The legend of the Lilac
Wise Old 'Possum Woman speaks of the
celebration of Lilac Day on May 3rd in the Old Country:
On the last day of April, according to
the ancient calendar, a girl was born unto a noble House. Her skin
was porcelain and her hair shone darkly as only a Raven's feather
could. On her Naming Day, the third of May, many came from throughout
the countryside bearing gifts.
The last presentation of the day was
the most special one. The child's Godmother lifted her up before the
packed Great Hall and announced, “This is Syri I give her this gift
of a Lilac that will be planted outside of her bedroom window. This
Lilac, when well loved and cared for, will blossom without ceasing.
Syri's sweet nature will reflect the sweet fragrance of the Lilac's
flowers. Syri's voice will be as musical as a cool breeze ruffling
the Lilac's heart-shaped leaves. Syri's strength will match the
Lilac's branches, bending when necessary but never breaking. Syri's
suitors will be counted as many as the trunks that spring from the
Lilac's roots.”
As foretold, Syri grew into womanhood
both bright and beautiful. During the year of her 18th
Naming Day, many suitors arrived at the Great Hall. During the day,
the young men took part in games of sport and skill. Syri and her
friends cheered the winners and consoled the losers. In the evenings
there was feasting and dancing to the delight of all.
As the busy days passed, no one took
notice that although the skies were grey and no sun shone in the sky,
it did not rain. The land was soon parched and through out all of the
countryside the plants began to shrivel and die. Even the prized
Lilac was not spared.
Now the gardener's son, who by
coincidence was born the same year as Syri, was in charge of tending
to the Lilac. He loved Syri, but because he was not of noble birth,
the only way he could express his feelings for her was to pour his
love out onto the Lilac. And did he so, year after year. And that was
why the Lilac had thrived.
But the gardener's son was not among
those who were invited to the festivities. Since he did not care to
watch from afar, he stayed inside his tool shed, sitting on the dirt
floor. With eyes closed and head leaning back against the rough wood
of the shed wall, he imagined what his life could have been, if only
he had been born a Lord's son.
And so, with no sun, no water, and no
love, the Lilac withered. The leaves turned brown and curled at the
edges. The blossoms started to fall one by one, like snow, to the
parched ground. As the last dry flower drifted slowly down and
touched the ground, the dancers in the Great Hall halted and let out
a gasp. Syri had fainted and mirroring that last blossom, had
delicately drifted to the floor. No manner of salts, cold water, or
beseeches could rouse her.
She was put to bed, and a dozen healers
were summoned. None could revive Syri. The Wise Women knew not what
medicines to give Sryi because they did not know what was wrong with
her. Day after day passed and hope started to fade. Word went out to
all of the relatives of the House to come and say their farewells to
the young maiden.
When Godmother heard of the news, she
flew to the Great Hall as swiftly as she could. She pushed passed the
crowds in the Great Hall and ran to Syri's side. She placed her hand
on her Godchild's forehead and bowed her own. After a moment she
looked up and her eyes turned to the window nearest the bed. Within
the frame of the velvet drapes, she could see the bare branches and
sere leaves of the Lilac.
Without explanation, Godmother dashed
from the room and did not slow down until she stood outside the small
door of the tool shed. Her one knock on the door was quickly
answered. She whispered into the gardener's son's ear. Without so
much as a word of response, he grabbed a bucket and some shears. On
his way to the dying Lilac, he stopped only long enough to fill the
bucket at the well. First he deeply watered the roots of the tree.
Then he cut all of the new growth away leaving only five of the
oldest branches. From the most slender of the five, he cut a section,
placed it in a bowl of water and handed it to Godmother who brought
it to Syri's bedside. Then from the next branch he cut a piece of
wood about a foot in length. He took out his knife and carved the
Lilac wood into a small flute.
The Gardener's son sat beneath Syri's
window playing softly on the Lilac flute and tending to the tree.
Godmother sat by Syri's bed tending to both the maiden and the cut
branch. On the second day, buds appeared on the branch by the bedside
and on the branches of the tree outside the window. On the third day, the buds on the
tree unfurled into leaves and the buds on the branch in the bowl by
Syri's side burst forth into blossoms. As the sweet fragrance filled
the room, Syri's eyes opened.
You know the rest of the story. The
gardener's son, whose name, by the way was Panta, was allowed to
court Syri because he had demonstrated his love for her. In the 20th
year of their Naming Day, Syri and Panta married. Their children numbered as many as the trunks of the Lilac. And each child had
his or her own Lilac tree planted outside their bedroom window.
That is why, to this day, Lilacs bloom
in the spring and only on the old wood. And you can still find flutes
made from the Lilac's wood.
Lilac Day is celebrated on the Third of
May. Following tradition, a young man cuts branches of Lilac buds,
places them in a clear bowl of water and gives it to the gentle lady
that he wishes to court. Each evening for three days, he
serenades her by playing a flute under her window. On the third
night, if the lady is agreeable to his request, she places the
blooming Lilac flowers in her window and slowly descends the stairs
to meet him at the front door.
The Legend of the Lilac Part 1:
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