What is the Gnot dal Agaçon?
Agaçon means dew in friulian. It is a very special night as explains the friulian writer Caterine Percude (1812-1887) in this text. Freely translated in english by Noemi Salva.
The Saint John´s dew
Near by Moruzzo, in a prairie at the foot of a hill, there is a very, very old walnut tree. It can be seen from long far away; and at its roots, black and gnarled, one can sit comfortably and rest.
And the spring comes: Fresh and fine grass in the meadow was born. White flowers in the hedges and shrubs berries flourish in the hills to the point of seeming snowy: but the walnut remains dry and hard, it seems to have no sap or life.
Summer arrives: flying birds singing in the fertile field, meadow grass grows above and behind the breeze, spreading grass seeds. But the walnut does not germinate, its branches are still numb, black and rough as arrested in their winter sleep.
The traveler who passes by, seeing the ugly tree says:-'Throw him down, make a lot of wood and burn it in the fire-. But the peasant, who has known him for years, accustomed replied: - Let the night of San Juan arrives -.
And the expected night comes. People lefts the houses and through the meadows and hills are scattered enjoying the dew. Lying on the grass under the moonlight, there is who prays, who sings, who tells the story of San Juan.
On the night of San Juan, the Moruzzo´s walnut suddenly sprouts, born leaves and nuts are formed. It was the holy dew which revives it; but that night the grass loses all their seeds. It is said that the devil´s horses come to spoil the harvest.
The grass is frivolous, as those who changed the face as the wind blows. But beware, the dew of San Juan that revives the walnut is poison for grass seeds.
Caterine Percude
Saint John´s night
The young girls are going to the orchard.
The Saint John´s moon cleans them.
Under the apple bare stretched,
looking to the lost stars and clouds.
Cleanme, Saint John´s dew!
they will sing slowly the young girls
extended under the black, black apple:
the Cuarnussa, the Piela, the Batistona.
How beautiful these girls are, you witches!
the lap smoothed by the dew
shinning like the snow under the June moonlight
Meantime the young boys are singing ... in a world far away.
Pier Paolo Pasolini