Christmas Legend: Mistletoe and the Fir Tree

To continue our plant-based storytelling, I’ve got a new story for you. And for you, I’ll stop at nothing: in this reinterpretation of myths, not one, but TWO legends will be honored in a single article.

The Druid and the Apprentice

Once upon a time, there was a gardener named Paressix. He was a Gaul who was very skilled with plants, but had no real talent for anything else. And it wasn’t for lack of trying: everyone in his village had had him as an apprentice at one time or another! But Paressix was clumsy and whimsical. Apart from his magnificent garden, nothing worked for him…

Under his watch, the herd of cows had run away, and it had taken hours to bring them back.

He’d had no better luck with the sheep on which he’d spilled the scribe’s ink and which remained stained for weeks. As for the scribe, he never wanted to hear from Paressix again.

He had set out to learn masonry and had broken his foot when he dropped a stone.

The bard’s profession, which he had tried to exercise spontaneously one night at a banquet, had led to him spending the night tied up in a tree.

While trying to sell fish, he had an allergic reaction that almost killed him, and while trying to sell meat in the kiosk across the street, he received a fish in the face, causing a second allergy attack.

In an attempt to learn how to handle weapons, he cut off half his moustache.

Experimenting with boar hunting… well, nobody really knows what happened, but he couldn’t sit down for several days.

In short, Paressix was hard-pressed to find a job.

One day, a traveling druid passed through their village. He was in search of the ultimate ingredient, the most magical of all plants: the oldest mistletoe, having grown on the most enormous oak of all. On hearing his request, the villagers wished him luck, but few of them were even knowledgeable enough to identify the plant. Only Paressix came forward to help the druid. They spent a great deal of time together, and the druid eventually declared that Paressix, if he wished, could come with him and become his pupil.

“You’re in for a lot of trouble, dear Druid, with Paressix!” said the more polite. “Good riddance!” shouted the bitter ones. “He’s trouble! Cut down a tree and it’ll fall in his direction!” crooned the perceptive ones.

“You’ll see, I’ll find the mistletoe and become a great druid!” proclaimed Paressix before turning on his heels and leaving his village with the traveling druid, not without tripping over a stone in the process.

Throughout their quest to find the most powerful mistletoe of all, Paressix learned a great deal about magic, and demonstrated a talent for herbal medicine. Despite spilling potions, getting bogged down in spongy marshes and multiple cuts with various tools, the good druid was patient and understanding. He took advantage of his pupil’s clumsiness to show him the virtues of herbs, and was happy to laugh at his mistakes rather than get angry about them.

With time, Paressix became more comfortable and confident. He could make the most complex potions without making a blunder, and was much appreciated in the villages he visited. So humble and sympathetic was he, that he was readily forgiven when he stepped on the chef’s foot or dropped fresh eggs.

One day, as the old druid grew old, he announced to Paressix that the time had come for him to retire. Paressix, having now learned all he could learn, had to continue his quest alone: to find the most powerful mistletoe, the one with such incredible virtues that it was the only secret the healer had not revealed to him.

The master handed the pupil his sacred golden sickle, the one he’d use to pick mistletoe on the sixth day of the month in the Celtic calendar, should he ever find the plant, and bowed to his pupil. The Gaul begged his master to accompany him on a final journey to a remote village they had never visited. After much pleading, the old master agreed, with a smile on his face, to follow Paressix.

They’d come a long way together! Their journeys had been many, and now Paressix was leading his old master to the north of the Netherlands.

The Oak and Mistletoe

Over there, the world was very different: the people, the customs, but also the vegetation. As luck would have it, that’s exactly where they found the object of their lifelong quest: the biggest oak tree with the most gigantic mistletoe they’d ever seen. All they had to do was wait for the right moment to pick it: the 6th day of the month, a few days after the winter solstice.

Their impatience was great: the oak was so gigantic that it would have taken more than twenty men joining hands to go around the trunk. The highest branches seemed to be lost in the clouds, or perhaps it was the beginnings of myopia… But one thing was certain: the tree, whose leaves had fallen for the winter, revealed an enormous mistletoe bush with green foliage intertwined in its branches. The tree seemed to have grown right out of the giant oak, but its drooping branches left no room for doubt: it was mistletoe.

Every year, mistletoe adds a Y-shaped segment to its stems. So it’s easy to count the number of nodes to determine a specimen’s age. But this mistletoe was so old, long and tangled that it was impossible to count more than 120 segments: unheard of, since mistletoes don’t usually live for more than a hundred years.

Confident and happy, the two druids spent several days celebrating the solstice festivities with the villagers of Dokkum, the village where they had stopped. They learned that the oak they had discovered was a sacred tree revered by all. Everyone was delighted to learn that the mistletoe that adorned it had unique healing powers. As tradition dictated, the solstice was celebrated by burning a large tree and wishing each other good harvests.

During these celebrations, a man dressed in black intruded. He walked, stooped, and looked around with an evil gaze. At one point, he spoke up, and everyone fell silent, surprised by the man’s presence.

“‘PAGANS! Your faith is based on sin! The voice of God will deliver you!”

Very few of these “pagans” were impressed by the intrusion of this priest. They carried on with their celebrations, paying no attention to this killjoy… Except for a few who threw slices of cake at him, just to bring a little joy into his obviously sad life.

The Fir Tree and Saint-Boniface

The day after the feast, still somewhat numb from the celebrations and all the kisses exchanged under branches of mistletoe, the druids went to their oak tree to pay it further homage, now aware of its sacred nature. Only a few more days and they would be able to harvest the mistletoe. According to the eldest, it would be the greatest remedy of the age: this plant had the power to change history!

When they arrived, a surprise awaited them. The strange man from the day before was directing some workmen, and they were… cutting off the tree’s lower branches!

“This pagan worship must stop, it’s an insult to God! I, Boniface, will be the evangelist who shows everyone that nothing is more solid than the Church!”

Distraught, Paressix hurried back to the village to inform the others. A committee returned to the sacred tree to witness the worst offense of all: the men had begun sawing away the trunk of the gigantic monument.

“I’ll prove to you that faith in God is what’s strongest! And if YOUR little gods are so powerful, let them stop me!”

The man in black led the woodcutters and soldiers, and despite all the entreaties, insults and force that was deployed, the villagers of Dokkum were unable to stop the slaughter of their giant oak.

It took Boniface’s troops two days and two nights to cut down the tree. On the morning of December 24th, as the tree was about to fall, the whole village gathered round. A deafening crack sounded, the last suffering cry of this thousand-year-old tree, and it began its fall. Slowly at first, letting the snow from its branches fall to the ground, trampled first, then as if in slow motion, it staggered, before collapsing to the ground, shattering the other trees crushed beneath its mass.

A great silence followed.

A piece of culture, and a forest, had just died.

“THERE!!!” cried Boniface suddenly. “A fir tree has survived the collapse of the oak! It’s a divine sign! From this day on, the fir tree will be known as the tree of the infant Jesus! This is IRREFUTABLE proof that the solidity of the Church is greater than any other belief!”

In his delirium, Boniface began monologuing, praying and blessing everything in sight. Far from convincing the villagers to join his religion, this demonstration ended up convincing them that Boniface was simply mad. This oak, the sacred tree, was certainly the biggest, but… there were other oaks on which to place their prayers.

But this evil man, who caressed the surviving young fir tree as if it had been a small animal, he wouldn’t stay! His bulging eyes, the foam at the corners of his lips, and his unhealthy fondness for the unfortunate little fir tree who hadn’t asked for anything were too much in their village.

In the days that followed, those who had been called “pagans” by the man celebrated and… killed him. The church sanctified him, praising his death as a martyr, and the legend of St. Boniface, patron saint of brewers and tailors, lived on. Ridiculous as this last bit of information may be, it’s totally true and recorded in the history books!

And what about Paressix? Well, as he had a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, he happened to be in the path of the oak when it fell. His idea wasn’t a bad one: harvest the mistletoe once the tree was on the ground. But his judgment of distance was a complete failure!

The old master, for his part, had to face the facts: Paressix had a gift with plants… but choosing him as a pupil was a mistake after all. Laughing into his beard as he recalled his most acrobatic blunders, he set off again, promising himself to take to his grave the secret of the virtues of the oldest mistletoe growing on the biggest oak.

Conclusion

Confused? So am I! But you’ve got to admit, I’ve still written you a great story, even if everyone dies! Well, it’s not exactly a Christmas tale, but you know, telling a story from a bad translation, with a tree sacrifice, followed by a murder… It’s not always easy! I hope I’ve managed to make it fun for you!

But now you know why there’s a Christmas tree in your living room! I promise, next week I’ll write you a sweet tale full of love… and radishes!