September – ‘Winter’s Forewarning and Summer’s Farewell’

Kalendar of Shepherds illustration of September showing harvesting grapes and the astrological signs for Virgo (August 23 – September 22) and Libra (September 23 – October 22)

It is that time of the year when you say ‘Where has the Summer gone? It can’t be September already?’ But, metrologically speaking, Autumn starts today. September 1st was chosen on a numerical basis for ease of measuring rather than any profound floral, agricultural or solar reason. So, there are three Gregorian Calendar months for each season, and each season starts on the first of the month. Autumn comes from Latin (autumnus) which went into French and then into English. The season was also called Harvest (which went into Dutch herfst, German Herbst, and Scots hairst -Wikipedia) or from the 16th Century the ‘fall of the year’ or ‘fall of the leaf’ which spread to America.

It still feels like summer this year, with flowers doing well in my garden and not looking too tired. In England, we often have a glorious September, and an ‘Indian’ Summer.

Of course, for the real Autumn, we have to wait for the Equinox, the beginning of Astronomical or Solar Autumn. This year (2024) on September 22nd.

The stars signs for astrological September are: Virgo which is linked to Aphrodite (Venus) the Goddess of Love and Libra is linked to Artemis (Diana), virgin goddess of many things, including hunting, wild animals, children, and birth.

Star signs for September

September gets its name from the Romans, for whom it was the 7th Month of the year (septem is Latin for seven). Later, they added two new months so it became our 9th Month. (For more on the Roman year, look at my post here).

It is called Halegmonath in the early English language, or the holy month, named because it is the month of offerings, because of the harvest, and the mellow fruitfulness of September? Medi in Welsh is the month of reaping, and An Sultuine in Gaelic which means the month of plenty.

Roman personification of Autumn from Lullingstone mosaic

Here is an early 17th Century look at September from the Kalendar of Shepherds – for more on the Kalendar, look at my post here.

From the Kalendar of Shepherds

The Kalendar has an additional shorter look at September and continues with its linking of the 12 months of the year with the lifespan of a man – 6 years for each month. So September is a metaphor for man at 56 years of age, in their prime and preparing for old age.

September from the Kalendar of Shepherds. The last sentence beginning ‘and then is man’ shows the link between September and the beginning of the autumn of life.

Keats (1795 – 1821) wrote a great poem about Autumn:

To Autumn

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
  Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
  With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
  And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
    To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
  With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
    For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
  Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
  Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
  Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
    Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
  Steady thy laden head across a brook;
  Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
    Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
  Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
  And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
  Among the river sallows, borne aloft
    Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
  Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
  The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
    And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Written September 19, 1819; first published in 1820. This poem is in the public domain and available here:

The Oak Moon December 27th

Full Moon Photo with thanks to Natalie Tobart

The 27th December is the full moon and has various names including Moon after Yule, Oak Moon, Full Cold Moon.

The Greco/Roman goddess of the Moon is Selena/Luna. She is the Goddess who carries the moon across the Sky most nights. Sometimes conflated with Artemis, Selena is the equivalent of Helios, the personification of the Sun who is her brother. They are, along with the dawn goddess Eos, the offspring of the Titans Hyperion and Theia. (Wikipedia).

Bust of Selene in a clipeus, detail from a strigillated lenos sarcophagus. Roman artwork.

Selena is the Goddess of beauty, of monthly cycles, of tides, menstruation, of intuition. She was the lover of Zeus, Pan and the mortal Endymion who inspired Keats to write his poem of the same name.

Here is a small piece of ‘Endymion‘ (Cynthia is another name for Selene, from her place of birth, Mount Cynthus.) Endymion deserts Cynthia for another lover, but ultimately, it turns out that the lover is Cynthia in disguise.

O Moon! The oldest shades ‘mong oldest trees
Feel palpitations when thou lookest in:
O Moon! old boughs lisp forth a holier din
The while they feel thine airy fellowship.
Thou dost bless every where, with silver lip
Kissing dead things to life. The sleeping kine,
Couched in thy brightness, dream of fields divine:
Innumerable mountains rise, and rise,
Ambitious for the hallowing of thine eyes;
And yet thy benediction passeth not
One obscure hiding-place, one little spot
Where pleasure may be sent: the nested wren
Has thy fair face within its tranquil ken,
And from beneath a sheltering ivy leaf
Takes glimpses of thee; thou art a relief
To the poor patient oyster, where it sleeps
Within its pearly house.–The mighty deeps,
The monstrous sea is thine–the myriad sea!
O Moon! far-spooming Ocean bows to thee,
And Tellus feels his forehead’s cumbrous load.

Cynthia! where art thou now? What far abode
Of green or silvery bower doth enshrine
Such utmost beauty? Alas, thou dost pine
For one as sorrowful: thy cheek is pale
For one whose cheek is pale: thou dost bewail
His tears, who weeps for thee. Where dost thou sigh?
Ah! surely that light peeps from Vesper’s eye,
Or what a thing is love! ‘Tis She, but lo!
How chang’d, how full of ache, how gone in woe!
She dies at the thinnest cloud; her loveliness
Is wan on Neptune’s blue: yet there’s a stress
Of love-spangles, just off yon cape of trees,
Dancing upon the waves, as if to please
The curly foam with amorous influence.
O, not so idle: for down-glancing thence
She fathoms eddies, and runs wild about
O’erwhelming water-courses; scaring out
The thorny sharks from hiding-holes, and fright’ning
Their savage eyes with unaccustomed lightning.
Where will the splendor be content to reach?
O love! how potent hast thou been to teach
Strange journeyings! Wherever beauty dwells,
In gulf or aerie, mountains or deep dells,
In light, in gloom, in star or blazing sun,
Thou pointest out the way, and straight ’tis won.
Amid his toil thou gav’st Leander breath;
Thou leddest Orpheus through the gleams of death;
Thou madest Pluto bear thin element;
And now, O winged Chieftain! them hast sent
A moon-beam to the deep, deep water-world,
To fin Endymon.

On gold sand impearl’d With lily shells, and pebbles milky white,
Poor Cynthia greeted him, and sooth’d her light
Against his pallid face: he felt the charm
To breathlessness, and suddenly a warm
Of his heart’s blood: ’twas very sweet; he stay’d
His wandering steps, and half-entranced laid
His head upon a tuft of straggling weeds,
To taste the gentle moon, and freshening beads,
Lashed from the crystal roof by fishes’ tails.
And so he kept, until the rosy veils
Mantling the east, by Aurora’s peering hand
Were lifted from the water’s breast, and faun’d
Into sweet air; and sober’d morning came
Meekly through billows:–when like taper-flame
Left sudden by a dallying breath of air,
He rose in silence, and once more ‘gan fare
Along his fated way.

First Published December 8th 2022, Republished on December 27th 2023

Object of the Day – Shakespeare’s Signet Ring?

Signet Ring which mayu be Shakespeares
Signet Ring with Lover’s Knot and initials WS

I went to New Place in Stratford-upon-Avon to see the First Folio Exhibition on the anniversary of its publication in 1623. It was a very small exhibition, and, at first sight quite disappointing. Almost everything in it I had seen before. But, I came away quite excited, because it had a much better explanation of the Signet Ring than the one in its previous display.

In 1810 someone found this gold ring in field near the Holy Trinity Church where Shakespeare was baptised and buried. It has a lover’s knot and the initials WS. It could ofcourse be anyone’s with those initials. But it certainly excited comment at the time as the display makes clear:

Photo of display at New Place in Stratford-upon-Avon of a comment by BEnjamin Hayden to John Keats about the finding of signet ring which might be Shakespeares.

I did not know about the ring until New Place was refurbished a few years ago and the ring went on display. The new display gives more of an explanation as well as the delightful quotation above from Hayden to Keats.

Michael Wood suggested that Shakespeare might have lost the ring on the occassion of his daughter, Judith’s, marriage to Thomas Quiney in February 1616. Shakespeare made his Will a month later, and it is marked by three of his signatures. The Will says ‘whereof I have hereunto put my seale’. The word seale has been crossed out and the word ‘hand’ put in in its stead. So, he was intending to seale his approval of the Will, but changed his mind and put his signature instead? Why? Because he had recently lost his seal ring? Shakespeare died a month or so later.

Photo of display photo of the Ring that maybe Shakespeare's
Photo of the display photo of the Ring that maybe Shakespeare’s

Judith was the twin of Hamnet who died at age 11 and the Church has recently planted a couple of trees as a memorial to the twins, who are not buried, like their older sister, Suzanna, next to their mum and dad by the altar in the Church. Judith’s husband was a bit of a rogue, as he was called to the Bawdy Court and accused of debauchery with a local women who he made pregnant, and who died in childbirth. He is not mentioned in the Will.

But Shakespeare did leave money in his will to buy gold rings for his fellow actors, John Heminges and William Condell, who are buried in St Mary Aldermanbury in London. They outlived Shakespeare and collected his plays together in the First Folio. A Remembrance Ring is also in the display.

Handwritten notebook written in the 1620s full of quotations from the First Folio
Handwritten notebook written in the 1620s full of quotations from the First Folio

The other main item in the display is this tiny 7.8 cm high notebook in which its unknown owner copied out his favourite quotes from the First Folio. It contains material from all 38 plays, and internal evidence shows it must have been made from the First Folio. It is about the size of the minature books the Brontes made. The tiny writing of the book must have been written with a quill from a small bird.

The display shows that a lot can be made of a few objects, if they are well chosen and with an excellent explanation.

By the way the rings and the Folio are clear evidence that Shakespeare wrote the plays as his friends put together his plays in a volume with introductory information which makes it absolutely clear he wrote them. Also in the Church the memorial to Shakespeare compares him to King Nestor in judgement, Socrates in wisdom, and Virgil in art. Nothing can be clearer, and why people continue to say Shakespeare was simply an actor who copied out the plays is beyond me.

Pylium is a reference to King Nestor of Pylos. Maronem is Virgil. The last line means ‘The earth buries him’ the people mourns him, Olympus posesses him’.