The Restless Dead
One of the things that vervain teaches us is how plants are capable of many layers or types of energy. The mosaic of various planetary attributions accorded to vervain forms an image that reveals great secrets of past magic and points a way to the magic of the future. As beginners at magic, we do well to remember simple magical herb associations like using vervain for protection, love magic, and Druidic initiation. But as we mature in magic, these definitions cease to be enough. We can perceive that a plant is much more than just a few properties. We can begin to wonder if those different properties are linked in some subtle way and if, as a whole, they point to a hidden truth about an herb.
When you work alone, as so many of us do, you have no one who can pass on secret lore that might allow you to skip some of the untangling necessary to discover the lore of magic herbs—although even those who do work with others don't necessarily have access to secret lore. You must instead combine study with practice, brain-power, and the guidance of the spirits.
Vervain provides us with an excellent example of this process. This herb has properties that belong to Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Mercury, and Sun (Elemental Fire). Let's see how these aspects are connected and how they point to occult knowledge about vervain.
First of all, vervain has Venus aspects. This is apparent in its relationship to birds—especially pigeons or doves, quintessential Venusian creatures. In fact, in England, vervain was once called “pigeon's meat” because they reputedly liked to eat it. Vervain is identified as “pigeon's grass” in Gerard's Herbal.
The Greeks also considered that pigeons were especially fond of vervain, so in ancient Greek, the name for vervain and the name for pigeons have the same root, which comes from the Hebrew word for flying, parack. A reference in The Memoirs of Sir Isaac Newton's Life by William Stukeley suggests that vervain's connection to pigeons came about because it was used with the sacrifice of pigeons at Midsummer, a very important time for this herb, as we shall see.12
Venus herbs are generally considered helpful in treating skin ailments, and sure enough, vervain is good for that. An 18th-century English pamphlet prescribed vervain for scrofula (a tubercular infection of the skin of the throat), advising that the herb be hung around the neck and allowed to rest against the skin. However, Venus also rules over women's reproductive organs. Culpeper recommends that vervain be picked in the Venus hour to “remedy all the cold griefs” of the womb.
Vervain likewise demonstrates Venus inclinations in love magic. These may be elaborate, including prayers for favor, as well as acts of purification with water and fasting. But love magic connected to vervain can also be as simple as rubbing the herb between your hands, wiping them on your mouth, and then kissing the person you desire.
Oddly enough, vervain is also reputed to suppress sexual desire (anti-Venus or anaphrodisiac). It was believed in Early Modern England that, if a man gathered vervain before sunrise on the first day of the New Moon and drank its juice, he would not experience lust for seven years. I wonder if this reflects some earlier use by magical practitioners, given the history of this herb's association in various cultures with magic and the frequent requirement of sexual abstinence prior to magical ritual. One group of people that might need an anaphrodisiac would be priests, some of whom were also practitioners of magic. This charm also recommends a time for picking the herb—before sunrise on the first day of the New Moon—that has much in common with that recommended for picking vervain by the Druids or “magicians” of Gaul.
Traditionally, the darkness of the New Moon is a fallow time when nothing is planted. This spell takes advantage of that fallowness and hopes to extend it to seven years of fallowness of sexual desire—no “plowing” or “planting” will occur during that time.
Darkness is an important factor in some other vervain work as well. There is also a strong connection between vervain and the Dog Days, the time in the depths of summer when Sirius, the Dog Star, is above the horizon. Sirius once rose with the sun from early July to early September in the hottest time of year. In honor of the star, the Romans called these the Dog Days, which for them ran from July 24 to August 24. Both the Romans and the ancient Greeks believed that the proximity of the Dog Star and the sun was responsible for the excessive heat. At that time, the rise of the Dog Star came just before the Summer Solstice—that is Midsummer, later known as the Festival of St. John. In ancient Greece and Rome, it was during the Dog Days that men's virility was believed weakened and women's passions “unnaturally” heightened, to the point where women were actually perceived as dangerous(!). Consider how damaged virility and heightened female sexuality fit perfectly with the uses of vervain under Venus for sexuality.
Paradoxically, despite vervain's connections to Venus, this herb does not appear typically Venusian. It lacks lush flowers (its flowers are very small) or a sweet fragrance (although the leaves have an herby scent). Furthermore, it also has some very Mars qualities related to blood and iron, the planetary metal of Mars. For example, according to English folklore, it stanched Jesus' wounds. Wound-healing is usually an occupation of Venus, but vervain's focus is on dealing with the flow of blood rather than healing a clean wound. The task of stanching blood not only associates vervain with blood, that most Martian of substances, its action is also especially helpful in battle, where Mars is supreme.
Vervain's link to iron, the Mars metal, is even stronger. On the Isle of Man, infants were protected from theft by fairies with vervain and iron, while Bohemians believed that, if a gun's flintlock was soaked in vervain water, the gun would be very accurate. They also believed that vervain that had been touched to a St. John's bonfire could snap iron.
This Venusian herb's identification with Mars reminds us of the goddess Aphrodite and her husband Hephaestus, the divine patron of blacksmiths—the mistress of love was literally close to the weapon-maker. A German folk name for vervain is Eisenkraut (iron wort). In Germany, it was actually used as an herbal quench by blacksmiths, those masters of fire who work the metal of Mars. Herbal quenches go back to antiquity. Hot metal is often quenched in water or another liquid to bring down its heat after working, and blacksmiths added various herbs to these waters to increase their effectiveness. Moreover, in addition to their work with metal, blacksmiths, throughout history and in many places around the world, have simultaneously functioned as herbal healers of both animals and people. It's likely that vervain's use as an herbal quench in metal working is the source for other beliefs about vervain and iron.
According to Pliny (23–79 CE), there were male (upright) and female (recumbent) versions of the plant. I have grown vervain for years, however, and mine stands up. These versions are now considered separate species, but the difference may account for the association of vervain with iron and war on the one hand and healing and fertility on the other—although Pliny states the two plants have the same effects. Agrippa, who considered it an herb of Venus, recognized Pliny's distinction between the two vervains and assigned the upright version to Taurus (ruled by Venus) and the recumbent version to Gemini (ruled by Mercury).
Iron conducts electricity. While the ancients did not possess electricity, they did notice the affinity of lightning for iron. Thus the connection between vervain and iron extends to lightning. In Normandy, vervain was gathered on the Eve of St. John's Day or St. John's Day itself for house protection against physical threats like lightning and thieves, but also spiritual threats like sorcerers and demons. According to Pliny, it was used to cleanse the altars of Jupiter, god of lightning. Pliny explains that the Septemviri, priests who prepared and arranged public feasts dedicated to Jupiter on September 13 and at games and other public occasions, carried vervain. In Germany, it is associated with Thor, who uses lightning as a weapon.
Vervain's association with iron, that most magical metal, points to its value as an aid in magic—it was bound to the ceremonial swords used by sorcerers to draw magic circles for protection from demons in European grimoire magic. Pliny called it the most popular herb in sorcery. One French nursery rhyme mentions it as a divinatory herb.
However, vervain's most popular traditional use was to chase out demons. Combined with either dill or St. John's wort, it was used to banish witches, demons, and even the devil himself (in England, at least). Certainly ordinary folk believed in its protective powers. A Welsh charm describes hanging it around the neck or drinking its juice before bed to prevent “nocturnal goblins and terrible sights and dreams.” It's interesting that this is almost the direct opposite of its use in other arenas—for instance, causing divinatory dreams. Clearly, vervain has a long tradition of magical use.
Vervain enables magical tools and, in that way, helps make magic itself possible. In other words, vervain is the path to the goal. Along these lines, sorcerer Aleister Crowley identified it as an herb of Mercury, whose force assists the acquisition of magical skills. And, of course, Mercury is in charge of luck, which is also mentioned by Charles Leland in his 1899 publication Aradia, or The Gospel of the Witches. Leland claims that vervain was especially favored by the witches of Tuscany. Like rue, it was considered not only protective but lucky as well. In fact, in this excerpt, it almost seems to stand in for magic itself:
I rise in the morning by the earliest dawn, [perhaps when neither the sun nor the moon were in the sky]
And I go forth to walk through (pleasant) vales,
All in the mountains or the meadows fair,
Seeking for luck while onward still I roam,
Seeking for rue and vervain scented sweet,
Because they bring good fortune unto all.
I keep them safely guarded in my bosom,
That none may know it—'tis a secret thing,
And sacred too, and thus I speak the spell:
“O vervain! ever be a benefit,
And may thy blessing be upon the witch
Or on the fairy who did give thee to me!”
It was Diana who did come to me,
All in the night in a dream, and said to me:
“If thou would'st keep all evil folk afar,
Then ever keep the vervain and the rue
Safely beside thee!”
Not only is the herb itself lucky; with vervain as a tool, you can make magic and thereby create your own luck. This fits with vervain's part in purifying a ceremonial magician's sword and, as described later in this chapter, its role in the preparation of the Hand of Glory.
The depth and range of vervain's planetary influences does not end with Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Mercury. Among the most interesting aspects of vervain is its connection to the trinity of Elemental Fire, Midsummer, and the Dog Days. The Edwardian folklorist Folkard says that Persian Zoroastrian priests, who were worshippers of fire, used vervain when approaching their altars. He also writes that they “smeared the body over with the juice of this plant” to have wishes granted, to reconcile enemies, to win friends, and to cure diseases. Many of these actions are Mercury tasks. On the one hand, this sounds a lot like Pliny's description of how the Roman priests dressed Jupiter's altar with vervain, except that lightning is changed into fire. The use of vervain as a body wash to achieve magical ends is interesting, especially in light of the root of the original name for this plant is the Hebrew word for flying.
There are many more connections between vervain and Fire. In England at Midsummer, people decorated themselves with mugwort or vervain and cast the herbs into the fire to cleanse themselves of ill luck. Sir James George Frazier tells us, in his iconic book The Golden Bough, that in Spain, vervain was gathered at sunset on Midsummer Eve and made into a facial wash to be used the next day; although, Frazier does not explain the purpose of the wash. I suggest that perhaps such a wash might be used to aid in divination.
The Feast of Saint John the Baptist typically coincides with Midsummer, corresponding to the Summer Solstice, the day when the sun is at its maximum height. Vervain is one of the “Herbs of St. John,” which include St. John's wort (Hypericum perforatum), hawkweed (Hieracium pilosella), orpine (Sedum telephium), mullein (Verbascum species), the Artemisia plants wormwood and mugwort, and mistletoe (Viscum album). A number of these are Sun herbs. Most of them have yellow flowers—perhaps to be expected from a Sun plant, although vervain's tiny flowers are pale pink. However, the Druids thought that vervain's leaves resembled the oak's, a primary Sun plant. So perhaps, in the face of that identity, the color of the flowers was not very important to them.
Vervain's Irish folk name is “lion's foot” and, of course, the lion is a solar animal. Vervain's solar associations are specifically connected to its use at Midsummer. Which came first—the Sun connection or the Midsummer connection? That's unclear. However, vervain does bloom in July, so the connection may have been made by the plant's own growth behavior.
Pliny describes how vervain is used by “the magicians.” Some writers interpret “magicians” here to mean Druids, but Pliny only mentions the “Gallic provinces” in the previous sentence, so he may have meant Druids or solitary witches or someone else; we don't know.
What's important to us, however, is that he describes how these magicians follow a particular ritual to harvest the plant. According to him, they believed that it should be picked around the time of the rising of the Dog Star (a Fire time), but when neither sun nor moon is shining (an anti-Fire time)—recall here the opening of the excerpt from Leland. Before harvesting the herb, honey or honeycombs (products of the bee, a creature of Mars) are given as an offering to the Earth.
Pliny's “magicians” first drew a circle around the plant with an iron implement (the Mars metal again), then harvested it with the left hand. I believe the left rather than the right hand is used when harvesting herbs to signify the intended use as magical rather than mundane—that is, not for cooking or medicine or strewing. Each part of the plant was dried separately in the shade, the different parts apparently having distinct magical uses.
Compare this ritual of picking to Folkard's description of how Druid priestesses harvested this plant. Under a Full Moon at midnight, they threw a looped string over the plant, the other end of which was tied to the big toe of a virgin, who walked away and thus pulled out the plant, which the senior priestess gathered in a cloth. This very much resembles the manner in which mandrake was supposedly harvested (more about this later). This ritual also has many more Moon indications than Sun.
In England, vervain is associated with Sirius, the Dog Star—possibly because of its use in bonfires during the Dog Days. The Dog Star rises just before sunrise, making that a good time to harvest vervain according to these strictures. But vervain has even more canine associations. Carrying it allegedly prevents dogs from barking at you. It was also recommended for the bite of mad dogs, typically a Mars type of protection.
The Hand of Glory 
Vervain was part of the process of making the Hand of Glory. According to Le Petit Albert, a grimoire published in Lyon in 1782, the Hand of Glory was an actual hand chopped off a hanged man and then treated by various means—including drying in a pot of salt, saltpeter, and long pepper during the Dog Days, and drying in an oven heated by vervain and fern. The gruesome product was then used as a candle that purportedly rendered its carrier invisible or paralyzed those who saw it. Le Petit Albert claims that these were used by burglars. And indeed, if I saw a flaming hand floating down the hall, I too might be paralyzed.
One odd little recipe notable to modern witches combines various aspects of vervain—its association with solar herbs, its protective abilities, its ties to iron, and its use as a body rub. This 1696 recipe calls for combining Unguentum populeum (see below), vervain, and hypericon (St. John's wort), which are heated with a red-hot iron—yet another connection with iron. This unguent is then rubbed on the spine or chest to protect a person from evil gossip.
Warning: Anything containing poppy or henbane or nightshade can be psychoactive and hallucinogenic. These herbs can all cause drowsiness and vivid nightmares. So be sure to use this ointment in small amounts until you are certain of its particular effects on you.
1 part dried leaves of white or black poppy (depending on the particular country)
1 part belladonna
1 part white henbane (which is not as strong as black henbane)
1 part black nightshade
40 parts fat (usually hog's lard, although moderns can use any vegetable oil)
8 parts bruised popular buds
Unguentum populeum has been in pharmacy since its creation by the Alexandrian pharmacist Nicolas De Myrepse in the 13th century, so it may well have been available to our Early Modern ancestors already made up. That may explain why two herbs are added to it separately. Notice that the addition is made in a way that would minimize the risks of botulism from incorporating fresh herbal material into fat (using the red-hot iron to boil off the watery parts). Making this in a crock pot set on high may be more efficient, removing each herb as it is exhausted. Older recipes for this unguent have more ingredients, by the way, but these seem to be the most important.
At least one formula for this unguent recommends that the freshly harvested poplar buds be held in the lard until summer (these function as a preservative). This unguent was applied for spot pain killing, as in arthritis, sore nipples, hemorrhoids, and cancer. It was not intended to be smeared all over the body, but no doubt people tried it to see what would happen. I think that, in that case, the unguent would have had much more powerful effects than simply topical pain killing. It could cause hallucinations and it certainly would encourage drowsiness, which in turn would lead to dreams. And given the reputation of solanaceous plants used at toxic levels for causing extremely vivid nightmares, it is likely that, at lower levels, these plants could encourage vivid dreams. Of course, poppy is likewise known for its connection to sleep and can cause vivid hallucinations as well. The formula including vervain and St. John's wort is especially interesting, given the references to the Druids using a vervain tincture smeared over the body for magical purposes. The recipe says it's for preventing evil gossip from harming the person who uses it, but by itself, unguentum populeum seems a very good candidate for witches' flying ointments.
We must ask first, however, whether flying ointments ever actually existed. Moreover, were they ever really necessary, especially for a practiced witch? Claude Lecouteux, a historian who specializes in Northern European pagan practices and magic, argues that practitioners of magic in medieval Europe were of two sorts—what he calls professional magicians, who practiced magic for a living, and occasional practitioners or amateurs. He believes that the professionals knew how to enter into trance without the use of any herbal aids, whereas people who only occasionally engaged in witchcraft needed herbal assistance to achieve the out-of-body experiences and deep trances that seem to characterize European witchcraft. We're talking about flying to the Sabbat, or entering the Underworld, or guiding the dead, or joining in the Wild Hunt. Yes, we're talking night travels.
Vervain may well have been a component of a flying ointment (and a very old one at that), given the root of its name (“flying”). The mention of the Druids smearing their bodies with its juice for magical purposes, its medicinal applications to the nervous system, its protective function against nightmare, and its incorporation into a psychoactive unguent that had magical powers all point to this use. The possibility is enticing and frankly makes me wonder how much of vervain's tie to Midsummer is due to that being a particularly good time for group flying to occur. Indeed, that particular time of year is good for these rites because of the warm weather, the availability of herbs at their peak, and the fact that Midsummer is a kind of pause in agrarian work. The garden is all in and growing, but is not yet ready for harvest. The animals have all had their babies. There's a bit of lull as plants and animals rest from the heat. This seems to be an excellent time for outdoor magical activities.
There is a lot of “movement” with this herb in terms of its uses—a kind of flickering back and forth. We go from birds (a Venus animal) to fertility magic (a typically Venus task). But vervain can also be a rather Hekatean anaphrodisiac because of its connections to the New Moon and thus the Underworld. And indeed, Hekate was often involved in love spells in ancient Greece.
The animal most associated with the goddess Hekate is the dog (Dog Days). So we have vervain's connection to Sun/Fire/Midsummer, but also to Mars/Blood/Iron—and thus, for good and for ill, associated with healing as well as attack. To bring things full circle, vervain is also used for luck, which is ruled by Hermes, the god of the winged (flying) feet, known for his speed but also as a teacher of magic. It may, therefore, be associated with flight, both in terms of its original name(s) and in terms of its uses in witchcraft.
Unlike the witch's favorites in the nightshade family, vervain doesn't contain any tropane alkaloids, but it does contain iridoids, which are precursors of alkaloids in the body. One of these that was once a standard in botanical medicine is verbenin, which was used as an epilepsy remedy. Remember that vervain seems to raise the seizure threshold—just the opposite of hyssop. Its flowers and leaves also contain verbenalin, another iridoid, and both these substances are considered nervine, tonic, sedating, and neuroprotective.
Clearly, vervain is an herb that bears much more testing in all the various ways it can be used. For instance, it is worth trying a tea made from the dried leaves, since this has been shown to increase dreaming. A good dream tea can be made with one to two teaspoons of dried vervain herb in one cup of boiling water. Let the herb infuse for fifteen minutes and then strain. This herb has little toxicity, but it should still not be used by pregnant women.
To find out what it may have been like for those who smeared their bodies with the juice of vervain in order to have wishes granted, reconcile enemies, win friends, or cure diseases, make a bath of a handful of fresh leaves or a few tablespoons of dried vervain. Put these in a muslin bag and allow it to infuse in the water before bathing. It's best to try this during the waxing moon, perhaps before engaging in ritual work or sleep for dreamwork.
Warning: Don't drink vervain in a tea or use it in the bath if you are pregnant. For anyone else, I suggest doing a test on your arm first, because some people find vervain, like many aromatics, irritating to the skin.
To make a protective house wash, soak the dried herb in equal parts in 40 percent alcohol (brandy, vodka). Strain and then add to a bucket of water. Pay particular attention to doors, thresholds, and windows. You can use this same recipe to make a tincture if you let the herb soak for two weeks and then strain. In that case, one to two teaspoons (5–10 ml) is considered a dose.
A very simple but effective way to work with vervain is to make a folk tincture of the fresh leaves using 95 percent alcohol. Strain and, shortly before bed, put a dab of the tincture on the back of your hand and briskly rub your hands as if washing them. Then go to sleep. This herb produces very vivid dreams without the hangover that mugwort can cause. Like many herbs, it loses effectiveness if used too often. I think this shows that vervain has great possibilities as a flying herb and one that has very little toxicity at all.
Start vervain in the early spring—preferably at a time when the Moon is waxing, since you will eventually be harvesting the tops. Just barely cover the seeds. They like cool room temperatures—60–70°F (18–21°C)—and should germinate in three to four weeks.
After the seedlings are up and have at least their first set of true leaves (what looks like the second set of leaves), transplant them to an area with full sun (but of course!) and rich soil, spacing them twelve to twenty-four inches (30–60 cm) apart. The first year, the plants will form a rosette of leaves and may put up a stalk or two of flowers, but they don't come into their own until the second and third years, when they will send up rather weedy-looking flower stalks eighteen to thirty-six inches (45–90 cm) tall. If you are harvesting leaves, cut them before the flowers open. If possible, do it in the traditional way.
This herb will reproduce from cuttings, but it's actually fairly easy to germinate for a perennial. To harvest the seeds, wait until the flowers are done and then carefully test the seeds for ripeness every couple of days. When the tiny pods are dry, gently run your thumbnail along the stalk and gather the chaff and seeds in a pot held right underneath the stalk. The seeds are shiny in comparison to the chaff and a bit heavier, so shake the gatherings a bit to get the seeds to the bottom, then carefully blow aside the chaff and scoop up the seeds with a bit of paper.
Vervain is hardy down to –25°F (–32°C; zone 4), but doesn't like the humid heat of the South. I've found that it can be overwhelmed by more aggressive herbs like mints or mugwort, so give it its own space.