Episode 107 – O Christmas Tree – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 107 Show Notes

Source: German Fairytale/Italian Folklore

This week on MYTH, it’s once again that special time of year – the annual holiday special. You’ll find love in a hopeless place, find a ring in an unexpected place, and find hubris in a disappointing place. Then, in Gods and Monsters, get in losers – we’re riding brooms and delivering candy. This is the Myths Your Teacher Hated podcast, where I tell the stories of cultures from around the world in all of their original, bloody, uncensored glory. Modern tellings of these stories have become dry and dusty, but I’ll be trying to breathe new life into them. This is Episode 107, “O Christmas Tree”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
The days are short and the nights are cold (at least up in my hemisphere), which means it’s that time of year again. You know, the time when Mariah Carey rises from the deep to demand her yearly tribute of candy canes and twinkly lights – the holiday season. And, as always here on Myths Your Teacher Hated, that means it’s time for the annual holiday special. This year, we’re headed to central Europe for some Christmas magic. Literally. This week’s story is from Germany and was collected by Frances Jenkins Scott in Good Stories for Great Holidays from 1914.
Once, long ago, a handsome young count named Otto lived in the city of Strasburg perched on the banks of the Rhine river. Despite being a very eligible bachelor, none of the very interested maidens of the city managed to catch his eye and he remained thoroughly single. His tendency to give every beautiful young woman he spoke to the cold shoulder soon earned him the nickname Stone-Heart (though he’s a lot less brutal than Lady Stoneheart from the Song of Ice and Fire books, who never made an appearance on Game of Thrones).
Time passed as it always seems to and soon Christmas was approaching for the people of Strasburg as it also always seems to do. As a well-to-do count, it was Otto’s job to host some kind of festivities for the local rich people and nobility. Being a noble himself, Otto could think of no better way to spend Christmas Eve than with a grand hunt in the forest around his personal castle. Seems like a perfect setting for a Hallmark movie, no? Maybe he can meet himself a small-town Christmas cookie baker who shows him the true meaning of Christmas, causing him to abandon his big city life.
Cut to: Otto, his guests, and his many retainers riding forth from the castle in pursuit of whatever poor critter is on the menu. The story doesn’t say what their quarry was but, given the fairy tale setting, I’m assuming some kind of white stag or hart. Whatever it was led them on a merry chase through tractless forests, over wild streams, and between dense thickets. In all the excitement, Otto didn’t realize that he had outdistanced the rest of the party until he found himself quite alone. Whoopsie.
Figuring there was nothing for it but to keep on keeping on, Otto rode deeper into the forest in search of either his companions or his prey. What he found instead was a spring of clear, burbling water. He knew it by reputation though he’d never been there before – the locals referred to it as the Fairy Well.
As you might imagine, riding through the forest in hot pursuit of a swift-moving deer or whatever was tiring, thirsty work. The cool, clean water looked incredibly inviting, so Otto hopped off his horse and walked over to the spring. He plunged his cupped hands into the water to wash them off before using them as an improvised cup. Being, you know, Christmas Eve, the weather was quite cold and frosty (though there was no snow on the ground); to his surprise, the water was surprisingly warm to the touch. In fact, the liquid seemed to almost caress his skin in an exhilarating way. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was feeling soft, delicate hands caressing his own.
So pervasive and powerful was the joy coursing through his veins that Otto couldn’t help but plunge his arms deeper into the delightful water. As he did so, the sensation of hands on his own intensified. In fact, it almost felt like fingers tracing over his skin up to the gold ring he always wore and slipping it from his finger. He was not nearly as surprised as he might have been when he finally removed his hands from the spring and saw that, lo and behold, the ring was indeed missing. Awed and mystified at this strange occurrence (and maybe a little nonplussed at losing a favorite ring), he went back to his horse and decided to call it a night.
With a last glance over his shoulder, Otto rode out of the forest and back to the castle. As he did so, he mulled the whole thing over in his mind. By the time he’d arrived at the gates, he’d decided on a course of action: in the morning, he would return to the Fairy Well with his servants and have it emptied. Whatever secrets were hiding within would be his to know. The rest of the guests had returned without incident and once they had all left, Otto went to bed. To his chagrin, he found that he was far too wired by the day’s strange events to sleep. He lay there, tossing and turning but unable to relax.
Some time later (he wasn’t entirely sure how long he had been lying there, dozing intermittently) he heard a commotion from the courtyard. The familiar basso howl of his watch-hounds rose into the night followed by a heavy creaking that sounded an awful lot like his drawbridge was being lowered. Frozen (perhaps by indecision or fatigue or perhaps by something stranger) he lay there and listened as the faint patter of many small feet echoed along his halls and up his stone staircases. Before long, he heard the faint but unmistakable sound of light steps in the room next to his own bedchamber.
That finally broke the spell. Otto leapt out from under the covers and headed for the door. Beyond, he heard the quiet strains of beautiful music. Throwing the door open, Otto looked around for the musicians. They weren’t hard to spot, but they also weren’t what he expected to find. In his rooms were not burglars or vandals but instead hundreds, maybe thousands, of tiny fairy folk. Clad in bright, shimmering robes in every color imaginable, they danced and sang along with the mysterious, inhuman music. Otto’s dramatic entrance was ignored entirely in favor of merriment.
The room itself had been transformed from the one he had crossed through only hours earlier. Sitting in the center of the room was, of all things, a pine tree that reached clear up to the ceiling. Its boughs and branches were hung with bright garlands, brilliant baubles, and twinkling candles. As he looked closer, he realized that what he had originally taken to be glass ornaments were instead diamond stars, strands of pearls, golden bracelets studded with massive precious stones, stunning headdresses set with rubies and sapphires, long belts of precious silk embroidered with delicate pearls, and daggers of gold studded with precious gems. It was a dazzling, impossible sight to behold. It also happened to be the very first Christmas tree ever seen in the world.
Our hero, Count Otto, was struck speechless at the magical display and stood gaping open-mouthed in wonder. His rapt attention was broken from the tree only when the twirling forms of the fairies suddenly went still and fell back. As they made way, Otto saw that they were clearing the way for the approach of a woman of truly dazzling beauty to approach him. Her raven-black hair fell in long waves beneath a golden diadem set with a spray of huge, expensive jewels and down to a delicate robe of rosy satin and creamy velvet. She was possibly the most enchanting creature Otto had ever laid eyes on. As he stared, she stretched out her small, pale hands to the count as she spoke to him.
“My dear Count Otto. I have come to return your unexpected Christmas visit to my home. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Ernestine, Queen of the Fairies. Here, you lost this in the Fairy Well.” In her hands, Otto saw a golden box encrusted with diamonds. He took it from her and opened it. Inside, as he expected, was his missing gold ring. Speechless, Otto felt an irresistible urge to take this fairy lady in his arms. Smiling, she floated into his embrace and taking him by the hand, led him into the first steps of a dance. As she moved, the music struck up again as if on cue and all of the other assembled fairies joined in. They swayed and swirled around the dancing pair until they slowly dissolved into sweetly scented mist, leaving Otto and Ernestine alone.
Otto the Stone-Heart was no more. He was utterly and entirely entranced by the Fairy Queen. He’d known her for only a few minutes, but the count didn’t care. He fell to his knees before his beloved Ernestine and begged her to become his bride forever after. She smiled down on the count. “Yes Otto – I will marry you, but on one condition: you must never, for any reason, speak the word ‘death’ in my presence.” Otto readily agreed to this stipulation. It was odd, sure, but it was also easy enough to do. Not speaking one dread word was a small price to pay for his beloved fairy queen’s hand in marriage.
The very next day, on Christmas Day, Otto and Ernestine were wed in a ceremony that, despite being by definition an impromptu affair, had plenty of pomp and circumstance to satisfy their stations. The couple settled into wedded bliss for many years thereafter. In some stories, this would be where we would get ‘happily ever after’, but this is a German tale, so the story isn’t over. There one day came a time when Otto and Ernestine decided to head out into the forest around the castle to hunt. Otto still loved that activity, the more so since it had been the reason he had met his bride. The horses were saddled and the attendants were gathered in the great hall to begin the hunt, but the Queen had not come down. Otto paced back and forth impatiently, but still his lady wife stayed in her chamber.
After what felt like an eternity to the impatient count (though the story doesn’t say how long the wait actually was), she appeared at last at the top of the staircase. Otto was by now thoroughly annoyed and exasperated, and he acted rashly. Letting his frustration take the lead, he snapped at his wife for taking so long. “By all that is holy, you have kept us all waiting for so long that you would make a good messenger to send for Death!” It’s not even a very clever statement, just kind of mean, implying that you’d want someone super slow if you had to send someone to summon Death. Worse, Otto had broken his vow and spoken the forbidden word in Ernestine’s presence.
The effect was immediate and terrible. The Fairy Queen screamed, a wild, ululating cry that didn’t sound like anything from a human throat. Turning around, she vanished into thin air, the cry echoing away and falling silent. Count Otto was immediately sorry about being a shithead and began to search high and low for his wife to try and apologize for being a jackass. Alas, he searched in vain. No sign of the Fairy Queen could be found anywhere in the castle or on its grounds. It was almost as though she had never set foot inside the count’s castle at all. Otto could have almost convinced himself he had dreamed the whole marriage were it not for one thing – the imprint of his vanished wife’s small, delicate hand set into the stone arch above the castle gate. This was the only thing Otto had to remember his lost love.
Years passed, but Ernestine did not return. She’d had only one rule, and Otto had broken it because he was feeling peevish. He would not get another chance to be cruel. Otto grieved her loss, and the pain never seemed to fade. If anything, it got stronger and more bitter as the years went by. Every Christmas Eve, the count would go out and cut down a pine tree; he would bring it into the room where he’d first met Ernestine and decorate it in a pale imitation of that first magical Christmas tree. Some part of him hoped that it would show how sorry he was and maybe convince her to come back, but she never did. Ernestine was gone. Otto died heartbroken and the castle soon fell into ruin with no one left to care for it. Most of the castle is gone now, but to this day, the gate remains. In the towering stone arch, you can still clearly see the deep imprint of a small, delicate hand, a reminder (according to the people of Strasburg) of the Fairy Queen and of the very first Christmas tree.
This is a surprisingly melancholy Christmas story, which might be why I was so fascinated by it when I stumbled across it. Most Christmas tales are about hope, but this one is about the importance of kindness and of keeping a vow. As the days grow shorter each year and the shadows grow long, I always get a little melancholy and so this seemed a fit story to share with you all. But now, with nothing remaining of this sad story but a stone handprint, it’s time for Gods and Monster. This is a segment where I get into a little more detail about the personalities and history of one of the gods or monsters from this week’s pantheon that was not discussed in the main story. This week’s Christmas legend is la Befana.
Over the years, we’ve met quite a few of the odder Yuletide visitors from around the world, and this year we’re meeting the Italian one – La Befana. Popular belief holds that this old woman’s name is derived from the Feast of the Epiphany or Festa dell’Epifania, which celebrates the arrival of the Three Wise Men (also known as the Three Kings or the Three Magi). It is celebrated on January 6, which is why Befana always shows up on the night of January 5. She gives off some seriously witchy vibes – and is sometimes said to actually be a witch though more Glenda the Good Witch than Elphaba the Wicked Witch. In most traditional stories however, Befana is a casalinga – a housewife – not a strega – a witch.
According to legend, Befana lived back in the time when the world switched from BC to AD. The oldest records we have with her name come from a 1549 poem by Agnolo Firenzuola. Many stories claim her name to be an Italian mispronunciation of the Greek name for the Festival of the Epiphany, but some modern scholars believe that she is actually a holdover from pagan traditions instead. Her name could be derived from Bastrina, the gifts associated with the goddess Strenia during the Roman Empire. Still others connect her to the Celtic tradition of burning a puppet of an old lady to signal the end of the old year and the beginning of the new (much like the modern concept of Father Time and Baby New Year often seen in cartoons). Yet others consider her to be an evolution of Perchta (who we met in Episode 74). The most common version of the story goes like this:
Long, long ago, an old woman lived in Italy. She was friendly and kind and this particular winter’s day found her sweeping her porch as she often did. The dust and grime seemed to spread across her floors no matter how diligent she was, so old Befana kept right on sweeping until the sun had almost set. She looked up to see three strange but incredibly well-dressed men approaching her. Their names were Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar and yes, these are in fact the kings they sing about in the Christmas ditty We Three Kings. Like Bugs Bunny, they apparently should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque because they were way off course. They were following the star that biblical tradition says marked the birth of baby Jesus and had found their way to Rome. Tradition holds that the kings had come from the east, often specifying that Caspar was from India, Melchior from Persia, and Balthasar from Arabia though they may have been from the Parthian Empire, which bordered Roman lands, instead.
All roads lead to Rome as they saying goes, and these three kings with their pack animals loaded with gifts had found themselves in that ancient city. Befana was the only person still active at the moment (Rome could get very, very dangerous after dark after all) and so it was to her that they came to ask directions. She listened to their tale of a newborn king and was forced to shrug helplessly. She didn’t have more than a very vague idea where the Roman province of Judea lay and none at all where Bethlehem was. They had gotten this far by following the star, so her only suggestion was to keep on keeping on. Being a kindly old woman, Befana offered the three a place to stay and hot food to eat until the stars came out that night.
The woman’s house was quite humble, especially by foreign king standards, but she was sweet and more importantly, she was offering. The three thought a rest and a meal might be just the ticket and accepted her invitation gratefully. Following her inside, they were pleasantly surprised to find that the house was modest but well-kept and spotlessly clean. Befana clearly knew what she was about and after sharing dinner with her (which was delicious by the way), they decided to invite her to join them on their epic quest. Befana smiled kindly at this offer, but shook her head. Wandering out into the desert on the far edge of Roman lands with three utter strangers seemed like a batshit idea and a good way to get herself killed. Besides, there was still cleaning to be done.
The three kings accepted her answer and sat with her, shooting the shit, until the stars came out. The guiding star blazed overhead as it had for so many nights and so, thanking their hostess, they set off into the night after it. Like the casalinga she was, Befana cleaned up after dinner, swept up after the animals, and generally finished getting her house in order. The visit had delayed her a bit, but she was finally finished and had time to stop and think. Looking out into the dark, Befana considered their tale. The more she thought about it, the more she began to think that maybe she would like to travel beyond Rome to see the baby king. Hell, maybe she could even give him a proper gift. Gold, frankincense and myrrh are all well and good (and very expensive), but what the fuck is a baby going to do with that? Gathering up some sweets she’d baked that morning (what kid doesn’t like sweets – except, you know, a baby who can’t eat solid foods but it’s the thought that counts), Befana chased after the three magi.
Of course, they had quite a head start on her and she didn’t really know the way (she hadn’t been lying about that). The only thing she had as a guide was the star overhead, so she followed that with no real concept of where she was going. Since she couldn’t complete her now-quixotic quest, Befana did the next best thing – she left sweets at the door of every good child she came across in her search. Theologically, the idea is that Befana sees a reflection of baby Jesus in every child and so she’s doing the best she can to make the journey without ever leaving Italy.
With the traditions of Saint Nicholaus and Krampus spreading across Europe, Befana has adopted Santa Claus’ schtick of leaving coal for the naughty kids (or sometimes just dark bitter candy but the joke’s on you – I’m into that shit). She is usually depicted as an old woman in a kerchief or shawl with a hooked, warty nose flying around on her broomstick (much like your traditional witch but, you know, nice). Also like her jolly elf counterpart, many families leave out treats for Befana’s nighttime visit, where she flies down the chimney. No milk and cookies for this lady though – she wants wine and some morsels of actual food. This is Italy, after all.
She also carries a sack or wicker hamper full of sweets and sometimes toys for the good little kids she visits (though she doesn’t kidnap them like ol’ Krampus). Being who she is, Befana often can’t seem to leave a house without cleaning it first. Her broom isn’t simply magical transportation, it’s also functional – she may just sweep the floor before she leaves (symbolic of sweeping away the problems and bad luck of the year before, leaving the family with a clean slate). So spare a thought for old Befana this January and maybe leave a little wine and dinner out for her – she might just make it worth your while.
That’s it for this episode of Myths Your Teacher Hated. Keep up with new episodes on our Facebook page, on iTunes, on Stitcher, on TuneIn, on Vurbl, and on Spotify, or you can follow us on Twitter as @HardcoreMyth, on Instagram as Myths Your Teacher Hated Pod, and on Tumblr as MythsYourTeacherHated. You can also find news and episodes on our website at myths your teacher hated dot com. If you have any questions, any gods or monsters you’d want to learn about, or any ideas for future stories that you’d like to hear, feel free to drop me a line. I’m trying to pull as much material from as many different cultures as possible, but there are all sorts of stories I’ve never heard, so suggestions are appreciated. The theme music is by Tiny Cheese Puff.
Next time, we’re heading a little bit west to catch up with our old buddy Hans Christian Andersen for some New Year’s Eve goodness. You’ll see that you should always carry matches, that roast gooses really want to be eaten, and that stars make the best Christmas tree decorations. Then, in Gods and Monsters, we’re going to let Befana head out so we can spend time with baby New Year instead. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.