The Victorian fascination with death is well-documented. From funeral customs to mourning rituals, people of the late nineteenth century influenced and built upon many of the trappings of death we take for granted in western culture. But Christmas cards depicting death? That would appear to be uniquely Victorian, and — so it would seem — a strange mix of beliefs both pagan and Christian.
Artist J.C. Horsley, commissioned by Sir Henry Cole — the man who, in 1843, set up the “Public Records Office” (what we would know as a Post Office) and wondered how to attract ordinary people to his “Penny Post” — is credited with creating the first modern, mass-produced Christmas card. At its center, a family toasts the holiday. Flanking them are scenes of charity among the poor. It’s a heart-warming scene and one we would expect of the season.
Yet the darker side of Victorian culture — which inherited hundreds of years of Celtic and Christian folklore and tradition — is also readily apparent in many cards from the period.
Much has been written about such cards. Google “odd Victorian Christmas Cards” and not only will you ideally find this article, but many over the years devoted to the topic. Some will even contain the cards noted here. But few will provide you with what I believe are the reasons behind such bizarre cards. Or at least two in particular.
A Loving Christmas Greeting
Dead birds can be found on more than one Victorian Christmas card, and most bear sentiments like “A Loving Christmas Greeting.” The meaning behind this grotesque imagery? Probably has its origins in Celtic traditions associated with December 26 — the day after Christmas — also known as St. Stephen’s Day.
In Ireland, this feast day for the first century martyr is called Lá Fhéile Stiofáin or Lá an Dreoilín, which translates as the Day of the Wren or Wren’s Day. Up until about a century ago when the practice started to wane, groups of small boys would hunt for a wren, then chase the bird until they either caught it or it died from exhaustion. The dead bird was then tied to ta pole or holly bush.
St. Stephen’s Day Mummers
Some scholars have posited a theory that this hunt for the wren finds its origins in anti-pagan customs. As discussed in Birds in Legend, Fable and Folklore, men and boys on the hunt for the wren on the Isle of Man in and around the 10th century shouted “draoi-en” — which translates as “Druid Bird.” Druids were believed to have used wrens in acts of divination. It is likely that hunting the wren was a Christian rejection of heathen practice attributed to Druids. Though not practiced like it was a century ago, Wren’s Day with its wrenboys and mummers is still practiced in some areas of the British Isles.
Thus a dead wren on a Christmas card might seem a perfectly normal image to some Victorians whose Celtic roots would signal to them that this anti-pagan symbol was an appropriate way to celebrate Christ’s birth.
Few could argue the same, however, for a card depicting a murderous frog who, upon stabbing his companion, steals away with a sack marked “2000.” Unless, of course, we are instead meant to think of Christ’s death, and not his birth. Or more precisely, Christ’s death and resurrection as a promise of salvation made possible by his birth.
Froggy Went a Stabbin’
Anthropomorphic frogs on Victorian cards of all kinds are many. For Christmas, there are frogs playing instruments; frogs skating across ice; even frogs carrying umbrellas.
Ice Skating Frogs (Nova Scotia Archives)
Anthropomorphized animals having fun at Christmas is nothing new — not for a modern audience nor for the Victorians for whom frogs, dogs, cats, horses and chickens were all fair game (or foul as the case may be).
Still, the frog holds a unique place among animals in western culture. For centuries, Europeans regarded the frog as a harbinger of death or doom — some would say because of the poison carried by some species, and others due to the belief that witches often took frogs or toads as familiars. They were associated with heretics and sinners in the Middle Ages by such notable figures as Dante and Martin Luther. Yet frogs were also seen as Christ symbols.
Scholar Simona Cohen in Animals as Disguised Symbols in Renaissance Art explains that Pliny the Elder in his Natural History believed frogs died in winter and were born again in the spring. She goes on to explain how emblem books of the Renaissance included images of frogs as symbolic of Christ’s resurrection. Other forms of western art also embraced the idea of the frog’s transformation from a tadpole as a sort of death and rebirth.
If anthropomorphized frogs can be both saints and sinners, then is it too far a stretch that they could be stand-ins for Christ and his betrayer? Could we be seeing a Judas-frog carrying away coin after literally back-stabbing the Jesus-frog? Is the distinctive cross shape of the dagger significant? How about the number 2,000 on the sack being carried away?
That number may be a key. While some time can be spent trying to figure out if 30 pieces of silver in any way amount to the equivalent of 2,000 drachmas or denarii or shekels (they don’t, by the way), it is not beyond reason that the illustrator of the card may have been aware of the Talmud — where the days of the Messiah were to be 2,000 years (in a 6,000 year cycle of mankind).
The message to the Victorian audience may have been more clear. Its true symbolism may be lost to time.
If, however, this anthropomorphic morality play is indeed related to Christ, then a reminder of the resurrection would not be too far afield of the message of Christmas. Christ is born. He will die. He will rise again. The frog that murdered him will surely hang. And don’t forget that the wren the druids once held in high esteem will be hunted down in the name of God and St. Stephen.
Santa Claus can be just as dangerous as he is generous. Take, for example, RARE EXPORTS, a 2010 Finnish horror film that Roger Ebert called “an original, daring, carefully crafted film,” in which reindeer herders find their Christmas holiday made nightmarish by a murderous supernatural being resembling old Saint Nick.
It’s Christmas 1947, and the girls who have been bad are in trouble.
YULETIDE MURDER MOVIE MAYHEM
A tradition begun in the 1970s with BLACK CHRISTMAS — the story of a psychopath stalking sorority sisters during the holiday season — yuletide murder movie mayhem had its heyday among the slasher flicks of the 1980s with titles like CHRISTMAS EVIL (the first to feature Santa himself as serial killer), TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT, and the franchise launching SILENT NIGHT, DEADLY NIGHT.
After a relative lull in the 1990s, the new millennium saw the release of SANTA’S SLAY and foreign imports, like the aforementioned Finnish effort, as well as a 2011 Dutch entry simply called SINT (a.k.a. SAINT).
With almost forty films in as many years, the sub-genre of horror at the holidays is oft-overlooked by those who study cinema. Whether merely meant as crude attempts to capitalize on cultural mash-ups, or revealing something more sinister in the human condition, these movies, regardless of quality or taste, are inherently subversive. They invert our expectations of familiar icons and imagery, replacing joy with terror. Goodwill with paranoia. Peace and tranquility with dread and anxiety.
DREADING CHRISTMAS
But why? Are filmmakers, consciously or not, taking the piss out of Christmas because, in modern times, the season has meant for many the rise of status anxiety in an ever expanding culture of commodity? Is the promise of instant gratification reinforced by media and merchandising too overwhelming for many? Perhaps the pressure-release valve often provided by the horror film helps to stave off the depression, disappointment and stress experienced by many during the holiday season.
Though the belief in increased suicides during the holidays is just a myth, stress — at any time of year — is reported now by 22% of Americans — and depression, according to the Canadian Mental Health Association, Ontario, is more frequently reported. Films that depict psychopathic Santas or holiday killers may therefore serve as an outlet for those left cold by the trappings of Christmas. But this argument is somewhat reductive. Fear of Santa certainly precedes the cinema.
Part jolly old elf and part malicious imp, the Santa Claus of popular imagination can be scary. He is a man dressed strangely, behaving oddly, and his form of greeting — “ho ho ho” — can be downright disturbing.
FATHER CHRISTMAS AND THE RANDY MAN OF THE GREEN
A far cry from the 4th century saint and bishop of Myra to which he is tied, Santa Claus is an amalgam of many a myth and much mirth: colorful, plump and full of life and vigor, he is the giftgiver Saint Nicholas, the Dutch Sinterklaas, the caricature drawn by Thomas Nast, and the nocturnal visitor of Clement Moore’s 1823 poem. He’s been used to sell everything from cigarettes to toy guns to Coca Cola.
An Amorous Santa from the cover of Puck Magazine is more lothario than saint (1905)
But Santa Claus, by any name, is considerably more akin to pre-Christian notions of the Green Man — a figure that is equal parts celebratory and dangerous — than he is to any Christian saint or Madison Avenue pitchman. And it is in the folklore of the Green Man that the origin of Santa as sinister may lie.
Who is this Green Man? Though a term coined only as recently as 1939 in an article entitled “The Green Man in Church Architecture,” the motif of a wild man tied to vegetation and the cycle of growth, death and rebirth is found in many cultures. A good-natured, bacchanalian figure, the Green Man is welcome in most cultures. He represents the return of “the green” to the world following the year’s darkest day in December (the time of “Yule” among Germanic peoples). and, as Jack-in-the-Green, a sprite of sorts that leads May Day celebrations.
Wild and free as he is, however, the Green Man also has a darker side. His freedom means a lack of inhibitions. A willingness, desire and capability to do as he pleases. At his extremes, he could even be cast as the Christian Devil, argues Mary Neasham in her Spirit of the Green Man (2007)for he is”an acknowledgement of the powerful forces of nature” and a “reminder that we ignore these [forces] at our own peril.”
In Great Britain, Greek, Roman and Germanic influences converge over time to take the pre-christian construct of the Green Man, fuse him with pagan celebrations, and form the figure of Father Christmas; figuratively (if not literally) Father Christmas springs from the Green Man. He is life. He is the return of the Sun. His lore is thus inexorably tied to Christmas and its trappings. A secular figure who shares with Christ the personification of a return of light and life to the darkness.
It should be no surprise to anyone that Christian holidays were superimposed upon, act as a substitution for or simply coincide with pagan festivals. However, cultural anthropologists, Jungian psychologists and even some historians now argue that the transition of pagan to Christian in both the west and east was not sudden; it was stretched over centuries, and the lines of transition are blurry. The date of Christmas, for example, December 25, is set in 274 by the Roman emperor Aurelian to commemorate Dies Invicti Solis (the Day of the Invincible Sun); Aurelian takes his inspiration from the eastern cult of Mithra. But there are some scholars (including an Associate Professor of History at Muhlenberg College) that believe that Aurelian, hostile to Christians, may have been imposing a pagan celebration over a date already established by the early Church. However its evolution — the overlap and transitions of pagan to Christian or Christian to pagan — were shaped over centuries.
Some would argue the process is still ongoing, if only on a subconscious level. And that it’s healthy. The Yin and the Yang. For the good of society, we may actually need to secularize religion on occasion or, conversely, find the divine in what is otherwise creations of man. Or both. It’s all in the way you look at things.
The Ghost of Christmas Present by John Leech commissioned by Dickens for A Christmas Carol, 1843
WHAT THE DICKENS?
Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol (1843) is a fixture of modern Christmas tradition. Dickens, a man who struggled with his faith — most likely taking inspiration from Washington Irving’s depictions of Christmas traditions in The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent (1819-1820)as well as renewed interest in all things Christmas during the Victorian period (including cards and Christmas trees) — writes his classic tale of a bitter, spiteful man who learns to embrace the Christmas Spirit without ever mentioning the birth of Jesus.
Secular images of Christmas abound, and though Christ cannot be found in A Christmas Carol, the Green Man is arguably there in the figure of the Ghost of Christmas Present. Though never mentioned as such by Dickens, this ghost is equal parts Bacchus, Father Christmas and Santa Claus.
The second apparition to appear to Scrooge, The Ghost of Christmas Present appears as “a jolly giant” with a “cheery voice” and “sparkling eye”; he is bedecked with objects often associated with Santa: a holly wreath and shining icicles. But this ghost, unlike the old man with a white beard, is certainly much younger — more virile and full of vigor. With dark brown curls, “long and free,” the Ghost is quite unlike Santa. He wears a fur-lined green robe (that Dickens’ illustrator, Charles Leech, first made red, curiously enough) with a scabbard (but no sword) at his side. His feet are bare.
While not quite the white-bearded, rosy-cheeked Santa known to Americans, Dickens’ ghost and Father Christmas are certainly connected (if only in the contemporary and modern reader’s mind by his demeanor and clothing). What a strange turn, then, that Dickens uses the ghost to show Scrooge one of the more disturbing images in the entire tale (yes, worse than Scrooge’s own death!); these are the haggard and wan children hiding behind the folds of the ghost’s green robe: the boy, Ignorance, and the girl, Want. Withered, like spoiled fruit never to grow strong, these are Man’s children. And the boy literally bears a mark of doom.
This juxtaposition of joviality, excess and good humor with man’s inhumanity to man is intentionally jarring. The Ghost shifts from comforting companion to an uneasy, potential threat. For he carries with him the truth of ugliness in the world. As Green Man, he is Neasham’s reminder that “we ignore these [forces] at our own peril.”
M.H. Abrams, in his seminal book of literary criticism The Mirror and the Lamp: Romantic Theory and the Critical Tradition (1953) offers a simple paradigm as art either holding up a mirror or a lamp to society. The mirror reflects the real world. The lamp illuminates. And while Abrams was effectively using the metaphor to discuss the radical shift in art ushered in by nineteenth century romanticism, it is interesting to place A Christmas Carol under Abrams’ critical lens. Writing on the cusp of the end of the Romantic period and the beginnings of later nineteenth century realism, Dickens may have effected a melding of the two schools: a Romantic Realism of sorts. For in the Ghost of Christmas Present, especially, Dickens both holds the mirror that shows ignorance and want while offering a romantic view of Scrooge’s salvation and subsequent passion to change the world for the better.
And so it becomes clear that darkness and light are bridged by such a figure as the Ghost of Christmas Present. And so it is that darkness and light, death and rebirth, despair and hope are at the heart of the folklore and mythology that mix across time and cultures to produce a Green Man. A Father Christmas. A Santa Claus.
But dichotomous nature of such a figure makes many uncomfortable. As far back (or recently, depending on your perspective) as the seventeenth century, Puritans in both the old world and new hotly debated the celebration of Christmas; should a solemn observation of the birth the Savior become an excuse for drunken frivolity? (for more, see Chris Durston’s article “Lords of Misrule” in History Today) Over four-hundred-and-fifty years later, the same debate continues. “Keep Christ in Christmas” is an oft-used phrase on everything from bumper stickers to billboards; but to some, many of the traditions of Christmas — with deep pagan roots — mean Christ is there in name only.
OLD NICK / SAINT NICK
A green-robed Santa may be off-color in more ways than one (late 19th century postcard)
To have Santa Claus a symbol of Christmas means embracing all aspects of the amalgam that he is. Born of the wild and the green, he is beyond Christian, but has been tamed and tailored to fit the Christian tradition.
For many, the dual nature of Santa Claus is acceptable. Most of us welcome his Dionysian abandon while respecting the ever-watchful Saint — perhaps because this dual nature is exactly what we aspire to and/or fear within ourselves.
Take sainthood to its limits and you approach godliness. The all-giving acts of the selfless. Old Saint Nicholas.
Take wild abandon to its extremes and you become an animal. The all-consuming acts of the selfish. Sins of gluttony, greed, and so forth. Old tricky Nicky.
Most people fall somewhere in the middle, and Christmas can be a little bit of both.
