The Old Magic of Christmas: Yuletide Traditions for the Darkest Days of the Year (10 page)

quarter at a time, leaving the rest wrapped up in the refrig-erator. Roll out the dough on wax paper until it’s about 1/8

inch thick or as thin as you can get it. Cut into circles with a cup or large glass.

Place the circles on a greased cookie sheet or one lined

with baking parchment. Spread each one sparingly with

apricot jam and sprinkle with a little cinnamon. Place a

pinch of marzipan at the edge of the circle of dough, then roll the circle up with the marzipan inside. Bend the roll into a crescent or “horn,” pinching the tips.

Brush horns with egg white and bake at 350 F for 20–25

minutes or until lightly browned.

72 Riders on White Horses

The Wild Rider

The image of St. Martin as a Roman soldier never really

took hold in the Anglo-Saxon realm where another older

rider on a white horse appeared in the woods at this time

of year. He was known as the Wild Rider, Wild Huntsman,

Hakelbarend or simply Grim. His mount, like the cloudy

November sky, was
aeppelfealo
or “apple gray”—what later speakers of English would call “dappled.” He wore a swirling cloak of blue or black homespun felted against the elements, much rougher stuff than that worn by the German

Martin. Of course, none dared to touch the cloak’s greasy

edge as the Rider thundered past; if they knew what was

good for them, they ran for cover. Those who were fool-

ish enough to look him in the face saw that he kept half his own face covered by a floppy-brimmed hat or hood, hiding

the eye which was not an eye at all but a dark, empty socket.

Before the sixth century, this ghostly huntsman would

have been openly acknowledged as Woden, god of magic

and the dead, retriever of the runes, of poetry and the mead that inspires it. Even after he had lost his divine status, he was treated with deference. Those living in and around the forest would have known which tracks he preferred and

scrupulously avoided them when he was abroad. The lonely

yeoman surprised in the woods by the croaking of ravens

and the pounding of hooves knew to hide behind a shelter

of nine boards or, if that were not possible, to throw himself face down on the ground and wait until the spectral

hunting party had passed. Most importantly, he must not

answer their hunting cry or try to engage them in conversation lest he become one of their number.

Riders on White Horses 73

From November on through the Twelve Nights of

Christmas13, it was wise to stay out of barns that had opposite doors, for these were the ones through which the Wild Hunt was most likely to pass. This makes perfect sense

when we take into account the fact that Woden’s hunting

party was comprised not of the recently dead but of the

long, predominantly heathen dead. A long hall with a door

at each end was the construction with which these spirits

were most familiar, for this was the blueprint the Angles

and Saxons had brought with them from the lowlands of

northern Germany. Back in the old country, the Wild Hunt

left gifts behind when they passed through such houses.

Quite often, the Wild Hunt was not seen, only heard,

leading some to speculate that the phenomenon was noth-

ing more than a flock of migratory birds crying out of a

cloud as they passed overhead. Even when it was “seen,”

the witness might have been observing only what the sto-

ries had led him to expect. In other words, just because it wasn’t there didn’t mean you couldn’t see it, or be griev-ously harmed by it. If you failed to take the proper precautions you might be struck blind, mad or even dead upon

the passing of the Wild Rider and his ghostly retinue. At the very least, you could expect to spend several weeks in bed, recovering from the trauma.

13. This was the season in which the Wild Hunt was most commonly perceived, but the
Anglo-Saxon Chronicle
reports that in 1127, reliable witnesses (read “monks”) in the area of Stamford both heard and saw the phantom hunting party go by with their black hounds and horses after February 6. The change in color is probably the result of Woden’s transformation from deity to demon.

74 Riders on White Horses

But there was also the possibility that you would be

swept up, carried over the treetops and deposited in a

strange land. In the mid-nineteenth century, a Norwe-

gian farm boy claimed to have been briefly taken up by the
Oskorei
14, as the Wild Hunt was sometimes known in Norway. None the worse for it, he lived to a great age, but all he could ever say of his adventure was that he had been taken to a place of splendor. Interestingly, the famous, feral Green Children of medieval East Anglia claimed to hail from “St.

Martin’s Land,” where it was always twilight, the grass was always green, and the natives apparently ate only beans.

According to a twelfth-century chronicler of wonders, the

green-skinned children, a boy and a girl, had strayed into the village of St. Mary’s of the Wolf-Pittes, now Woolpits, by accident, through a fissure in the earth. Was St. Martin’s Land the same realm to which the Norwegian boy had been

transported? Unfortunately, there is no one now living who can tell us.

“Blacker than pitch”

Another rider on a white horse, St. Nicholas, was of a kindlier bent. Sinterklaas, as he is known to the Dutch, starts rambling around the countryside in mid-November, well in

advance of his feast day of December 6. Like Woden, Sin-

terklaas is old and bearded, but instead of the floppy hat, he wears a bishop’s mitre. More importantly, he never goes 14.
Oskorei
comes from an Old Norse word meaning “terror,” but the Norwegians had plenty of other names for this phenomenon, including
Asgardsrei
, indicating that it issued from Asgard, the abode of the Norse sky gods, and
Jolorei
or “Yule Host.”

When the witch Lussi rode at its head, it was called the
Lussiferd
.

Riders on White Horses 75

anywhere without his sidekick, Zvarte Piet or “Black Peter,”

whose job it is to stuff naughty children in his sack and

carry them off to Spain. (In the staunchly Protestant Netherlands of the sixteenth century, a trip to sunny Catholic Spain was akin to a sojourn in Purgatory.)

In the Netherlands, Black Peter is St. Nicholas’ sole

attendant. Dressed in brightly colored cap or turban, his

puffed sleeves peeking out from the fashionable slashings in his velvet jacket, Black Peter resembles a Moorish page boy of sixteenth-century Spain. Today, few children are afraid of this colorfully anachronistic figure. Rather than terror, he provides the comic relief to the bishop’s solemn visit. Still, there can be no doubt that Black Peter has sprung from

the same ageless bloodline as brasher devils like Čert and Krampus (whom we’ll meet in the next chapter) and perhaps even Snorri Sturluson’s pitch-black elves.

While he resembles the medieval stereotype of “the

Moor,” Piet’s Spanish/Moorish identity has been laid over

one of those dark winter spirits who were already known to emerge from the forest in the wake of the Wild Rider. And

Dutch children might tell you that there is another more

obvious explanation for the page’s dark face: it is Black

Peter’s job to go up and down the sooty chimneys to fill

the children’s shoes so that St. Nicholas won’t soil his costly bishop’s robes.

Recipe: Bishop’s Wine

Bisschopswijn
or Bishop’s Wine is drunk by the grown-ups on the feast day of St. Nicholas, Bishop of Myra, but it could just as easily have been named for St. Martin, Bishop
76 Riders on White Horses

of Tours on whose day new wine was drunk with the Mar-

tinmas goose. Bishop’s Wine is just one variation of the

mulled, spiced wine that is ladled out under the twinkling lights of northern Europe’s outdoor Christmas markets.

Ingredients:

1 bottle cheap, dry red wine

1⁄3 cup vanilla sugar (This is white sugar in which a

vanilla bean or two have resided for at least a few

days.)

1 slice fresh ginger or chunk of candied ginger

1 star anise

1 cinnamon stick

6 cardamom pods

6 allspice berries

10 cloves

1 orange, sliced

Pour the wine and vanilla sugar into a large pot. Tie up the spices in a piece of cheesecloth and add to pot. Heat to simmering, stirring occasionally with a wooden spoon. Keep

simmering but not boiling for about half an hour. Remove

spices and float orange slices on top just before serving.

Beware: Black Peter is not the only dark spirit abroad on

the eve of St. Nicholas. Not long after the Pelzmarten

has rolled up his wolf skin and hidden it at the back of

the wardrobe, we hear another collection of feet tramping

down the frozen track that leads out of the forest and into the village. This time, the footsteps are accompanied by the clanking of bells and the rattling of chains as well as the whistle and crack of the birch rod as it slashes through the air. There are monsters out there, and they are just warming up for their first performance.

Č
ert

American children know that if they start acting up early

in December, they may or may not get a really good pres-

ent on the morning of the twenty-fifth. The closer they get to the big day, the less the threat of an empty or briquette-filled stocking becomes, because hasn’t Santa already

packed up his sleigh? What a nuisance it would be for him

77

78 Creatures of Forest and Mountain

to have to dig down through all those packages to retrieve one light-up fighting hamster-bot just because someone

forgot to clean her room. Yes, the sad truth is that there is very little left of real fear in the twenty-first century American Christmas.

But fear is alive and well among Czech children on the

eve of St. Nicholas’ Day, known to them as Angels and Dev-

ils Night. The star of Angels and Devils Night is a horned demon named Čert who looks rather like an upright goat

but has the face and hands of a man, and whose foot-long

scarlet tongue will prevent you from ever mistaking him for Mr Tumnus. His wrists linked by iron chains, he carries a

birch switch in one hand and an empty basket on his back.

Thanks to Čert, Czech children do not have to wait until

Christmas Eve to get what’s coming to them; as the sun sets on December 5, they face the very real possibility that they will be carried off to Hell in Čert’s basket that very night.

If Čert, or Krampus as he is known in Austria and parts

of Germany, were allowed to roam freely, we would all be

lost. Fortunately, he always appears in the company of a

starched white angel and St. Nicholas himself in full Myran bishop’s regalia. Usually, if not always, the angel intercedes on the child’s behalf. St. Nicholas hands out a few small

gifts, and the party departs the home with Čert rattling his chains and grumbling over his bad luck. Still, he has this to comfort him: though not the last goat-man we’ll meet in

these pages, he is certainly the most frightful, and the one who has managed to hold on to his devilish form for the

longest.

Creatures of Forest and Mountain 79

Knecht Ruprecht

Another of Čert’s German cousins, Knecht15 Ruprecht,

dresses like a Trappist monk. Though he shrinks from the

spotlight, Knecht Ruprecht reached the pinnacle of fame

in 1862 by way of a poem by north German poet/novelist

Theodor Storm. Since then, “Knecht Ruprecht” has been

recited before many a German Tannenbaum on Christmas

Eve. Recite the opening line, “Von drauss’ vom Wald komm

ich her. . . ” (“From out of the forest I now appear . . .”16) to any north German native and he or she will be unable to

resist rattling off the rest of the poem. Rather than a devil who must be restrained, Storm’s Knecht Ruprecht is the

dedicated helper of the Christ Child. In fact, it is the Christ Child who checks that his right hand man has both his sack and his rod before they set off on their business.

Knecht Ruprecht is now more usually to be found in the

company of St. Nicholas. He wears a black or brown robe

with a pointed hood and in Catholic regions might carry

a rosary. He is always bearded and often soot-smudged as

well, though these are clearly the ashes of the penitent that streak his face. All in all, his foreboding presence is like that of Dickens’ Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, but instead of pointing a bony finger, Knecht Ruprecht carries a bundle of birch twigs.

Don’t let the monk’s robes fool you; Knecht Rupre-

cht’s name, from Old High German “Hruodperaht,” sug-

15.
Knecht
is a false cognate for the English “knight;” it means

“farmhand” or “servant.”

16. Denis Jackson’s complete English translation of “Knecht Ruprecht” can be found a
t www.theodorstorm.co.uk

80 Creatures of Forest and Mountain

gests that he was once the servant of the goddess “Perahta”

or Perchta.

Other Nicholases

One would imagine that St. Nicholas and his villainous

sidekicks must occupy opposite ends of the spectrum, but

this has not always been the case. The frightful and the

benevolent came together, or had yet to part ways, in the

furry person of the Pelznichol who could be distinguished

from his brother Pelzmartl only by name and timing of

appearance. Close cousins to both were Ruklaus (Rough