Marlene Raedisch
About the Author
Linda Raedisch is an eclectic writer with an art background and an interest in the practical aspects of prehistory, history, and religion. Her first book is Night of the Witches: Folklore, Traditions & Recipes for Celebrating Walpurgis Night, and she is a frequent contributor to Llewellyn’s annuals. She lives in northern New Jersey with her daughter, Mika; their gray cat; and a growing collection of brooms.
Llewellyn Publications
Woodbury, Minnesota
Copyright Information
The Old Magic of Christmas: Yuletide Traditions for the Darkest Days of the Year © 2013 by Linda Raedisch.
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First e-book edition © 2013
E-book ISBN: 9780738734507
Book design by Donna Burch
Cover: iStockphoto.com/7855186/Vetta Collection/Stanislav Pobytov
Cover design by Ellen Lawson
Editing by Brett Fechheimer
Interior illustrations © Chris Down
Interior sleigh: Art Explosion
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Acknowledgments
Special thanks go to Vivette Pilloton for the use of her library and for general moral support; Chris Gordon of Icepedition Tours for the use of his Icelandic collection; Chanda Yonzon for tea and childcare; Priya and Nilesh Shrestha for dinners and Czech support; Jaclyn Pien for coffee and crafting input; and especially to my mother, Marion Raedisch, for help in the kitchen and at the translating table, and for all those hours spent with the Lutzelfrau. Happy Christmas to all!
Contents
Introduction
Chapter One: A Thousand Years of Winter
Chapter Two: At Home with the Elves
Chapter Three: Dead by Christmas Morning
Chapter Four: Riders on White Horses
Chapter Five: Creatures of Forest and Mountain
Chapter Six: The Scandinavian Household Sprite
Chapter Seven: Reindeer Games
Chapter Eight: A Christmas Bestiary
Chapter Nine: Winter’s Bride
Chapter Ten: There Are Witches in the Air
Chapter Eleven: Dark Spirits of Hearth and Home
Chapter Twelve: A Christmas Witch’s Herbal
Conclusion: Eternity
Addendum: A Calendar of Christmas Spirits and Spells
Glossary
Bibliography
Listen! We are beginning our story!
When we arrive at the end of it we shall,
it is to be hoped, know more than we do now.
hans christian andersen, “the snow queen”1
1. All direct quotes from “The Snow Queen” are from my own crumbling, tartan-bound copy of Tales from Hans Andersen published by Thomas Y. Crowell & Co. in 1897. I suspect it of being an overly flowery, Victorian translation, but it is the one to which I am sentimentally attached.
Introduction
Christmas, at its heart, is a hazy thing. This book explores the finer points of how it came to be that way, without, it is to be hoped, actually dispelling any of that seductively glittering haze. If you are open to the experience of a deeper and, yes, darker season, if you’re not afraid to open the door to the odd ghost or wizened witch, if you would welcome a shiver that has nothing to do with the coming of winter, then you’ve come to the right place. While this is not a children’s book, it was written by a lover of fairy tales, and you will find scattered references to Hans Christian Andersen, C. S. Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkien, and a few others you might not immediately associate with Christmas. Meandering throughout are references to my favorite children’s story of all, “The Snow Queen,” in which the courageous young Gerda makes her way, sometimes barefoot, from an attic apartment in Denmark to a witch’s garden, a robbers’ camp, and on through Lapland to the “snow-saloon” at the heart of the Snow Queen’s stronghold to effect the spiritual rescue of her playmate, Kay. “The Snow Queen” is not, strictly speaking, a Christmas story, but the lands through which Gerda passes are in many cases the same lands through which the ancient Yuletide goddess has also passed with her retinue of fairies, ghosts, and goblins.
You don’t have to be Christian to fall in love with the Christmas season. We’ve all seen those stickers urging us to “Keep the Christ in Christmas.” I choose to interpret these in the most positive of lights, as a call to Christians to use the season as a means of more deeply exploring their faith. Pagans can do the same. Despite what you may have heard, the old gods and goddesses are not so easy to pick out in our modern festivities, but what a joy it is when you do spy one of them hanging around the punch bowl or riding in with the mistletoe. Such a lengthy season demands a cast of thousands, and witches, trolls, and household sprites all have their parts to play.
In these pages you will find elves aplenty, both light elves such as might be expected to have taken up employment as toymakers under the swaying curtain of the northern lights, and dark elves who lurk in the forest, hiding their faces from the sun. I propose that Yule, and the days leading up to it, is the best time to contrast our more recent conception of these earthbound spirits with the more interactive relationship our ancestors had with them in the past.
There is a popular belief among both Pagans and non-Pagans that Christmas as we know it is essentially a Pagan celebration, its rituals the richly dressed attempts of primal people to rekindle the dying embers of the sun. Though this is a fine mythology in itself, it’s really only half the story. Some of the creatures you’re about to meet are unabashedly heathen, while others are the products of highly Christianized imaginations. The vast majority are some combination of the two.
As you turn the pages of this book, I would like you to feel as if you are forcing open an ancient church door, to find not dusty pews but an old-growth forest, moonlight glancing off the holly leaves as gauzy spirits dart among the boughs. I hope you, the reader, will be as surprised as I was at some of the discoveries I have made in the course of my own journey through this forest. At first glance, the Swedish Lucia, with her crown of lights and blood-red sash, is a shoe-in for an ancient personification of—or sacrifice to—the sun, but this turns out not to be the case. (On St. Lucy’s
Day, you may also be surprised by what you find under the Bohemian Lucy’s skirts!) Conversely, the Italian witch Befana, whose name means “Epiphany” and whose story is inextricably bound up with that of the Three Kings who brought gold, frankincense, and myrrh to the Baby Jesus, owes her existence as much to a Germanic goddess as to the Book of Matthew.
There is no denying that Christmas is and always has been largely about the choosing, buying, wrapping, and presentation of gifts. The Roman Saturnalia, an early precursor of our own holiday, was marked by the exchange of candles, little clay dolls, and other trinkets. Gift-giving is, after all, an expression of goodwill, especially when you are handing a little of your hard-earned cash back down the socio-economic ladder. No, you don’t have to make merry, but you ought to take the time to remember that we are all, as Scrooge’s nephew attempted to explain to his uncle, “fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys.”
Which brings us, naturally, to the three Christmas ghosts familiar to the whole world: those of Past, Present, and Yet to Come. A Christmas Carol was neither the first nor the last Christmas ghost story Charles Dickens wrote. Nor did he invent the genre; he brought an already established storytelling tradition to new heights. Christmas and the spirit world were so closely linked in Dickens’s imagination that he saved up his spookiest ideas for publication in December.
In the forging of our own bright, shiny American Christmas, certain attitudes, beliefs, and practices have been clipped away, for that is the nature of tradition. Some customs might survive for centuries while others bite the dust under the Christmas tree skirt almost as soon as they are born. Rather than let those old clippings lie in a heap on Santa’s workshop floor, I have gathered a handful of them up and held their rough edges to the light. Take a look. While I cannot with any confidence promise you a merry Christmas, I can offer you the prospect of a very interesting one. Many of you may be of the opinion that Christmas is all about the kids. I disagree; Christmas is all about safely scaring the kids and sometimes ourselves in the process.
The Christmas season used to stretch all the way from late October to February 2. It should be noted that while the broom-toting Barborky appear predictably on St. Barbara’s Eve (December 3) and La Befana can be counted on to sweep through the sky with her sack of toys on Epiphany Eve (January 5), there are few hard and fast rules when it comes to the order of this otherworldly procession. If I have placed a certain occurrence in a certain province on Christmas Eve, it does not mean that a similar ritual might not take place on New Year’s Eve or Twelfth Night somewhere else. In the early Middle Ages, the Christmas season was reckoned to begin on November 1, but keep in mind that the medievals’ November 1 was not our November 1.1 What we now call Halloween was, for the ancient Celts, the night preceding the start of the winter half of the year and therefore a sort of New Year’s Eve. And for the Anglo-Saxons, what we call the beginning of winter was “midwinter.”
As in my first book, Night of the Witches: Folklore, Traditions & Recipes for Celebrating Walpurgis Night, many of the uncanny creatures you’ll meet are Germanic in origin. But folk beliefs and traditions, like the people who create them, often flow smoothly one into another instead of falling into neat scholarly categories. Our journey into Christmas will also take us deep into Celtic, Italic, Baltic, and Slavic lands. With such a wealth of characters on hand, one has to draw the line somewhere, and I have chosen to draw it around the Catholic and formerly Catholic countries of northern and central Europe, including, of course, those hotbeds of Christmas creepiness, Iceland and the British Isles. There will also be the odd excursion to North America, though only in relation to Old World practices preserved there. That said, no book of Christmas ghouls would be complete without the Greek kallikantzaroi, who slip uninvited down the chimney to cause havoc on Christmas Eve. Although they belong to the Eastern Orthodox realm, you will find them here, too, along with a handful of more northerly Christmas beasts (some naughty, others nice), the odd vampire, and a few unquiet child ghosts.
And what is Christmas without at least a sprig of something green? Now more than ever, Christmas is a hothouse holiday. Before the advent of the poinsettia, Christmas cactus, and overblown Yuletide cyclamen, humbler herbs had pride of place in the window, at the altar, and among the decorations in the hall. Along with the holly and the mistletoe, you will encounter some of the more unusual, sometimes haunted, seasonal greens, including ivy, juniper, and black hellebore.
Rest assured that there is more to see here than a few green wreaths, quaint witches, and prettily glowing ghosts. Few of the spirits you encounter will make your blood run cold, for the aim of this book is to capture the mystery of Christmas, not to evoke full-blown horror. Still, once you’ve read this book, you’ll no longer dismiss that drumming on the rooftop as reindeer hooves. When you hear tinkling bells and a gruff “Ho ho,” you’ll be looking out for the Wild Hunt instead of Santa’s sleigh, and as soon as you turn your calendar page to December, you’ll be on the alert for the thump of a broom, the rustle of straw, or the brushing of birch twigs against the window pane.
Just as this continually evolving thing we call Christmas did not used to end on December 25, this book does not end at the Conclusion. At the back you will find a “Calendar of Christmas Spirits and Spells” to help you both organize and extend your festivities. There you will find the whole season at a glance as well as a few extra otherworldly tidbits not found elsewhere in the book. In the glossary I have defined terms not elucidated in the text. These range from familiar words whose exact meanings might nevertheless escape the reader, such as distaff and flue, to terms with which the reader may not be familiar at all, such as primstav and Ember Days. The glossary is also the receptacle of my less pertinent musings, which I have withheld from the main text in order not to break the flow.
[contents]
1. The 365-day year with which we are all familiar was invented by Julius Caesar, or someone working for him, in 46 BCE. This is the “Julian” or “Old Style” calendar. Because it does not take the earth exactly 365 days to complete its revolution around the sun, over the centuries a sort of seasonal drift occurred that not even the Julian leap year could correct. Finally, in 1582, Pope Gregory XIII, or someone working for him, removed ten days from the fall of that year and tinkered with the leap-year system to create the “Gregorian” or “New Style” calendar. The Gregorian calendar, which promises many of us a white Christmas each year, was accepted higgledy-piggledy throughout the Western world over a period lasting from 1582 to 1923. This should help explain why December 13, 21, and 25 have all been hailed at one time as the date of the winter solstice. When you also take into account the ecclesiastical calendar, the landlords’ calendar, the Old Icelandic calendar, and the lunar calendar to which Easter obstinately clings, it’s a wonder that there is any consensus at all when it comes to our modern holidays.
CHAPTER ONE
A Thousand Years of Winter
If you speak English, then you are used to dedicating your Thursdays to the Germanic god Thor. Because the gnome-like nisse and tomten who watched over Nordic farmsteads refused to work on Thursday nights, we might jump to the conclusion that they were devotees of the thunder god. Thor’s was always a popular cult, so it is possible that the wizened old fellows were his men, but first we should take a look at how the Norse, German, and Anglo-Saxon peoples reckoned their days. Just as all Jewish holidays begin at sundown before the day they are marked on the calendar, Germanic pagans counted their days from dusk to dusk instead of from daybreak to daybreak, which is why many if not most of the witches, ghosts, and goblins in this book fetch up in the darkness preceding each saint’s feast day.
As soon as darkness has fallen on Thursday, “Thor’s Day,” we enter “Friday Eve,” or, in the Germanic pagan imagination, Frigga’s Eve. Frigga, who dwelt among the other sky gods in Asgard, was queen to Odin’s king. She was a
little less promiscuous than the fertility goddess Freya and decidedly more interested in housekeeping, especially the production of cloth. (This is not to say that Frigga and Freya were not two faces of the same goddess, which is also a distinct possibility.) Frigga was present in the northern sky in the form of her distaff, a constellation more familiar to us moderns as Orion’s Belt. Spinning was forbidden on Frigga’s Eve; an empty distaff next to a basket of full spools demonstrated to the goddess that you were a diligent sort and could afford, like the nisse and tomten, to slack off for one night. But by Twelfth Night (January 6), you had better have spun all the wool and flax in the house, for when the Christmas season was over, it would be time to set up the big upright loom, at which time you must have enough thread to warp it and start your weaving.
In Alpine lands, Frigga was known as Perchta, Berchta, or Bertha, and her cult continued to flourish long after the belief in goddesses had been swept under the straw. To make it clear that she no longer claims deity status, she now often goes by “Frau,” meaning “Mrs.” She has also been called Spinnstubenfrau, or “Spinning Room Lady.” In Scandinavia, the icy twinkling of Frigga’s distaff in the night sky was enough to keep the maids busy as bees, but elsewhere, young spinners had to be reminded that the last thing the goddess wanted to see when she peered in the window at Epiphany was a cloud of unspun wool or flax languishing on the distaff. In Germany, Austria, and Switzerland, there were numerous tales of Frau Berchta trampling and even setting fire to the half-spun fibers.
Though few of us do our own spinning these days, the last three Thursdays preceding Christmas still belong to Frau Berchta. She does not always put in an appearance on these “Berchtl Nights,” as they are known in parts of the Alps; she has servants for that. Mostly, these servants make a racket. Bavarian children, appointing themselves temporarily to Frau Berchta’s service, used to run around throwing dry peas, beans, and pebbles against the doors and windows to remind everyone that Christmas was coming. Because of the noise, these Thursdays were known in Germany as the “Knocking Nights.” Homeowners rewarded the children for driving the evil spirits out from under the eaves. If the children happened to disturb any witches in the process, they did not fear pursuit, for the witch would be compelled to stop and count all of the beans that had fallen in her dooryard before she could go after the perpetrators.
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