or two is nothing for you."
But Julia wasn't so sure. She hated the idea of sitting in the cold for hours, and hated the idea of work even more, so she hid a needle in the cuff of her coat, so she could prick her fingers to get the blood, instead of working for it. It isn't the wool that's important, anyway, she thought to herself. After Mother Holle showers me with gold, I'll marry a prince, and never have to work again. Still, she put up a good show as long as she thought her mother was watching, but when her fingers grew numb with the cold, she lost her patience. Taking the needle, she pricked her finger, and managed to get three drops of blood on the wool. That's enough, she thought, and dropped the spindle down the well.
She awoke in the same meadow, but instead of pausing to admire the beauty of it, she hurried down the road to Mother Holle's house.
Soon, she came to the same little oven that Mary had, and the loaves called out to her: "Please, take us out and let us cool, for we are nearly burnt!"
But Julia only scoffed. "Be quiet," she said. "Don't you know I have an important engagement to keep? Do you want me to arrive covered in soot from your fire?", and without waiting for their reply, she continued down the road.
The apple tree, too, asked for her help. "My apples are all ripe and heavy, and my branches are so tired. Will you please shake me?"
"Oh, now that's a likely story," Julia answered. "I bet you just want to drop them on my head so you can laugh at me."
It wasn't long before she came to Mother Holle's cottage. She marched right past the old woman, and sat herself down by the fire. She wasn't afraid of her wild looks or sharp teeth because Mary had told her all about them. "I've come to work for you," she announced. "Mary felt bad about leaving you with all your housework to be done."
"All right, then, if you wish," Mother Holle said.
And with that, it was Julia's turn to serve. The first day, she worked as hard as she could, and there was a blizzard of feathers when she shook out the bed.
"Why did you jump down the well, Julia?" Mother Holle asked that night at dinner.
"I've told you - Mary felt bad about leaving you alone. Who knows how long it would be before someone came to help you?"
"Ah, but time means nothing to me, and it is everything to you. Besides, a generous heart is never alone."
Julia was happy when she heard that. She was certain that Mother Holle was promising her a generous reward of a golden shower, or perhaps something even better.
The next day she hurried through her chores, without even bothering to finish them. She was too busy daydreaming about the royal wedding she would have to pay much attention to the tasks at hand. She half expected Mother Holle to shower her with gold at any minute. But the old woman barely paid any attention to her.
Julia grew more impatient and frustrated with each day that passed, and she worked less and less. It wasn't long before she was tired of waiting for gold, and wanted to go back home, where Mary would clean the floor for her, and do the dishes. Mother Holle was ready for her to go home, too, and one day, she took her by the hand to lead her back herself.
Julia nearly squealed for joy when the little door appeared in the wall. But when she stepped over the threshold, it was not a shower of gold that fell upon her, but sticky black tar, and just like Mary, Julia was covered head to toe.
"Now I'll never get a prince to marry me!" Julia cried, and she turned around to ask Mother Holle why she had done such a terrible thing. But the summer meadow and the little house were gone, and Julia understood that her time was up. All she could do was return home.
As she approached, the rooster on the roof began to crow:
"Cock-a-doodle-do!
Our dirty girl is home anew!"
Mary's skin remained golden for the rest of her days. But her greatest treasure of all was the knowledge Mother Holle had given her. With all she had learned of the herbs and their ways, she became a great and famous healer, and learned that the world was indeed much wider than one small hut and a cold well.
And although Julia's skin remained as black as tar for all of her life, she was never as lonely as she first feared she would be, for she learned to make the most of her time, and to live with a generous heart.
Here is the introduction I wrote for it. ... I'll put the story itself under a cut.
Yule falls at the time of the winter solstice, when the powers of darkness are at their height. For three long months, night has been more powerful than day. Many animals have retreated into their dens to hibernate, and so too with the fields -- the final harvest has long since been gathered, and the winter wheat has been sown, its life hidden in the depths of the earth.
But Yule is also the turning point, when the sun once again begins its ascension. Like a newborn child, however, its life is still fragile and must be encouraged and protected. For centuries, people have lent magical aid to the young sun with the lighting of fires and festooning of the houses with wreaths of pine, holly, and bay - round, like the sun itself, their evergreen leaves symbolizing the eternal life we wish for the sun.
When I first read Mother Holle, the story I've chosen to represent Yule, I was struck by the strong winter solstice motifs woven throughout the story. The heroine, like the Sun Child, begins the tale in a world of cold and dark, the thread she must constantly spin lost to the depths of the earth. As Patricia Monaghan points out in her book O, Mother Sun! A New View of the Cosmic Feminine, spinning is one of the most enduring symbols of northern European sun goddesses. "Fiber and whorl - both of these spinning symbols are connected with the sun goddess. The round sun is like a spindle, anchoring the strands of light; light rays jut from the sun like hair or yarn" (106). Leaping after her lost spindle, the heroine enters a fertile, womb-like paradise where the goddess figure of Mother Holle presides over her healing and rebirth, sending her back to earth golden and shining. The rooster even announces her return - crowing as he would at dawn.
The conversations with Mother Holle over the dinner table and the aftermath of the adventure are my own additions (as are the specific names for the characters).
Work consulted:
Monaghan, Patricia. Mother Sun! A New View of the Cosmic Feminine. Freedom, California: The Crossing Press. 1984.
Once upon a time, there was a widow who lived with her daughter Julia, and her stepdaughter Mary. Every time she looked at Julia, she remembered the sweet days of her own youth, and couldn't help giving compliments and treats whenever her daughter wanted them. But Mary only reminded her of her husband's death. The girl's cheerful kindness and patient labor seemed to mock her broken heart.
She scolded Mary every day and gave her the hardest work she could think of, hoping that she would leave and not come back. Even on the coldest winter days, she sent her outside to the well to spin, giving her so much wool that her fingers bled from the work. Mary often had to dip the spindle in the well to wash off the blood.
Mary bore it all as well she could. The work still needed to be done - holding grudges neither chopped the wood nor cooked the meals. Despite the widow's harsh words, her father's hut had been the only home she had ever known, and she still remembered the days when she and Julia played together as sisters.
One cold winter day, her happy reveries were interrupted when the spindle slipped from her fingers as she tried to rinse it, sinking to the bottom of the well. Fighting down a wave of frustration, Mary gathered up the finished yarn and headed back to the hut where the widow was waiting for her, hoping to explain and to apologize.
But the old woman showed no mercy. "You were careless," she said. "You let it fall in. Go back there and pick up what you dropped. I don't want to see you at this door again without that spindle!"
Mary left the house with a broken heart. She had expected the scolding, and even told herself it was deserved. But her stepmother's impossible demand let her know that there was no love left for her in that house. She was in such despair that she jumped into the well to drown herself.
But instead of falling into the icy water, she landed in the tall green grass of a summer meadow. At first she thought she was dreaming, but the ground remained solid beneath her and the breeze blew steadily across her cheeks, so Mary rose to her feet, squared her shoulders, and started to explore. Swallows darted gracefully through the sky. The air buzzed sleepily with the voices of bees and crickets, and the scent of wild roses filled the air.
Before long, she came to an oven and a cooling rack by the side of the road.
"Please take us out!", the loaves inside called to her. "We were done long ago, and if we stay in here much longer, we'll burn to the core!"
"I'd be glad to help," Mary said. She carefully lifted the loaves out of the oven and set them neatly on the rack to cool.
She hadn't gone much farther before she came to an apple tree.
"Please shake me," the tree said to her. "All my apples are ripe, and my branches are so tired from holding them."
"I'd be glad to," Mary responded. She shook the tree until the apples fell around her like rain, and then paused to carefully stack them into a neat pile before continuing on her way.
Next, she came to a little house in the middle of a meticulous garden. Mary stood at the edge simply gazing at it for a long time, but finally curiosity got the better of her and she carefully stepped between the rows, studying all that grew there, hoping to learn something of this place. She knew some of the herbs well, but many were strange to her.
She straightened from her inspection of a strange blue flower to see an old woman staring at her from the door of the house. Her wild white hair stood out from her head like a lion's mane, and the points of her sharp teeth poked out from between her lips.
Mary turned to run.
"Don't be afraid, Mary," the old woman called out to her in a kindly voice. "I am Mother Holle, and I've known you all your life - I wouldn't hurt you. If you come work for me, and do your work well, you may live here, and always have a place to stay."
It had been such a long time since anyone had called her by name, or had spoken kindly to her, that Mary stopped being afraid, and she gladly followed Mother Holle.
So it was that Mary became Mother Holle's servant, learning to care for the garden, and to make the bed as the old woman taught her - shaking it out until the feathers flew.
"For when the feathers fly," her mistress said, "snow falls on earth."
Mary lived in peace with Mother Holle, patiently learning whatever secrets she wished to teach, and doing her work while the seasons passed. New blossoms filled the branches of the apple tree, and before long the tree once more bent its branches under the weight of all the fruit.
"Why did you jump down the well, Mary?" Mother Holle asked one night, when the apples were almost ripe.
Mary blushed. "Because I didn't think there was anyone in the whole world who loved me," she answered at last.
"Ah, but 'the whole world' is so much wider than one small hut and a cold well," Mother Holle said. "And what about those whom you can love, my dear?"
From that moment on, a shadow began to form over Mary's heart. It was so subtle that she didn't notice it at first, but her sorrow grew with each passing day until she knew she was homesick, and missed the widow and Julia.
"I'm sorry, Mother Holle," she said one day. "You have been so kind to me, and I do love you, but I miss my family, and want to go home."
Mother Holle smiled at her. "I'm glad to hear what you are saying," she said. "Your place is in the world above." She handed Mary the spindle she had dropped and took her hand. As she did so, a little door appeared in the wall where none had been before, and Mother Holle led her through.
As Mary stepped over the threshold, a shower of gold fell from the sky, covering her from head to foot, until her whole being shone. When she turned around to say goodbye, the little house and summer meadow were gone. She was back beside the well, and not an hour had passed, it seemed, since she had been there last.
When she came up to the gate of her father's house, the rooster perched on the roof began to crow:
Our golden girl is home anew!"
The widow and Julia ran to the door, and were amazed by what they saw. They cooed and fussed, and wouldn't stop asking questions until Mary had told them everything about her adventure.
The widow decided that her beloved Julia should also be covered in gold. So she bundled her daughter up in layers of warm furs, gave her a picnic basket filled with cakes to eat, and a skein of wool and a spindle. Then she sent her out to the well with high expectations. "I'm sure you could do just as well as Mary - if not better," she said. "You're so strong and iron-willed, just like I was when I was your age. A little blister or two is nothing for you."
But Julia wasn't so sure. She hated the idea of sitting in the cold for hours, and hated the idea of work even more, so she hid a needle in the cuff of her coat, so she could prick her fingers to get the blood, instead of working for it. It isn't the wool that's important, anyway, she thought to herself. After Mother Holle showers me with gold, I'll marry a prince, and never have to work again. Still, she put up a good show as long as she thought her mother was watching, but when her fingers grew numb with the cold, she lost her patience. Taking the needle, she pricked her finger, and managed to get three drops of blood on the wool. That's enough, she thought, and dropped the spindle down the well.
She awoke in the same meadow, but instead of pausing to admire the beauty of it, she hurried down the road to Mother Holle's house.
Soon, she came to the same little oven that Mary had, and the loaves called out to her: "Please, take us out and let us cool, for we are nearly burnt!"
But Julia only scoffed. "Be quiet," she said. "Don't you know I have an important engagement to keep? Do you want me to arrive covered in soot from your fire?", and without waiting for their reply, she continued down the road.
The apple tree, too, asked for her help. "My apples are all ripe and heavy, and my branches are so tired. Will you please shake me?"
"Oh, now that's a likely story," Julia answered. "I bet you just want to drop them on my head so you can laugh at me."
It wasn't long before she came to Mother Holle's cottage. She marched right past the old woman, and sat herself down by the fire. She wasn't afraid of her wild looks or sharp teeth because Mary had told her all about them. "I've come to work for you," she announced. "Mary felt bad about leaving you with all your housework to be done."
"All right, then, if you wish," Mother Holle said.
And with that, it was Julia's turn to serve. The first day, she worked as hard as she could, and there was a blizzard of feathers when she shook out the bed.
"Why did you jump down the well, Julia?" Mother Holle asked that night at dinner.
"I've told you - Mary felt bad about leaving you alone. Who knows how long it would be before someone came to help you?"
"Ah, but time means nothing to me, and it is everything to you. Besides, a generous heart is never alone."
Julia was happy when she heard that. She was certain that Mother Holle was promising her a generous reward of a golden shower, or perhaps something even better.
The next day she hurried through her chores, without even bothering to finish them. She was too busy daydreaming about the royal wedding she would have to pay much attention to the tasks at hand. She half expected Mother Holle to shower her with gold at any minute. But the old woman barely paid any attention to her.
Julia grew more impatient and frustrated with each day that passed, and she worked less and less. It wasn't long before she was tired of waiting for gold, and wanted to go back home, where Mary would clean the floor for her, and do the dishes. Mother Holle was ready for her to go home, too, and one day, she took her by the hand to lead her back herself.
Julia nearly squealed for joy when the little door appeared in the wall. But when she stepped over the threshold, it was not a shower of gold that fell upon her, but sticky black tar, and just like Mary, Julia was covered head to toe.
"Now I'll never get a prince to marry me!" Julia cried, and she turned around to ask Mother Holle why she had done such a terrible thing. But the summer meadow and the little house were gone, and Julia understood that her time was up. All she could do was return home.
As she approached, the rooster on the roof began to crow:
Our dirty girl is home anew!"
Mary's skin remained golden for the rest of her days. But her greatest treasure of all was the knowledge Mother Holle had given her. With all she had learned of the herbs and their ways, she became a great and famous healer, and learned that the world was indeed much wider than one small hut and a cold well.
And although Julia's skin remained as black as tar for all of her life, she was never as lonely as she first feared she would be, for she learned to make the most of her time, and to live with a generous heart.
