La Fête de St. Jean

The origins of the fête de St. Jean goes back to the pagan celebration of the summer solstice paying homage to light and hope. The Christians (as they were want to do) co-opted it during the reign of Clovis, the early French king 481-511. A little thing like a new religion shouldn’t spoil a good party should it?

It is still celebrated throughout francophone regions of Europe and North America. I don’t ever want to miss the one in Argelès. Pictures don’t really capture the feelings, the music, the steady beat of the drums but this is the best I can do.

The village children, dressed in the Catalan yellow and orange, all march into the square with their faggots to help build the fire. They carry yellow and orange sticks to beat to the music.

The choir, dressed in traditional Catalan costumes, serenade the crowd before the dancing starts while everyone waits for darkness (around 22:15)

St. Jean watches the festivities. At least 18 feet high he will lead the parade into the square when the flame is brought down from the top of Mount Canigou to light the bonfire and he will join the dancing crowd.

The bonfire that is lit with the flame is encircled by women and men doing the Sardana. This tradition is so much a part of the Catalan tradition with its not-so-simple three steps right three steps left, hands clasped and raised and lowered, that Franco forbid it, seeing the sense of unity it gave the dancers as a threat to his government.

The cobla, a small group of musicians accompanying the dance with a selection of brass instruments and lead by the flaviol a type of flute whilst the tambourine sets the rhythm, whines through the sound system as the bonfire snaps and crackles and threatens to catch the banners hanging above.

The fête organizers hand out sweet biscuits, Muscat and Banyuls, the local aperitifs.
A dozen drummers approach from outside the square, their beat growing stronger and stronger. The organizers encourage the people to move back to allow the Societé des les diables et les socieres to do their work.

The centre is enflamed with men and women dressed as jesters, witches, devils and one man with a Mohawk in loose yellow pants and bare shoulders. They dance with huge sparklers some throwing their sparks twenty to thirty feet as they skip and turn and circle and counter circle and jump and circle and the drums beat, the drums, the drumsm the drums...

A dragon is lit and he dances and circles with the others and the drums and the drums and the drums… (you must look closely to make out the jester and the dragon)

For almost a half hour the spectacle continues until the air in the centre is yellow from the fireworks surrounding the performers. Then the fireworks stop but the drums continue and the crowd joins in dancing and circling. We are touched by the primitive hidden inside us all.

The bonfire has died down, but the sun that lit the torch lovingly carried down the mountain during the day, will rise in the morning shining on the fields outside the village ripening the grapes, the olives, the vegetables, giving strength to the livestock.

Summer has arrived.