In an ironically adverse way, the similarities between the play and S.A.’s curse were unmistakable. Something—some force or circumstance or delusion or bias—had bewitched F.F.’s eyes so that when he discovered his property missing, he blamed the first person who came to his mind—the last person he saw before stepping on to the Catalina ferry—S.A. If only we could apply Oberon’s antidote to F.F.’s eyes! We certainly couldn’t do it physically, but perhaps there was a way we could do it magically, and so the play itself became the blueprint of a ritual to lift the curse.
Shakespeare was well aware of the mythological and magical properties of plants and herbs. He mentions by name at least eighty varieties in his plays and poems, twenty-six in A Midsummer Night’s Dream alone! I wanted first to confirm exactly what flower was used by Oberon to bewitch the eyes of Titania and the others, and then, what other flower was used to lift the curse and allow everyone to see things clearly again.
In Act II, Scene I, Oberon himself tells us about the first flower when he informs his servant, Puck, precisely what it is, why it is magical, and where he can find it.
Oberon. My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememberest
Since once I sat upon a promontory,
And heard a mermaid on a dolphin’s back
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath
That the rude sea grew civil at her song
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,
To hear the sea-maid’s music.
Puck. I remember.
Oberon. That very time I saw, but thou couldst not,
Flying between the cold moon and the earth,
Cupid all arm’d: a certain aim he took
At a fair vestal throned by the west,
And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow,
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts;
But I might see young Cupid’s fiery shaft
Quench’d in the chaste beams of the watery moon,
And the imperial votaress passed on,
In maiden meditation, fancy-free.
Yet mark’d I where the bolt of Cupid fell:
It fell upon a little western flower,
Before milk-white, now purple with love’s wound,
And maidens call it love-in-idleness.60
Fetch me that flower; the herb I shew’d thee once:
The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid
Will make man or woman madly dote
Upon the next live creature that it sees.
Fetch me this herb; and be thou here again
Ere the leviathan can swim a league.
In Shakespeare’s day, love-in-idleness was the name of a violet and white European wildflower, also called heartsease (Viola tricolor), which was the ancient ancestor of the pansy. His description of the mythical genesis of the flower (that of being created when Cupid’s arrow missed the heart of “a fair vestal throned by the west”) is a not-so-subtle reference to Queen Elizabeth I, whose virgin heart was officially never pierced by Cupid’s arrow. The purple of “love’s wound” of the once-pure-white flower was a poignant reference to the fact that Elizabeth had shunned the personal pleasures of marriage, and the garment that would have been her white bridal dress was transformed by greater duty to the royal purple of the monarchy. She quite literally became the bride of England.
When you think about it, there was big magick in that flower. The sexual power of Cupid’s arrow, shot “as it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts,” instead of casting a powerful spell of passion on the great queen, injected all its love magick into that tiny quivering flower. I love this stuff!
The identity of the other flower (the one Oberon used to free Titania and the others from the spell of misunderstanding) can be found in Act IV, Scene I:
Oberon. But first I will release the fairy queen.
Be as thou wast wont to be;
[Touching her eyes with an herb]
See as thou wast wont to see:
Dian’s bud o’er Cupid’s flower
Hath such force and blessed power.
Now, my Titania; wake you, my sweet queen.
Dian’s bud (Artemisia absinthium) is named for the chaste goddess of the hunt (another virgin). It is the archaic name for absinthe or wormwood. Associated with sorcery from prehistoric times, its feathery, greenish-gray leaves are poisonous in concentrated doses and produce a narcotic effect in smaller doses. This was starting to sound like serious pharmacology.
The basic format of our ritual was to be very simple. After due preparation, we would have S.A. smear certain parts of the curse parchment with the juice of a love-in-idleness plant. These parts would include F.F.’s signature, the image of the mischievous Puck, and particular words and phrases that most demonstrated F.F.’s temporary inability to see things accurately.
Then, once the curse itself was anointed and fully “alive” with the delusional “spirit” of misunderstanding, S.A. would neutralize the spirit by liberally smearing the juice of Dian’s bud upon those same areas of the parchment. All of this, of course, would be accompanied by appropriate incantations gleaned from the works of Shakespeare. The whole operation promised to be not only magically viable, but also a lot of fun.
We chose for our magical temple one of the most beautiful places on earth—the Huntington Library and Botanical Gardens in San Marino, California. Nestled within its 140 acres is a charming Shakespeare Garden containing many of the herbs and plants mentioned in Shakespeare’s works—all with little plaques displaying the names of the plays in which they made their appearance. It would be no trouble at all to find our Love-in-idleness and Dian’s bud, but how would we pluck them up without drawing the attention of the groundskeepers? “Ay, there’s the rub.”
It was a cool Sunday afternoon when Constance and I, S.A., and a handful of interested lodge members carpooled up to the Huntington. As expected, the place was crowded. The Shakespeare Garden, however, was nearly deserted and it took us no time at all
