The Luminous Moss (Schistostega pennata): In Search of Goblin Gold

Bryophytes, perhaps due to their small size and indistinct characteristics, have rarely captured the human imagination; certainly far less so than vascular plants. However, there are a few exceptions to this general observation, and goblin gold is a perfect example. Schistostega pennata, its scientific name, is indeed a truly unique species that grows on cave walls, in rock crevices, and even at the entrances to burrows. Calcifuge, it particularly appreciates sandstone or granite substrates, where it can be found in rock shelters, rugged cliffs, low walls, or along embankments, taking advantage of the refuges provided by roots.

But the fascinating nature of Schistostega isn’t solely due to its ecology, nor its preference for dark places avoided by other moss species. No, what truly makes it fantastic, and magical in the fullest sense of the word, is its ability to glow in the dark, deep within cavities illuminated by a flashlight or candle flame. Indeed, its protonema—that is, the layer of chlorophyll-containing cells that constitutes its first stage of development—is made up of tiny spheres that reflect incident light like lenses, thus appearing « luminescent, » an extremely rare property in the plant kingdom.

That being said, what will interest us in this article is not so much the phenomenon itself, but rather what it has sparked in the human imagination. Through its etymology, as well as through accounts of its discoveries and its cultural significance, we will explore the long-standing and worldwide fascination this species inspires. But let’s not waste any more time: let’s equip ourselves with a flashlight, good shoes, and a magnifying glass, and set off in search of goblin gold!

Etymology: Language as a Witness to Magic

Our little luminescent moss was first described in 1785 by Dickson, who discovered it in Devon, in southern England. The species was then named Mnium osmundaceum, a reference to a known genus (Mnium), but also, and perhaps more importantly, to the royal fern (Osmunda regalis), that beautiful, large fern whose pinnate tips were thought to bear a certain resemblance to moss. A few years later, in 1801, the species was renamed Gymnostomum pennatum by Hedwig, the name again referring to the « pinnate » leaves of ferns. Amidst a tangle of descriptions and new names, the name Schistostega pennata finally appeared in 1803. The genus name literally means « whose operculum splits, » and is unfortunately rather inappropriate since it does not correspond to what is observed in this species[i].

That being said, we saw in the introduction that what makes our subject unique is not so much the shape of its leaves or the opening of its capsules, but rather its protonema, which sparkles in the twilight. It so happens that for some time, however, this was considered a distinct species, and not a developmental stage of Schistostega pennata. Thus, in 1826, a certain Bridel described it as an alga he named Catoptridium smaragdinum. We find in this the Greek root catoptris, meaning « mirror » or « image, » and smaragdinos, which evokes an « emerald green. » In Latin, catopritis mainly referred to « a kind of precious stone, » an appellation which takes on its full meaning when one knows that the species shines like nuggets in the heart of caverns[ii]… However, it was only in 1834 that the truth was restored by Unger: this alga is not one, but is rather the protonema of goblin gold[iii].

The way we describe the things around us reflects our interest—or, conversely, our disinterest—in them. However, it is rather rare for bryophytes to have the honor of a well-established and widespread common name. As the reader will have guessed, Schistostega pennata is one of the species that benefits from this privileged treatment. Even better, our moss of dark corners has numerous common names, and even regional names that attest to a certain popular affection.

Often, its names refer to its luminous quality, either directly or indirectly. In the first case, the species is simply called luminous moss, luminescent moss, or shining moss, with all the possible variations depending on the language: for example, luminous moss[iv] or luminescent moss[v] in English; lysmose in Norwegian[vi]; leuchtmoos in German[vii]; Musco luminoso in Spanish[viii]… This luminous quality sometimes lends itself to more original, even amusing, names, such as rabbit’s candle[ix], which is said to be used in Scotland, in the Edinburgh area[x].

But the etymology of Schistostega pennata also extends into the realm of gold and treasure… generally associating it with folkloric creatures inhabiting caves and caverns. Of course, its most common name is goblin’s gold, which in France is sometimes translated as lutin’s gold. We find it in English, with the name goblin’s gold[xi]. That being said, our luminescent moss is also placed under the protection of the dragon, a creature of caves as well, but a much more frightening one. Among its English names is dragon’s gold[xii], which is also found in Sweden, for example, where it is called drakguldmossa, meaning « dragon’s gold moss »[xiii]. In any case, our Schistostega is frequently compared to a treasure… This is explained, of course, by its shiny appearance and cave-dwelling habitat, but also undoubtedly by its general rarity. The species is indeed scattered, confined to rather acidic areas, and exhibits a particular ecology that often causes it to go unnoticed. While it can be quite common in certain suitable regions, it remains a taxon that bryologists always find with a touch of emotion… something I can personally attest to.

The Thrill of Discovery

I remember my first encounter with Schistostega pennata as if it were yesterday. I was a young bryologist, still quite inexperienced, watching a wonderful, unsuspected world unfold before me: the world of mosses and liverworts, which I have never stopped exploring since. But if bryophytes are a fantastic universe in themselves, what can be said of this luminous moss, shimmering emerald green in the heart of hidden rocks; a natural treasure, revealing itself only to those passionate enough to venture into these seemingly useless crevices? That day, June 29, 2013, I had set out to explore the forests and streams of the Pays de Bitche, in Moselle, in the northernmost part of the Vosges Mountains (more precisely, in the commune of Sturzelbronn). Exploring the bryophyte flora of a rocky outcrop, I stumbled upon a small cave that plunged into darkness… It was then, under my magnifying glass, as I examined the species growing on the walls of the entrance, that I recognized the pinnate leaves of Schistostega. A smile bloomed on my lips, for it was a discovery for me, and it widened even further when, using my phone’s flashlight, I saw the emerald protonema gleaming in the dim light, a little further into the cavern… There weren’t many, just a few small spots here and there, but that was enough to make me happy. I found it very difficult to leave that place, for I had the overwhelming feeling of having unearthed a treasure; not a material treasure, but something far more precious, something to do with the heart and soul.

In the years that followed, I repeatedly came across the goblin’s gold during various outings in the Vosges Mountains, alone or with German and Alsatian bryologists. Each time, however, the sight of this shimmering species filled me with a feeling of euphoria, so much so that upon settling in the Vosges Saônoises region, I decided to resume my search for it, in order to better understand its distribution in my area. Considered very rare in Franche-Comté, the luminous moss is seldom mentioned in older literature and was then recorded in only two recently discovered locations. Armed with my flashlight, I scoured the landscapes, finally discovering it in several communes in the area. Sometimes I saw it shining in a cave, sometimes under the exposed roots of a tree on a bank… The same emotion overwhelmed me with each find, and when I looked into the accounts of the discovery of the species, I realized that this enthusiasm for Schistostega pennata was in fact widely shared.

Goblin gold (Schistostega pennata), here under the roots of a tree at the edge of a bank. Personal photograph

Let us delve into some of these accounts, beginning with that of Anton Kerner von Marilaun. In 1863, in his work entitled Das Pflanzenleben der Donauländer (“The Flora of the Danube Country”), the Austrian botanist recounts the discovery of the species and justifies the legends and beliefs associated with it by its extraordinary properties. For when a fragment of this “gold” that glittered in the cave was taken, nothing remained in the daylight to convince us of its existence… In our hands, nothing but earth remained. Were we dreaming? Of course not, but the treasure possesses magical properties; we will return to this later. This, at least, is what Kerner von Marilaun says about it: “This phenomenon, that an object shines only in dark rocky crevices and immediately loses its luster in daylight, is so surprising that one can easily understand how the legends of fantastic gnomes and troglodyte goblins arose.”[xiv] We will not contradict him.

In 1921, G.B. Kaiser, an American bryologist, set out to search for the species in the Appalachians… The account of his discovery, which he himself provides in volume 24 of the journal *The Bryologist*, speaks for itself: “A cry escaped our lips!” Here, at last, lay the object of our search, the luminous moss: as our eyes explored the gloom, a faint glimmer seemed to grow and grow until it became the glow of « goblin gold »—a faint, yellow-green light that shone, sometimes steady, sometimes flickering, always exquisite, beneath our fascinated and delighted gaze. (…) Later that day, as we attempted to cross the edge of the woods to reach the rugged summit, the weather changed, vast expanses of cloud threatened us, and the wind blew mournfully: but we cared little for the coming storm! We carried in our hearts and minds a memory that would remain etched: we had succeeded in our quest, we had found the luminous moss, and even though since that day we have not been able to rediscover this object of so much wandering and wonder, this discovery led us to consider the word Schistostega as a magic word, a talisman, a lucky charm!« [xv] Thus, I am far from being the only one to whom this tiny moss brings comfort! Anyone who has the chance to observe it one day keeps within them a small treasure; a memory that is cherished and that accompanies us through trials like a blessing.

We could multiply the many more accounts of wonder relating to the discovery of our luminous moss, for example, by citing that of a certain Stephen Ward, who recounts his exploration of an area of ​​Scotland dotted with rabbit burrows. As the light faded, he glimpsed something shining in some of the holes: “magnificent emeralds that sparkled, like a glimpse of a veritable underground Ali Baba’s cave,”[xvi] he explained. Thus, Schistostega pennata is frequently compared to a treasure. It is therefore no surprise that it is the object of a singular fascination—if not veneration—which is particularly evident in contemporary culture.

A magical and revered plant

Schistostega pennata is a small botanical talisman, a visual marvel that brings a certain joy to find. Even fans of the video game Animal Crossing may be familiar with this species without realizing it… There, it is called glowing moss in the English version, and can be harvested in New Horizons, on certain mysterious islands accessible only by boat. Once in the player’s inventory, this bryophyte can be used to decorate their house or garden, and also to craft items that will then possess a luminous aura[xvii]…

The glowing moss in the video game Animal Crossing.

The presence of Schistostega pennata in a Japanese video game is not so surprising, as the species enjoys a veritable cult following in the Land of the Rising Sun. Furthermore, it plays a central role in a book that even lends its title to the story: Hikarigoke (Luminous Moss) by Taijun Takeda, published in 1953.[xviii] The book tells the tale of sailors stranded by a snowstorm on the island of Hokkaido. Finding refuge in a cave, they are ultimately forced to resort to cannibalism to survive. The captain, the sole survivor, explains in court that those who had consumed human flesh possessed a phosphorescent green aura around them, which only those who remained healthy could see. It is understood that the cave was inhabited by Schistostega. The novel was adapted into an opera[xix], and also into a film under the title Luminous Moss.[xx] In the film version, the protagonist is a writer who one day discovers a cave entirely covered in this moss, shimmering before his bewildered eyes. Having heard a story of alleged cannibalism involving a crew of sailors shipwrecked on an island, he imagines a scenario in which the flesh-eaters would be betrayed by emerald halos around their heads, a souvenir of the moss he had observed…

The fluorescence of goblin gold thus plays a sinister role here. But in Japan, it is also the object of more traditional veneration, to the point that a memorial is dedicated to it within a small cave located on the island of Hokkaido. Luminous moss covers a good part of the floor and walls of this cavern, where one can reflect and meditate, losing oneself in its singular phosphorescence.

The Makkausu winery, on the island of Hokkaido, honoring Schistostega pennata.

We now turn to an archaeological mystery, which takes us back to Europe, and more specifically to England. In his book Bryophytes of the Pleistocene: The British Record and its Chorological and Ecological Implications, the scientist J.H. Dickson discusses a discovery that is nothing short of enigmatic… and extraordinary. He explains that a fragment of Schistostega pennata was identified in “the socket of an axe buried within a Bronze Age deposit” at Aylsham, Norfolk[xxi]. While it is already remarkable that the plant has remained identifiable after all this time, it is above all the location of its discovery that opens up fascinating perspectives. How did a fragment of luminous moss end up inside a weapon? Was it the result of chance or a deliberate act?

It goes without saying that, when studying materials from such distant periods, any attempt to provide definitive answers is illusory. Dickson opts for an accidental introduction into the handle, probably during the axe’s manufacture, and this hypothesis is indeed plausible given that Bronze Age tribes frequently gathered in caves that constitute the very habitat of our goblin gold. It should be noted, however, that the species is absent from Aylsham, and more generally from eastern Norfolk[xxii], and that, given the specific nature of its habitats, it is likely that its distribution has not changed much over time[xxiii]. This would therefore mean that the weapon was transported over a relatively long distance and was not manufactured where it was buried. That being said, while the possibility of accidental introduction into the axe socket is quite real, we cannot rule out the hypothesis of deliberate insertion into the tool. Was this species the object of particular veneration? Is it possible that magical properties were attributed to it, which would explain its presence in such a singular location?

Let us remember which species we are talking about: luminous moss, goblin gold. The mere mention of its name evokes fantastical tales, so how can we imagine that it did not also fascinate the people of old, who saw it shimmering in caves by the light of their torches? Dickson himself does not entirely dismiss this theory: « The possibility remains that Schistostega had a magical significance » [xxiv]. Furthermore, it is interesting to note that the Celtic deities associated with fire are, in fact, also linked to the forge. This is undoubtedly the case with Belenos[xxv] and Bel, perhaps even with Lug. These too are solar deities, and therefore luminous gods, like our goblin gold protonemas. Let us now imagine our ancient craftsman, working on the making of weapons within some sandstone cavity, forging this axe over a fire that makes the surrounding walls gleam like gold… How could he not be troubled by such a phenomenon? Thus, perhaps Schistostega pennata was associated with solar deities, and therefore with the entities that governed the flames of the forge. Of course, we will never know for sure, but this fragment in the axe is nonetheless a highly intriguing element, opening up rich possibilities. Unfortunately, to this day, no similar discovery has been recorded.

The Ephemeral Gold of Goblins

Thus, it is possible that Schistostega pennata stimulated the human imagination as early as prehistory. But our questions about it can easily be extended into the modern era. We have noted that bryophytes are rarely mentioned in imaginative works—no doubt due to their inconspicuous nature and their similarities to one another—but this does not mean that they could not have inspired certain motifs in our legends. In this case, Schistostega pennata, by its very etymology, is openly associated with subterranean treasures, and with the goblins who are often their guardians. Caves and caverns have always intrigued people, especially since veins of gold could sometimes be found there… Consequently, numerous stories and beliefs arose concerning riches hidden in the shadows, one of the most enduring of which is that they are made, or gathered, by those humanoid and somewhat unsettling creatures known as goblins. That being said, it is not surprising that a phosphorescent moss growing on the walls of caves has been linked to these mythological figures… We will not delve into the origin of goblins here – a topic that could fill an entire book – but it is worth recalling some of their most famous occurrences. In Germanic countries, they sometimes take on the guise of the Kobold, who can be benevolent towards miners, but also possessive and vengeful when it comes to their precious metal.[xxvi] They are also featured in contemporary culture, for example in the Harry Potter universe, where they once again appear avaricious and fascinated by riches.[xxvii] Guardians of Gringotts Bank, their vaults are scattered throughout underground labyrinths… Of course, they are also encountered in J.R.R. Tolkien’s Middle-earth, where they dwell in the heart of the mountains. In The Hobbit, Bilbo and his companions thus encounter them in the Misty Mountains, where the treasure guarded by the dragon Smaug is located;[xxviii] another creature associated with our Schistostega, as we have noted.

Up to this point, we can reasonably assume that it was real gold that inspired the folklore, more so than our luminous moss. Certainly, but in some stories, this coveted gold is linked to magical properties that cause it to vanish, or even crumble to dust, when touched… This motif is very interesting for our topic, because it is precisely what happens when one tries to grasp the phosphorescent protonema of the luminous moss: in the light of a torch or lamp, it resembles gold, dazzling… but anyone who scratches the surface and tries to reach the exit finds only dust or earth beneath their fingers, mixed with a rather innocuous little green carpet. Therefore, we can ask ourselves… Could Schistostega pennata have inspired some of these beliefs and legends relating to ephemeral gold, or gold that transforms under the fingers of its discoverer?

The first case, that of disappearing gold, is found in numerous tales, to the point of having been identified as a “classic motif” of folk literature by S. Thompson, under the code N562: “The treasure vanishes of its own accord from time to time / A magical illusion prevents men from seizing the treasures”[xxix]. Often, the said treasure appears only for a very short period, at a symbolic moment on the calendar, and sometimes even at a specific time of day. For example, many underground riches are revealed only on Christmas night, sometimes during Mass or at precisely midnight. Thus, in Maine, a cave inhabited by fairies is accessible only when the church bell in Lavaré rings… Inside, “a heap of gold and silver,” as well as “precious stones that sparkle so brightly they turn night into day,” await the adventurer who dares to enter[xxx]. He can take whatever he wants, but the rock closes again at the last chime of the bell. The phenomenon is similar with the treasure of the Fools of the Allier, accessible only during Christmas Mass or on Palm Sunday, when the priest knocks three times on the church door… but even then, one must have sold one’s soul to the Devil to be able to seize it.[xxxi] Among the other treasures that are revealed at Christmas, we can mention that of the Cave aux Bœufs (in the Sarthe region), or that of the Pyrome rocks (in the Deux-Sèvres region).[xxxii] In some cases, however, the visibility and accessibility of the treasure are even more ephemeral. On the path between Salvan and Fenestral, legend has it that a treasure hidden under a stone is only visible once every hundred years.[xxxiii]

What is interesting about all these stories is that the ephemeral nature of these treasures can echo the reproductive cycle of our luminous moss. The phosphorescent protonema of Schistostega pennata is theoretically observable year-round[xxxiv], but this does not mean that it is perpetually visible at any given site. Thus, we can easily imagine the wonder of a traveler camping in a cave that harbors it, followed by disappointment upon returning months or years later to find nothing dazzling. But beyond the biological cycle of this bryophyte, it is also important to remember that the protonema’s phosphorescence is only perceptible with a specific orientation and intensity of light. In other words, the shimmering effect visible in torchlight disappears when the protonema is moved away from the light source, or when returning in the middle of the day. Furthermore, some Schistostega sites can naturally glow in sunlight at certain times of day, when the sun enters the cave at the right angle. The observer who is lucky enough to be there then sees the goblins’ gold appear… but an ephemeral gold, which disappears in just a few minutes, perhaps inspiring these stories of lost riches.

Within these legends, one last point, and not the least important, deserves our attention: the special moment when these hidden treasures are revealed. This moment generally corresponds to Christmas, which is, of course, a highly symbolic date. That the child-light, Jesus, upon his birth, should bring forth light within the caves is, all things considered, quite logical, and it is understandable that the legends have favored this particular night for this phenomenon. Furthermore, this date also corresponds, more or less, to the winter solstice, which marks the lengthening of the days. Symbolically, it is therefore the advent of light that is celebrated on this date… and its victory over the winter darkness. Now, isn’t this precisely what Schistostega pennata embodies when it twinkles in the heart of the twilight? It represents the glimmer that persists in the heart of the night, like the hope that remains even in the darkest corners of existence. Given its luminous nature, it would not have been surprising if this Bronze Age blacksmith had used it as an emblem of his solar deity, whatever it may have been.

The Treasure That Turns to Dust

That being said, let us return to our modern legends, in which another motif deserves our attention. For while gold sometimes simply disappears, it also frequently turns to dust beneath the fingers of its discoverer, or transforms into mere debris, earth or plant matter. This phenomenon is found in many beliefs, and not only in France. Thus, Mare Kalda, a doctor of philosophy, mentions legends relating to the discovery of a « glow of treasure, » some of which are found in Estonia. In these stories, people gathered around a fire may receive earth or coals to light their pipes… which ultimately turn out to be gold after some time. But the opposite phenomenon is at least as widespread: the treasure passed on transforms into a substance that ultimately has no value: earth, leaves, ashes[xxxv]… Is it because the fire around which the gathering was held went out? The luminous moss was goblin gold as long as the flames made its protonema sparkle, but it became tiny moss embedded in earth once night fell.

This same motif appears in the North American tale « The Crumbling Silver. » It tells of shining nodules on the rock, which arouse the covetousness of a man named Gardiner. Unwilling to share anything with anyone, he ends up killing the Montauks Indian who had shown him the spot… but in doing so, he unleashes a curse. Returning home by candlelight, he discovers that what he has taken no longer shines as it should. The next morning, in his cellar, he finds only a pile of gray dust flecked with a few coppery reflections[xxxvi]… The treasure has been transformed into a worthless thing. It no longer shines, like the protonema of Schistostega brought into the light of day, or by the light of a poorly positioned lamp. Thus, the precious object that deteriorates and ceases to shine is an intercultural motif, found from Estonia to the United States. Of course, it is also encountered in Western Europe, for example in connection with the famous leprechauns. Their treasure is reputed to be unattainable, protected by enchantments and well-kept secrets. If by chance someone manages to seize it, it can transform into leaves, into earth, or simply disintegrate at lightning speed, especially if certain rules are not followed (do not raise your voice, do not look back, do not reveal the location…). The same is sometimes true of the fairies’ hoardings, or even of the riches that witches believe they obtain from the devil. In many witchcraft trials, the person seduced by the Devil receives a kind of payment in exchange for their soul, in the form of gold or coins. But generally, this money ends up disappearing, or more precisely, transforming into something worthless; sometimes earth, but more often oak leaves.[xxxvii]

This motif of gold that metamorphoses once taken is found in a tale by the Brothers Grimm: « The Gifts of the Little People. » A tailor and a goldsmith, traveling in the dead of night, discover a gathering of merry elves, join them, and obtain coal from them, filling their pockets. The next morning, waking up in an inn, the two companions are pleased to find that it has turned into gold… But the story doesn’t end there, for the goldsmith then decides to find the little people again to obtain even more of their gold. As the reader will have guessed, his greed is punished, and the coal remains coal this time. Worse still, the gold he initially obtained has also reverted to mere scrap.[xxxviii] Contemporary literature has also seized upon this concept. For example, in his short story « The Devil and Tom Walker, » Washington Irving features an individual to whom a mysterious figure reveals the location of Captain Kidd’s treasure. Since the treasure is cursed and protected by the devil himself, the man becomes rich at the expense of his soul, but ultimately ends up ruined by a supernatural process in which the gold and silver he had unearthed are transformed into wood chips.[xxxix]

A similar phenomenon occurs in the English folktale « The Hedley Kow« , but with a more favorable outcome for the protagonist. An old woman finds a pot filled with gold, but on her way home, glancing inside, she realizes the gold has turned into silver. A little later, she notices the pot contains iron, then rock. Yet, the woman takes each of these transformations with optimism, even when the pot’s contents finally become the Hedley Kow, a strange, mischievous little creature that runs away laughing. She considers herself lucky to have witnessed such a supernatural being and returns home pleased with her good fortune[xl]… much like bryologists discovering Schistostega by the light of their flashlight. True treasures, ultimately, are never material.

The fact remains that the motif of ephemeral gold, or gold that turns out to be nothing more than a worthless heap of debris, is actually extremely common in the collective imagination. Often, wealth is merely an illusion, temporary, like the protonema of Schistostega pennata, which appears as gold in illuminated caves but becomes hopelessly ordinary once brought into the light of day… at least for those unfamiliar with bryology. In Gascony, it was said that gold was likely to rot and turn red underground, so goblins had to display their treasure at the entrance of caves for an hour on New Year’s Eve to ensure it retained its full luster.[xli] The mention of the color red is interesting when one considers that it often characterizes sandstone, a favorite habitat of bioluminescent moss. The species is also present in Gascony, which leads us to highlight another interesting aspect of all these beliefs and legends: their location.

Indeed, by examining these tales of ephemeral gold or treasure that transforms once taken, we find that many of them originate from regions where goblin gold is actually known. This is the case in the Pyrénées-Atlantiques, certainly, but also in Brittany and Wales, territories renowned for their legends relating to the Little People. It should be noted, however, that the species is absent from Ireland, that is to say, the original homeland of leprechauns, even though the creature has subsequently become part of the imagination of other countries. Furthermore, the species is present in Estonia, Scotland, and also in the majority of the northeastern states of the United States.[xlii] It is also found in Northumberland, England, the origin of the legend of The Hedley Cow[xliii].

It is also found in southern Germany, particularly in the Fichtelgebirge (a mountain range in northeastern Bavaria), where folklore mentions strange elf-like figures entirely covered in moss, including a famous « moss lady » who may appear to hikers. In one of the legends associated with her, the creature asks for the strawberries that a little girl picked for her sick mother, which the mother agrees to. Upon returning home, however, the little girl discovers that her basket is now filled with golden strawberries… But it is not so much the story itself that interests us as the description sometimes given of this “foam lady,” if we are to believe Richard Folkard: “The little woman’s moss dress is described as being golden in color, which shone, seen from a distance, like pure gold, but which, up close, lost all its luster”[xliv]. In other words, this fairy’s garment sparkles when viewed from a certain angle… but becomes dull upon closer inspection. We can even imagine that the moss lady is luminescent as long as she remains in the dim light of the fir trees or the rocks, but that she loses her glow when she reveals herself in the daylight, for example, when she moves into the clearing to meet the walker… In any case, we can legitimately wonder if her attire might not be made up – at least in part – of Schistostega pennata… even if other plant species have been suggested, such as clubmosses. Folkard, moreover, writes something about them that could also apply quite well (and perhaps even more so) to the luminous moss: “It is thought that many of the stories of hidden treasure circulating about the Fichtelgebirge are due to the presence of this curious plant species in the massif”[xlv].

That being said, the purpose of this article is by no means to claim that all these legends and beliefs stem directly from the luminous nature of Schistostega pennata. They may well have been inspired by many other natural phenomena, of course, as well as by psychological, philosophical, or even moral considerations. These tales bear witness to humanity’s age-old obsession with hidden riches and its fear of seeing acquired wealth vanish. They also illustrate the dangers of reckless greed by punishing the avaricious. Finally, these stories often highlight the illusory nature of earthly riches, which spiritual values ​​ultimately supersede. Nevertheless, it is striking to note how perfectly the phosphorescent phenomenon of the protonema of our moss, which disappears in daylight, fits these motifs. Therefore, it is not out of the question that some local stories may have been inspired by these unsettling observations. by this luminous moss within remote caves, which became nothing more than soil once removed. In any case, it is highly improbable that such an extraordinary phenomenon would not have stimulated the human mind… How can one imagine children remaining stoic while exploring a cave by torchlight, surrounded by patches of phosphorescent emerald green? Little by little, through word of mouth, these observations could become rumors, then, in the hands of a storyteller, transform into a tale, ultimately amended and distorted over the centuries until it reaches us…

CONCLUSION

Schistostega pennata is therefore a truly extraordinary bryophyte. The luminescent property of its protonema has endowed it with a unique place in the human imagination, which is expressed in various ways. Its etymology, first of all, testifies to the fantastical dimension it inspires: rabbit candle, goblin gold, dragon gold… It must be said that the species, shining at the entrance of caves like a hidden treasure, creates all the conditions for an epic adventure for the bryologists who discover it, as we can see from the enthusiastic accounts they have given us. That being said, the luminous moss doesn’t just move naturalists: it also inspires in ordinary people a veneration expressed through films, video games, and even monuments erected in its honor. Finally, we might even wonder if it hasn’t inspired certain legends and popular beliefs, particularly those relating to ephemeral treasures or those that crumble to dust… In any case, Schistostega pennata is a treasure in itself, and one of the most beautiful there is. She is a marvel of nature, a touch of magic in this world. Anyone lucky enough to observe her receives a lucky talisman, which will accompany them wherever they go, nestled deep in their heart, and which is therefore infinitely more precious than all the chests filled with diamonds.

Pablo Behague. « Sous le feuillage des âges ». Novembre 2025.


[i] Isabelle Charissou, 2015, La mousse lumineuse Schistostega pennata (Hedw.) F. Weber & D. Mohr en France et en Europe, vol. 45, Bulletin de la Société botanique du Centre-Ouest.

[ii] Charissou, 2015, op. cit.

[iii] Leonard Thomas Ellis et Michelle Judith Price, 2012, Typification of Schistostega pennata (Hedw.) F.Weber & D.Mohr (Schistostegaceae), vol. 34, Journal of Bryology.

[iv] Sean R. Edwards, 2012, English Names for British Bryophytes, British Bryological Society, British Bryological Society Special Volume.

[v] USDA Forest Service, s. d., Gotchen Risk Reduction and Restoration Project.

[vi] Arne A. Frisvoll et al., 1995, Sjekkliste over norske mosar, Norsk institutt for naturforsking.

[vii] Martin Nebel et Georg Philippi, s. d., Die Moose – Baden-Württembergs, Ulmer, vol. 2.

[viii] C. Casas et al., 2000, Flore Briofitica Iberica. Referencas Bibliograficas., Institut Botanic de Barcelona, vol. 17.

[ix] Edwards, 2012, English Names for British Bryophytes, op. cit.

[x] royvickery, 2016, QUERY: Rabbit’s candle, plant-lore.com.

[xi] Edwards, 2012, English Names for British Bryophytes, op. cit.

[xii] J.M. Glime et Magdalena Turzanska, 2017, Bryophyte Ecology – Light : Reflection and Fluorescence, Michigan Technological University and the International Association of Bryologists.

[xiii] Lunds Botaniska Forening, 2001, Botaniska notiser, vol. 134‑1.

[xiv] Anton Kerner von Marilaun, 1863, Das Pflanzenleben der Donauländer.

[xv] George B. Kaiser, 1921, Little journeys into mossland, IV : Luminous moss., vol. 24, Bryologist; Charissou, 2015, La mousse lumineuse Schistostega pennata (Hedw.) F. Weber & D. Mohr en France et en Europe, op. cit.

[xvi] royvickery, 2016, QUERY: Rabbit’s candle, op. cit.

[xvii] Hisashi Nogami et Aya Kyogoku, 2020, Animal Crossing: New Horizons, Nintendo.

[xviii] Taijun Takeda, 1953, Hikarigoke (Mousse lumineuse).

[xix] Ikuma Dan et Taijun Takeda, 1972, Hikarigoke (Mousse lumineuse) – Opéra.

[xx] Kei Kumai et Taijun Takeda, 1992, Hikarigoke (Mousse lumineuse) – Film.

[xxi] James Holms Dickson, 1973, Bryophytes of the Pleistocene: the British record and its chorological and ecological implications, Cambridge University Press.

[xxii] Ian D.M. Atherton, Sam D.S. Bosanquet, et Mark Lawley, 2010, Mosses and liverworts of Britain and Ireland – a field guide, British Bryological Society.

[xxiii] Dickson, 1973, Bryophytes of the Pleistocene: the British record and its chorological and ecological implications, op. cit.

[xxiv] Dickson, 1973, op. cit.

[xxv] Tim Holt-Wilson, 2013, Our Vital Earth : Goblin’s Gold, storvaxt.blogspot.com.

[xxvi] Rossana Berretta, Ilaria Spada, et Amedeo De Santis, 2007, Les créatures fantastiques, Piccolia.

[xxvii] J.K. Rowling, 1997, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, Bloomsbury.

[xxviii] J.R.R. Tolkien, 1937, The Hobbit, or There and Back Again, George Allen&Unwin.

[xxix] S. Thompson, 1955, Motif-index of folk-literature : a classification of narrative elements in folktales, ballads, myths, fables, medieval romances, exempla, fabliaux, jest-books, and local legends., Bloomington : Indiana University Press.

[xxx] Paul Sébillot, 1904_1907, Croyances, mythes et légendes des pays de France – Le folk-lore de France, E. Guilmoto, Omnibus.

[xxxi] Sébillot, 1904_1907, op. cit.

[xxxii] Sébillot, 1904_1907, op. cit.

[xxxiii] Sébillot, 1904_1907, op. cit.

[xxxiv] Charissou, 2015, La mousse lumineuse Schistostega pennata (Hedw.) F. Weber & D. Mohr en France et en Europe, op. cit.

[xxxv] Kalda, Mare, 2014, Hidden Treasure Lore in Estonian Folk Tradition, EKM Teaduskirjastus; Mare Kalda, 2023, Reality as Presented in Estonian Legends of Hidden Treasure, Yearbook of Balkan and Baltic studies.

[xxxvi] Auteur inconnu, 2021, The Crumbling Silver (North American Folk Tale), en. derevo-kazok.org, Fairy Tales Tree.

[xxxvii] Philippe Jéhin, 2002, Les aveux d’une sorcière en 1619, Dialogues transvosgiens; Maurice Foucault, 1907, Les procès de sorcellerie dans l’ancienne France devant les juridictions séculières, Bonvalot-Jouve; Alexandre Tuetey, 1886, La sorcellerie dans le Pays de Montbéliard, A. Vernier-Arcelin; Frédéric Delacroix, 1894, Les procès de sorcellerie au XVIIe siècle; Charles-Emmanuel Dumont, 1848, Justice criminelle des duchés de Lorraine et de Bar, du Bassigny et des trois évêchés.

[xxxviii] Jacob Grimm et Wilhelm Grimm, 1850, Les Présents du peuple menu, Kinder- und Hausmärchen – Contes de l’enfance et du foyer.

[xxxix] Washington Irving, 1824, The Devil and Tom Walker, John Murray.

[xl] Joseph Jacobs, 1894, The Hedley Kow, More English Fairy Tales.

[xli] Sébillot, 1904_1907, Croyances, mythes et légendes des pays de France – Le folk-lore de France, op. cit.

[xlii] Charissou, 2015, La mousse lumineuse Schistostega pennata (Hedw.) F. Weber & D. Mohr en France et en Europe, op. cit.; Departement of Natural Resources, Rare Species Guide – Schistostega pennata (Hedw.) Web. & Mohr (www.dnr.state.mn.us, 2025).

[xliii] Atherton, Bosanquet, et Lawley, 2010, Mosses and liverworts of Britain and Ireland – a field guide, op. cit.

[xliv] Richard Folkard, 1884, Plant Lore, Legends and Lyrics.

[xlv] Folkard, 1884, op. cit.

Snowdrops in the heart of winter: from the symbol of purity to Homer’s mysterious « moly »

While winter is not quite over and snow still covers the landscapes, small white bells are emerging from the dust along the paths, putting an end to the impatient botanist’s wait, who watched for the first blooms during his walks. Of course, what is depicted here is the season of the snowdrops, a term that has long been ambiguous since it could refer to both Leucojum and Galanthus. Nevertheless, these species share a certain affinity, which appears extremely clear on a symbolic level.

In the popular imagination, indeed, snowdrops embody the end of winter and the beginning of spring, or more precisely, the duality that exists between the two seasons. They are the flowers of transition and renewal, of the cold period diluting into the mild air of March, of the passage from death to life… But the symbolism of these plants is far from being so monolithic, since they have also been made emblems of virginity or even funerary omens. It has even been suggested that they could correspond to a mysterious plant from ancient mythology endowed with fabulous powers, and which Odysseus consumes before entering Circe’s house…

Flowers of winter and spring

The primordial symbolism of snowdrops, in the broadest sense, intimately associates them with winter and, a fortiori, with the snow that characterizes it. In this regard, examining their etymology is rich in lessons, and offers us many illustrations of this relationship. The common term « snowdrop » speaks for itself, but we know of other less widespread and equally evocative slang names for them. Thus, Galanthus nivalis is sometimes called « Winter Galantine, » « Winter Bell, » or even « Snow Galanthus. » In some cases, regional languages ​​take up this concept of a flower making its way through the white layer, as in Normandy where we speak of « Broque neige » or in Brittany where we evoke the « Treuz-erc’h. » As for European countries, many also use a term that is a translation of our « snowdrop » as in Yorkshire, England, where the plant is called « snowpiercer » (1). Among the other English names that we know of it, we can cite for example « winter gallant », « snowdrop » or even « little snow bell » which therefore relates to snow (2). As for Leucojum, their most commonly accepted name is that of « snowflake ».

Leucojum vernum. Vosges Mountains. Pablo Behague, March 2024.

The scientific names for snowdrops are just as relevant to all these winter notions. Galanthus can be translated as « milk flower. » As for the adjective nivalis, it obviously means « of the snows. » Thus, snowdrops are literally « milk flowers of the snows, » an expression that refers not only to their immaculate whiteness, but also to their flowering season. Leucojum is constructed from the word leuko, meaning « white, » and the word ion, which corresponded to violets. In other words, snowdrops are « white violets. »

One of the oldest references to the term « snowdrop » dates back to a manuscript dated 1641, Guirlande de Julie, which once again emphasizes the plant’s winter dimension. The poem dedicated to her includes these lines: Under a silver veil the buried Earth / Produces me despite its freshness / The Snow preserves my life / And giving me its name gives me its whiteness (3). Subsequently, the term was used in relation to figures linked either to the notion of winter or to the notion of whiteness. Thus, the character of Snow White, from the famous tale by the Brothers Grimm, has sometimes been translated as « Snowdrop » (4). We will have the opportunity to return to this. This name is also that of Dinah’s kitten, Alice’s cat in the work of Lewis Carroll. Unsurprisingly, the passages that mention it evoke its white coat, the little girl even allowing herself to call it « White Majesty » (5). From then on, we see a clear affiliation, both ecological and symbolic, between snowdrops and winter.

However, while Galanthus and Leucojum are indeed linked to winter, they primarily embody the end of winter. Indeed, when snowdrops break through the snow, it signifies the arrival of spring. They are, in a way, the scouts of the warm season, poking the tips of their bells through the icy layer before signaling the arrival of other vernal flowers such as primroses and violets. Therefore, it is not surprising that the etymology of these plants is also linked to spring and the return of fine weather. Thus, one of the snowdrops found in our region is the Spring Snowflake, which its scientific name indicates with the use of the word vernum. One of his English names is « spring whiteness » (6).

In fact, when these white flowers are mentioned, it is very often to emphasize the spring-like nature of the atmosphere. Snowdrops and snowflakes are, for the reader, an indicator of spring, a temporal marker situated precisely at the end of winter. In The Butterfly, Hans Christian Andersen’s tale, the insect is looking for a flower to marry. The author then explains to us that « it was the first days of spring », which naturally implies that « crocuses and snowdrops were blooming nearby » (7). It is also interesting to note that these two flowers are often associated in an initial procession, as in Goethe who in the poem Next Year’s Spring writes: « The beautiful snowdrops / Unfold in the plain / The crocus opens »  (8). Théophile Gautier, in a poem entitled Premier sourire du printemps (First Smile of Spring), tells us about Mars preparing for the arrival of fine days: “While composing solfeggios / Whistling to the blackbirds in a low voice / He sows snowdrops in the meadows / And violets in the woods” (9). It is again with the violet that our flower is associated in The Prince of Thieves, attributed to Alexandre Dumas. We find a monk reading a note from a young girl to her lover: “When the less harsh winter allows the violets to open / When the flowers are in bloom and the snowdrops announce spring / When your heart calls for sweet glances and sweet words / When you smile with joy, do you think of me, my love?” (10). In Little Ida’s Flowers, Andersen – him again – this time associates our plant with the hyacinth, another spring species: « The blue hyacinths and the little snowdrops rang as if they carried real bells » (11). Let us conclude this spring review of the snowdrop by quoting two extracts from the Chronicles of Narnia, a famous fantasy saga. In the first volume, the children see winter suddenly disappear, by magic. And what better way to characterize such an extraordinary phenomenon than by mentioning snowdrops? The author is not mistaken, since he tells us that after crossing a stream, they come face to face with snowdrops growing (12)…

The connection between these plants and the return of the warmer weather is therefore clear, and it is not surprising that they are used in the Martisor festival in Romania, celebrated in March. This connection is also expressed through several fascinating legends featuring the character of the « Spring Fairy. » In one of them, we see her confront the « Winter Fairy, » ultimately winning in single combat. From a drop of blood from the defeated fairy, the snowdrop is born, symbolizing the victory of the warmer weather over that of death (13). In another story, the Spring Fairy comes to the aid of a small snowdrop frozen by the icy winter wind. She clears the snow covering it and restores its life with a drop of blood (14).

More generally, snowdrops are linked to the idea of ​​beginning and renewal, obviously springtime values. We thus find the snowdrop in a primitive legend featuring Eve, just banished from paradise and wandering on the desolate earth. The snow was falling, laying a shroud over the world condemned by the fall of Man. An angel therefore descended to console the first woman. He took a snowflake and blew on it, ordering it to bud and blossom, which of course immediately gave birth to a snowdrop. Eve then smiled, understanding the symbol of hope that the flower represents (15). It embodies renewal in the heart of darkness, the light at the end of the tunnel. It is also a symbol of consolation, which contemporary authors also note.

A symbol of remembrance, the snowdrop is also dedicated to Saint Agnes, herself associated with the phoenix. Both the mythological bird and the flower are capable of being reborn from the darkness, of springing forth from the ashes of death and winter. They embody the hope of life even in the heart of darkness.

A symbol of virginity and purity

Closely linked to whiteness and the concept of beginning, as we have just seen, it is quite natural that the snowdrop is also associated with the notion of virginity and purity. Once again, etymology is rich in lessons on this subject, and already allows us to get a clear idea of ​​this facet of the plant. In England, Galanthus nivalis is sometimes called Mary’s tapers (16). This of course refers to the well-known Virgin, mother of Jesus, which the use of another name, that of Virgin flower, seems to support (17). In fact, snowdrops are even explicitly dedicated to the Virgin Mary, and a Christian legend has it that their flowering takes place precisely on February 2, the day of Candlemas during which the mother of Jesus took him to the Temple to make an offering. This anecdote also justifies another popular name for the plant, Fair Maid of February (18). Richard Folkard also points out that « the snowdrop was once considered sacred to virgins, » which, according to him, « may explain why it is so commonly found in orchards attached to convents and ancient monastic buildings » (19). Thus, nuns would have sown snowdrops abundantly around their retreats, as symbols of their chastity. Thomas Tickell, an 18th-century English poet, supports this view, speaking of a « flower that smiles first in this sweet garden, sacred to virgins, and called the Snowdrop » (20).

This connection to the virginity is not unique to Christianity, which makes it all the more interesting. Indeed, the snowdrop is closely linked to young girls in many traditions and tales. During the spring celebrations held at the beginning of March, Matronalia among the Romans or Martisor among the Romanians, the flower is often offered to young ladies. Furthermore, the snowdrop is linked to several female figures of virginity, one of the most famous of which is none other than Persephone. Let us recall that in the most famous myth concerning her, the young girl is abducted by Hades while picking flowers in a meadow, and taken to the underworld. While the snowdrop is never mentioned in ancient sources, Ovid himself mentions « the violet or the lily » (21). However, we have seen to what extent our snowdrop was often linked to the violet. In any case, later traditions have clearly associated Persephone with the snowdrop. Is this really surprising, given that this flower is a symbol of spring and renewal? Demeter’s daughter, in fact, embodies precisely this idea of ​​an annual vegetative cycle. An agreement is concluded, under the aegis of Zeus, which allows her to spend half the year in the open air, but obliges her to remain the rest of the time with her husband, in the underworld. From then on, Persephone emerges from the earth like the flowers of spring, emerging at the beginning of March like snowdrops. This link between the goddess and the plant is also found in a contemporary song, composed by the rapper Dooz-Kawa and entitled Perce neige: “Yeah, this rain that cries in the autumn that loses its fauns / It’s Demeter who is dying of Persephone’s exile / In short, we are snowdrop flowers, the ultimate weapon of distress / Drops that flow like the tears of the goddess” (22).

Hades abducting Persephone. Wall painting. Aigai. 4th century BC.

The myth of Persephone shares some similarities with the tale of Snow White, whose name, as we have seen, has sometimes been translated as « Snowdrop » (23). Like the Greek goddess, Snow White is a young girl subjected to the assaults of infernal forces, in this case a witch-stepmother. Like her, she symbolically undergoes a winter « eclipse, » falling into a long sleep that is only broken by the prince’s kiss, an allegory of spring that revives vegetation… and first and foremost the snowdrop. Thus, Persephone and Snow White can be seen as personifications of the beautiful season, but also of the plant that interests us, forging a path from the depths to bring blossom to the world.

The snowdrop heralds the time of rural frolics, the joyous period of youthful love in which young people indulge. A song from 1860 attests to this, with poetry typical of the century: “Watch over your little roses / The snowdrop will shine! (…) / You whose white muslin / Betrayed the pretty contours / In winter, under the Levantine / You close the door to love / Of happiness, sweet messengers / Let modesty slumber / Take up your light dresses / The snowdrop will shine” (24). We therefore see our plant clearly subservient to young ladies, and this symbolic association perhaps explains the medical properties attributed to it in old manuscripts. Indeed, Dioscorides, the famous physician of Antiquity, believes that the dried flowers of the snowdrop “are good for bathing the inflammation around the uterus and expelling the menstrual flow”. The plant thus presents a very clear feminine character and is linked to figures of purity, of which the Virgin Mary is the most emblematic example.

Cover of « Snowdrop story book ». Hilda Boswell, 1952.

From Funeral Oblivion to Homer’s Moly

Yet, contrary to our current understanding of the plant, snowdrops have also been interpreted as funerary symbols. Is this because of their white color and their connection to snow, evoking the shroud of mortuary chambers? The fact remains that several beliefs and traditions lead us to this register of mourning and death.

In certain regions of England, for example, it is believed that the first snowdrop of the year should not be brought inside homes. It is said to bring bad luck and could attract the grim reaper into the home. This belief stems from the flower’s resemblance to a corpse in its shroud, but the symbolism of winter undoubtedly plays a role as well (25). The same idea implies that one should never give someone snowdrops, because that would mean that one wants them dead. An English legend also tells of a woman who discovers her lover seriously injured and decides to place snowflakes on his wounds. These then turn into snowdrops at the same time as the man dies (26).

The Temple of Flora. Robert John Thornton, 1807.

But our plant’s relationship with death is also illuminated by its properties. Snowdrops are, in fact, toxic plants, and even fatal in relatively small doses. In the 19th century, François-Joseph Cazin explained that this toxicity was discovered accidentally when a woman sold snowdrop « onions » instead of chive ones (27). This reportedly caused violent vomiting in consumers, a classic symptom of poisoning from the plant’s bulb.

However, as is often the case, a poisonous herb can also, when carefully dosed, become a valuable medicine. This is the case with snowdrops. Galanthus nivalis contain galantamine, which is used to combat cognitive decline in Alzheimer’s disease or any other memory-related disorder (28). It is therefore no coincidence that the snowdrop was chosen as the emblem and name of a charity helping people affected by mental illness, founded by Lino Ventura and his wife Odette in 1966. Furthermore, galantamine is said to be an antidote capable of counteracting the effects of certain drugs, particularly atropine, contained in many nightshades used in witchcraft. This last point leads us to a fascinating historical mystery: that of a plant cited by Homer in the Odyssey, which he calls moly.

While Homer is the first to mention this plant, other ancient authors who came after him also did so, attempting to identify species familiar to them, such as Theophrastus (29), Dioscorides (30), Pliny the Elder (31), and Pseudo-Apuleius (32). However, several arguments support our snowdrop, in the broadest sense of the term. Indeed, the moly is mentioned when Odysseus and his companions, during their journey to Ithaca, visit Circe’s island. The episode is well known: the crew sent to reconnoiter the sorceress’s lair is transformed into a herd of pigs, with the exception of Eurylochus, who brings the news to Odysseus. Odysseus then sets out to free them and as he advances, he meets the god Hermes, who offers him his advice. It is at this moment that the moly is mentioned: « Here, take, before going to Circe’s house, this good herb, which will drive away the fatal day from your head. I will tell you all Circe’s evil tricks. She will prepare a mixture for you; she will throw a drug into your cup; but, even so, she will not be able to bewitch you. » for the good herb, which I am going to give you, will prevent its effect » (33). By following the advice of the messenger god, Ulysses actually manages to outwit the poison and save his companions.

Codex Medicina Antiqua. Page showing « Herba immolum, » Homer’s presumed « moly. » 13th century.

The significance of this episode is much more complex than it appears, and upon reading it, it is easy to understand why researchers have suggested that moly could correspond to our snowdrop (34). First of all, Circe is a sorceress, a witch, and there is no doubt that the mixture she prepares includes toxic ingredients, capable of making sailors lose their minds. The famous transformation into a pig, in fact, presents all the characteristics of a psychotic delirium. Individuals begin to hallucinate and act like animals, abandoning their humanity under the influence of the drug. From then on, we are entitled to suggest that the potion concocted by Circe included some well-known nightshades, such as deadly nightshade, nightshade, mandrake, or even the fearsome datura. Now, have we not observed that the galantamine of the snowdrop is capable of combating the symptoms of atropine? The herb picked by Hermes and offered to Odysseus could then be our plant, capable of countering Circe’s magic.

But the arguments in favor of a snowdrop moly don’t stop there, since Odysseus’s companions, upon entering the cursed dwelling and transforming into pigs, experience an episode of obvious mental disorder. Allegorically, this metamorphosis corresponds to amnesia, a forgetting of one’s own person and humanity… All signs of madness that the snowdrop is able to counteract through its effect on memory and the brain. Odysseus keeps his head on his shoulders when his men lose it, but it is with the moly that he cures the madness and forgetfulness of his comrades. It is also interesting to note that the species is mentioned in video games related to the Harry Potter universe (35). However, according to the Pottermore website, moly is mentioned in the book A Thousand Magical Herbs and Mushrooms by the witch Phyllida Augirolle, where it is stated that it combats enchantments.

Moly in Herbology class at Hogwarts. « Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery, » 2018.

Let us note in conclusion that ancient descriptions of the plant, although absent from Homer, support the hypothesis of the snowdrop or snowflake. Ovid, in his Metamorphoses, speaks of a « white flower, which has a black root » that Odysseus uses as a talisman upon entering Circe’s home (36). It must be said that symbolically, by appearing first after the winter darkness, the snowdrop is a marker of memory; it reminds us of the existence of spring and fine weather, just as the moly reminds the members of the transformed crew who they really are.

****

Thus, snowflakes and snowdrops conceal many mysteries. They symbolize the whiteness of winter, and are therefore linked to notions of virginity and purity. From Mary to the spring fairies, from Persephone to Snow White, these early-blooming plants are also associated with the return of light to the heart of darkness; with renewed hope after long winter nights. In a way, the snowdrop « drives away the cold winter, » as the well-known folk song invokes. « Drive the Cold Winter Away » dates back to at least the 17th century (37), a time when winter was experienced in the flesh and was a difficult ordeal to grasp in the light of our modern comforts. Seeing the snowdrop’s bell must have warmed the heart of the peasant, whose reserves were perhaps running low.

But the snowdrop also symbolizes remembrance. It reminds us of the existence of sunny days and festive springs at a time when the tunnel of winter seems endless. Furthermore, it is perhaps the famous moly mentioned by ancient sources, including Homer, who counteracts the magic of forgetting perpetrated by Circe. As I finish this article, the snowdrops have emerged on the roadsides and in the gardens still covered in the morning frost. Scouts of the spring procession, they will soon be followed by violets, primroses and other hyacinths… then fall back into their annual sleep, without being forgotten.

Pablo Behague, « Sous le feuillage des âges ». Février 2025.

_________

(1) Richard Mabey, 1996, Flora Britannica.
(2) Charles M. Skinner, 1911, Myths and Legends of Flowers, Trees, Fruits and Plants : In All Ages and in All Climes.
(3) Auteurs incertains, 1641, Guirlande de Julie.
(4) Jacob Grimm, Wilhelm Grimm, et Arthur Rackham, 1909, The Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm.
(5) Lewis Carroll, 1865, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.
(6) Skinner, 1911, Myths and Legends of Flowers, Trees, Fruits and Plants : In All Ages and in All Climes., op. cit.
(7) Hans Christian Andersen, 1861, Le Papillon.
(8) Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, 1816, Next Year’s Spring.
(9) Théophile Gautier, 1884, Premier sourire du printemps.
(10) Alexandre Dumas, 1872, Le Prince des voleurs.
(11) Hans Christian Andersen, 1835, Les fleurs de la petite Ida.
(12) Clive Staples Lewis, 1950, The Chronicles of Narnia – The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.
(13) 2020, Le perce-neige : mythe, légende et remède, murmuresdeplantes.fr.
(14) 2010, Légendes du perce-neige, beatricea.unblog.fr.
(15) Richard Folkard, 1884, Plant Lore, Legends and Lyrics.; Skinner, 1911, Myths and Legends of Flowers, Trees, Fruits and Plants : In All Ages and in All Climes., op. cit.
(16) Mabey, 1996, Flora Britannica, op. cit.
(17) Skinner, 1911, Myths and Legends of Flowers, Trees, Fruits and Plants : In All Ages and in All Climes., op. cit.
(18) Folkard, 1884, Plant Lore, Legends and Lyrics., op. cit.
(19) Folkard, 1884, op. cit.
(20) Thomas Tickell, 1722, Kensington Garden.
(21) Ovide, Ier s., Métamorphoses.
(22) Dooz Kawa, 2014, Perce Neige.
(23) Grimm, Grimm, et Rackham, 1909, The Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm, op. cit.
(24) Jean-François Dumas, 2014, Le perce-neige (Galanthus nivalis) et espèces proches.
(25) Folkard, 1884, Plant Lore, Legends and Lyrics., op. cit.
(26) Skinner, 1911, Myths and Legends of Flowers, Trees, Fruits and Plants : In All Ages and in All Climes., op. cit.
(27) François-Joseph Cazin et Henri Cazin, 1868, Traité pratique et raisonné des plantes médicinales indigènes.
(28) Jacqueline S. Birks, 2006, Cholinesterase inhibitors for Alzheimer’s disease.
(29) Théophraste, IVe-IIIe s. av. J.-C., Historia plantarum – Recherche sur les plantes.
(30) Pedanius Dioscoride, Ier s., De Materia Medica.
(31) Pline l’Ancien, vers 77, Histoire naturelle – Livre XXI.
(32) Pseudo-Apulée, IVe s., Herbarius.
(33) Homère, VIIIe s. av. J.-C., L’Odyssée.
(34) Andreas Plaitakis et Roger C. Duvoisin, 1983, Homer’s moly identified as Galanthus nivalis L.: physiologic antidote to stramonium poisoning.
(35) Jam City, 2018, Harry Potter : Secret à Poudlard – jeu.
(36) Ovide, Ier s., Métamorphoses, op. cit.
(37) Auteur inconnu, 1625, Drive the Cold Winter Away – chanson.

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The Fern Flower: In the Footsteps of a Popular Fantasy

Maria Orłowska-Gabryś (1925-1988). Illustration for a children’s book.

Ferns are unique plants in our ecosystems. While most of the plants around us reproduce through flowers and fruits, these adopt a different strategy, based on spores, which is now well known, but which remained enigmatic for a long time. This specificity, it goes without saying, was scientifically translated by the classification of ferns within an original taxonomic group, namely the division of Pteridophytes, which also includes horsetails and lycopods. But while we now understand how they work, ferns have long been a source of incomprehension. How could they reproduce without flowers and seeds? In the Middle Ages, for example, people did not understand why it was possible to find young fern plants, but never a single seed anywhere. Only one solution could explain this phenomenon: that the seeds of the fern are invisible. One deduction leading to another, since fern seeds were invisible, there must also be invisible flowers… which would therefore be capable – according to a logic quite typical of the time – of making invisible whoever found or consumed them (1) ! This was all it took for the popular imagination to unfold, and make the mythical fern flower a sort of plant Grail, an extremely rare marvel endowed with extraordinary properties. The fact is that the legend of the fern flower is extremely widespread throughout Europe, presenting quite astonishing similarities.

The fern flower across Europe

In fact, the fern flower is not perpetually invisible, for then it would simply be impossible to find. On the other hand, it only appears at a specific moment in the calendar, at a well-defined hour in the middle of the night, very briefly, and in a particularly remote and inaccessible place in the forests. One of the main common points in the legends relating to the fern flower is indeed its dated appearance. In the vast majority of cases, the famous night of flowering is that of Midsummer, or immediately before or after; in any case related to the summer solstice. The belief is particularly widespread in the northern and eastern countries of Slavic tradition, where the fern flower is said to develop during a night from June 21 to 24. This is the case in Poland, Estonia, Lithuania, Finland and Latvia. It is therefore linked to the celebrations of the solar cycle, of pre-Christian origins, but which have merged with the festivals of Saint John. In Finland, for example, we speak of the festival of « Juhannus, » or that of « Jani » in Latvia, or « Rasos » in Lithuania. It should be noted that in Poland, the fern flower could be observed not only at the summer solstice, but also at the time of the winter solstice (2). In any case, we understand that it appears on emblematic dates strongly linked to the influence of our luminous star.

While the belief is particularly strong in Eastern and Northern countries, it also exists in Western Europe. In England, it is said that on the eve of Saint John (once again), in the dead of night, the fern produced a single flower and that the villagers would then spread a sheet underneath to collect the seeds. No one ever became invisible, but the legend continued to be believed, to the point of performing rituals in the forest during the fateful night, until the church came to put an end to these obviously pagan practices. However, F.E. Corne mentions the testimony of a gentleman named Mr. Heath who, in 1779, still claimed to have participated several times in fern seed harvesting ceremonies during the nights of Saint John. And the man added that there were, however, disappointments, « because the fairies often stole the seeds » (3). Thus, we see that the fern flower is not a fantasy specific to Eastern countries. Moreover, what about the French tradition? Here again, we find local anecdotes or legends that refer to the concept. For example, Paul Sébillot tells us about traditions of this type, again linked to Saint John’s Day, in Lower Normandy, Touraine, and Brittany (4). He also attests to several songs and anecdotes evoking the harvest of the hypothetical « fern seed. »

Flowering always takes place in the middle of the night, never during the day. In many cases, it even occurs at a precise and symbolic time, and over an extremely short period of time. Thus, in Sweden, it blooms at midnight and immediately fades (5). The same is true in Polish traditions, where it is said to appear at midnight at the same time as a sound sometimes described as a crack, a crash, or a thunderclap is heard (6). In Lower Normandy as well, it blooms at midnight, and its seed must be harvested before it falls to the ground to benefit from its properties (7). A second later, the flower is no longer discernible (8). It is also at midnight that it can be found in Touraine, or at least it is at this time that it produces its seeds, at the same time as the clovers develop additional leaves to have four or five leaves (9). Furthermore, Paul Sébillot transcribes a very interesting Renaissance shepherd’s song: « In a bag the fern seed / That at midnight we gathered in the past / Denis and I, the eve of Saint-Jean » (10).

So now we know where and when to look for the fern flower, depending on local traditions and customs… However, we still don’t know what it looks like. What is it? The question is eminently complex, since its rarity makes it, by nature, a phenomenon never observed by most mortals. Beliefs in the fern flower attribute to it a multitude of characteristics, sometimes contradictory, but which generally make it an absolutely sumptuous spectacle. Thus, Slavic traditions imagine it to be red, gold or violet (11). In England, rumors rather evoke the birth of a pale blue flower, which quickly transforms into a golden seed (12). Reviewing the pictorial representations of the fern flower will convince us of its great heterogeneity: it can sometimes have five petals, sometimes many more; it can be imposing or on the contrary tiny; it can be found at the top of a long stem, but also be hidden under the leaves, at ground level; It can be palpable or resemble a phantom organ… Yet, the attentive observer will notice a commonality among all these images: the mysterious inflorescence is always depicted in a golden halo, surrounded by a dazzling glow that seems to burst from its petals. Does this stem from its unique relationship with the sun? Indeed, it is only visible in most legends at the time of the summer solstice. Of course, this detail also underlines its supernatural character. The fern flower seems to have sprung from another world, fallen from paradise, like a sacred relic protected by grace.

Such a treasure could only stimulate the imagination, and it is therefore not surprising that the fern flower is used in works of fiction. In addition to popular legends, we find books mentioning it, particularly in Eastern countries where it occupies an important place. The legend is mentioned in a book by the Finnish Aino Kallas, dealing with ancient folklore: The Wolf’s Bride (13). It is also cited by Andrus Kivirähk. In The Man Who Knew the Language of Snakes, the Estonian author mocks it, presenting it as a naive belief (14). In Poland, the fern flower is sometimes the subject of poems, such as that of Adam Asnyk (Kwiat paproci) some of whose verses can be translated as follows: « A strange fern flower blooms in the forests / For a moment in the mysterious shadow / The whole world is gilded with a magic light / But you can only touch it in your dreams » (15). Henri Pourrat, a French writer, collected the legend orally in Auvergne and transcribed it in Contes et légendes du Livradois, released in 1989 (16). Finally, there is a short animated film dedicated to the fern flower, produced by Ladislas and Irène Starewitch in 1949 (17). It features a little boy named Jeannot, who decides to go in search of the treasure on the night of Saint John’s Eve…

Screenshot from the animated film « Fern Flower » by Ladislas and Irene Starewitch. 1949.

The Powers of the Fern Flower

As we have already touched on, the fern flower is coveted because it is believed to possess extraordinary properties. The most widespread of these is to bring its possessor incredible wealth. This is the most material version of the myth, which sees the discoverer living in abundance for the rest of his life, surrounded by jewels and chests overflowing with gold. For example, the fern flower brings fortune in Estonian traditions, but also among the Poles (18) and France. In Upper Brittany, it is said that fern seeds collected on Midsummer Night must be thrown onto a field to reveal the location of the treasures (19). In many legends, however, and as we will soon see in detail, the fortune gained is a curse, punishing the seeker’s greed.

When it is not specifically wealth that our mythical flower brings, it is more generally luck. This motif is also extremely common, from Russia to France. In Poland, it was sometimes believed that the fern flower was the Ophioglossum (Ophioglossum vulgatum). It was then said to bring success in love. In our countries, the ferns harvested on the night of Saint John, and a fortiori the hypothetical flowers of these ferns, were supposed to make you win at all games (20).

« bubug » on Deviant Art. Jack and the Fern Flower.

Here and there, the fern flower brings magical powers to the discoverer; extraordinary abilities that tend to blur the line between tale and reality. As mentioned in the introduction, since the fern flower is invisible most of the time, it has sometimes been assumed that it could itself confer invisibility (21). This is a way of thinking quite typical of the Middle Ages, and which is not without evoking the theory of signatures which states that a plant resembling an organ has an action on it (the liverwort, whose leaf shape recalled the liver, should thus be able to heal it). In any case, this property was attributed to the fern flower in Poland, but also to its seed in Lower Normandy. In Poland, it was also said that the fern flower could unlock any lock, but also bring clairvoyance to its possessor. This echoes another Norman rumor, which held that the seed allowed one to know the secrets of the present and the future (22). It has also been suggested that it gave one the ability to move from one place to another as quickly as the wind, or to speak to animals (23).

As a sexual organ, the fern flower is also a provider of fertility, and it has been used metaphorically to evoke carnal love. This point brings us to the symbolic implications of this mysterious treasure of nature which, far more than a simple popular belief, hides between its petals profound considerations about human nature and its vagaries.

Symbolic significance of the fern flower

First of all, and as we have just noted, the fern flower is in some places a symbol of love. Midsummer Night, placed under the auspices of the sun, has always been marked by the idea of ​​encounter and seduction, as well as by fertility rituals that concern the earth, certainly, but also people. In the Baltic countries, young couples would go to have fun in the woods and it was said that they were going to « look for the fern flower » (24). In reality, it was a much less hypothetical flower that was picked: that of love. Moreover, it can be suggested that the true enchanted seed, growing from this famous fern flower, is allegorically the one that would, about nine months later, give birth to a new being. This night was indeed magical and, it was believed, propitious to procreation. From then on, the fern flower represents in some way the mystery of life; the primordial magic of existence and of the entire cosmos. A symbol of fertility, it’s no surprise that it gave its name to a Latvian NGO promoting sexuality education (Papardes zieds).

This conception of the mysterious inflorescence is still observed among Slavic peoples, where Midsummer’s Day corresponds to « Kupala Night » (25). Young people are seen there delving into the woods during the night, searching for the hypothetical « fern flower, » with girls wearing plant crowns in their hair. If a boy emerges from the thickets brandishing one of these, it means that the couple is engaged and that a marriage will soon take place. Here again, the fern flower takes on a metaphorical meaning; an allusion to romantic union and probably to carnal relations in nature. This tradition is in keeping with the holiday in question, since Kupala is an ancestral goddess of herbs and magic, but also of sex. Furthermore, linguists believe that its etymology may have a connection, albeit distant, with the Latin word « cupido, » meaning « desire » and relating to the well-known god, Cupid, who delivers his arrows of love into hearts.

But the fern flower is also and above all a symbol of the unattainable, like the mythical Grail so ardently sought and never discovered. It is the object of a romantic and passionate quest, where the journey and the trials seem to matter as much, if not more, than the treasure that motivates them. For, in fact, the fern flower is reputed to be impossible to pick, and even to observe. In Poland, it is said to be nestled in a remote and wild place, a thousand miles from any civilization, since one must not be able to hear the slightest bark of a dog there (26). Moreover, it is difficult to access simply because of its rarity. Often, legends imply that the fern flower is unique… Thus, the seeker would have to be precisely at the place where it grows, and at precisely the right time due to the ephemeral nature of its flowering; in Sweden, it is sometimes said that it only occurs at midnight sharp (27). It therefore takes a rather crazy set of circumstances to get one’s hands on this plant treasure. Worse still, some traditions believe that anyone looking for it has no chance of finding it, for the simple reason that it can only be discovered accidentally… or in dreams as in the poetry of Adam Asnyk (28).

As if all these insoluble parameters were not enough, the fern flower is often protected by supernatural means. In Poland, it grows in the heart of uroczyska, natural spaces endowed with magical power and generally linked to ancient pagan cults (29). It is also protected from various enchantments in Swedish legends, for example. In many cases, it is explicitly the forces of the devil that guard it, an idea found in the French countryside. Polish traditions often place it in places where witches roam, but also creatures typical of local folklore such as bies or czart (demons) (30). This explains the Christian venerations that, it is often said, must be practiced by anyone wishing to approach the fern flower. Prayers must be said, of course, but the adventurer must also have blessed artifacts, such as a rosary or a white tablecloth taken from the church altar. However, the rituals performed are sometimes much more bizarre and strange. It is believed that one can approach the mythical flower by arming oneself with mugwort and stripping naked (31). To take it with oneself, it is also said that one must absolutely forbid any backward glance, under penalty of suffering great misfortune; like Lot and his wife in the Old Testament, whom the angels formally forbade from turning around when Sodom is subjected to a deluge of fire (32).

From this, it is clear that the fern flower is a kind of plant Grail; an archetype of inaccessible preciousness, and consequently a passionate, mysterious, and unfathomable fantasy. But as such, it also embodies the dark side of dreams, like a symbol of the vain obsession leading Man to the fall. Like the sun burning the wings of Icarus trying to climb too high, the sacred inflorescence lowers the pride of those who think they are clever enough to pick it without fear. To illustrate this idea, traditions often specify that the fern flower certainly allows one to obtain fortune, but that it cannot be shared without it suddenly evaporating. The discoverers then see their family and friends sink into poverty, while they achieve a prosperous existence… but oh so unhappy. They suffer jealousy, and above all realize that, to paraphrase the famous phrase from Christopher McCandless’s notebook in Into the Wild, « happiness is only real if it is shared » (33). In some versions, the futile obsession with material wealth leads to an even more tragic outcome. We see the protagonist embark on his quest by denying his friends and family, cutting all ties with his humanity, and finally finding the fern flower deep in the woods. He then believes he is living in glory, blazing with wealth, then suddenly realizes what really matters to him and finally returns home. But of course, as expected, there is no one to welcome him back to his home village. On the other hand, he reads the names of those he loves on the crosses in the cemetery (34)… Here again, the fern flower is thus adorned as a cursed artifact, leading the greedy man to loss and suffering.

A vehicle for moral reflection, the legends of the fern flower often help to put the importance of earthly wealth into perspective, by drawing parallels with values ​​such as friendship, love, piety, or spirituality. In a Polish oral tale, for example, there is a story about a young shepherd who loses a cow he loves very much in the woods. He naturally sets out to find it and, in the dead of night, so obsessed with his animal, fails to notice the strange flower he stumbles upon, a petal of which gets stuck in his shoe. Sumptuous visions then invade his mind, revealing hidden treasures and various paths leading to chests filled with gold. Of course, he also spots his beloved cow, and suddenly knows where to go to find it. He then returns with her and, exhausted, goes to bed, promising himself to go and find all the riches of his dreams the next morning… But at that moment, he takes off his shoe and drops the fern petal, which fades during the night and loses all its powers, making him completely forget in the early morning what seemed so clear to him the day before. The little shepherd, however, does not make a big deal of it, and that is the moral of the story: he has found his cow, and that is all that matters to him (35). A wise character, he knows that fortune would not have made him happier. Thus, through these few examples, we see that there is much more behind the fern flower than a simple imaginary treasure; it is an element rich in symbols, and among other things an incarnation of the vain and futile quest, of the thoughtless and pretentious obsession that distances one from appeasement.

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The fern flower is therefore an absolutely fascinating motif in several respects. It testifies to human obsession with the unknown and mystery, and more generally with everything that escapes the distressing materiality of everyday life. It also shows the major role that nature plays in popular traditions, and therefore in people’s imagination and dreams. Moreover, the existence of fern flowers in both Slavic and English beliefs shows us once again the incredible cultural transfers that take place between peoples, even at a time still devoid of modern means of communication. Finally, the case of the fern flower also reveals the great diversity of interpretations that a simple myth can generate. The plant relic can be a romantic or sexual metaphor, but also symbolize the inaccessible and punish human vanity. It also reveals the divine fantasy that drives us, leading us to dream of magical powers, teleportation, invisibility, or animal communication.

However, could the fern flower be nothing more than a pure fabrication of the mind? Could it find no basis in the everyday observations of ancient inhabitants? We have already had the opportunity to outline an answer to this question, showing that the myth stemmed from a simple observation: that ferns did not produce visible flowers, unlike « classic » plants. Nevertheless, some pteridophytes sometimes display atypical organs, or exhibit shapes that could be likened to inflorescences. Thus, could the inspiration for the fern flower be the « spikes » of the tropic flower (Ophioglossum vulgatum)? This plant could be relevant due to its rarity. Could it not also be the fertile fronds of the German fern (Matteuccia struthiopteris), forming upright clumps that the imagination can quickly liken to a strange flower? And what about those of the royal fern (Osmunda regalis), sprouting from the tips of tall, even more impressive stems? In this case, the species is entirely characteristic of humid forests, and could therefore be at home in the remote valleys described in legends…

Of course, all these questions will remain forever unanswered, and that’s undoubtedly for the best. The fern flower will always be a mystery, a fantasy, a marvelous belief in the minds of men, allowing them to escape the material world. Who knows? Perhaps it does indeed unfold in the heart of a dense and unexplored forest, somewhere on our Earth, hidden from view, during a few blessed moments of a summer night. In any case, it is certain that it blooms within us, in our heads and in our hearts, as do all our wildest dreams.

Pablo Behague, « Sous le feuillage des âges ». Décembre 2024.

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1 F.E. Corne, 1924, Ferns : Facts and Fancies about Them : II.
2 Lamus Dworski, 2016, Polish legends: the Fern Flower.
3 Corne, 1924, Ferns : Facts and Fancies about Them : II, op. cit.
4 Paul Sébillot, 1904, Croyances, mythes et légendes des pays de France.
5 Gustaf Ericsson, 1877, Folklivet i Åkers och Rekarne härader.
6 Dworski, 2016, Polish legends: the Fern Flower, op. cit.
7 Sébillot, 1904, Croyances, mythes et légendes des pays de France, op. cit.
8 Louis Dubois, 1980, Recherches sur la Normandie.
9 Sébillot, 1904, Croyances, mythes et légendes des pays de France, op. cit.
10 Sébillot, 1904, op. cit.
11 Brendan Noble, 2021, The Fern Flower – Magical Flower of the Slavic Solstice – Slavic Mythology Saturday.
12 Corne, 1924, Ferns : Facts and Fancies about Them : II, op. cit.
13 Aino Kallas, 1928, Sudenmorsian (La Fiancée du loup).
14 Andrus Kivirähk, 2007, Mees, kes teadis ussisõnu (L’Homme qui savait la langue des serpents).
15 Adam Asnyk, 1880, Kwiat paproci (Fleur de fougère).
16 Henri Pourrat, 1989, Contes et récits du Livradois.
17 Ladislas Starewitch et Irène Starewitch, 1949, Fleur de fougère.
18 Dworski, 2016, Polish legends: the Fern Flower, op. cit.
19 Sébillot, 1904, Croyances, mythes et légendes des pays de France, op. cit.
20 Sébillot, 1904, op. cit.
21 Corne, 1924, Ferns : Facts and Fancies about Them : II, op. cit.
22 Sébillot, 1904, Croyances, mythes et légendes des pays de France, op. cit.
23 23 juin 2011, « Paparčio žiedo legenda – būdas kiekvienam pasijusti herojumi », Delfi.
24 Adam Rang, 22 juin 2022, « Fire, flower crowns and fern blossoms: Midsummer night in Estonia explained », Estonian world.
25 Ullrich R. Kleinhempel, 2022, Seeking the Fern Flower on Ivan Kupala (St. John’s Night).
26 Dworski, 2016, Polish legends: the Fern Flower, op. cit.
27 Ericsson, 1877, Folklivet i Åkers och Rekarne härader, op. cit.
28 Asnyk, 1880, Kwiat paproci (Fleur de fougère), op. cit.
29 Dworski, 2016, Polish legends: the Fern Flower, op. cit.
30 Dworski, 2016, op. cit.
31 Dworski, 2016, op. cit.
32 Auteur inconnu, VIIIe-IIe s. av. J.-C., Bible – Ancien Testament.
33 Jon Krakauer, 1996, Into the Wild.
34 Dworski, 2016, Polish legends: the Fern Flower, op. cit.
35 Dworski, 2016, op. cit.

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