“Yes, Virginia, there IS a Santa Claus.” But if you happen to come from a Germanic heritage, there’s a little taste of reality that comes along to keep Santa’s jolly kindness in perspective: the precursor to the arrival of Santa, Belschnickel.
Evolving from the word Pelznikel (think “Pelts-nicholas”), the name means “furry Nicholas.” This heavily-bearded little gnomelike visitor arrived on St. Nicholas’ Day (December 6), kicking off holiday cheer among adults, but often as a less-than-welcome reminder to children that Christmas was coming, and that Belschnickel and Santa were in cahoots and very much aware of who had been “naughty or nice.” In a culture where obedience and following organized rules was instilled in children early on, Belschnickel was likely to leave too-willful children with a tree switch for their parents to swat them with, or that old holiday favorite of ninky kids everywhere, a piece of coal. An exceptionally angelic child might get a piece of candy. The arrival of Belschnickel was kind of a comically-scary event for children, giving them notice to clean up their acts in time to hope for earning something better when Santa Claus would drop by in a few weeks. Like an early-warning system for Christmas.
In many references on the internet, I see this character as originating with the Pennyslvania Dutch, but in fact he is much older. My grandmother came directly from Germany in the 1800’s, and Belschickel had been visiting her family for generations as far back as anyone could remember.
At a large gathering or church function celebrating St. Nicholas’ Day, Belschnickel might appear as a folkloric, woodsman-type figure, his face all but lost in its long, bushy beard and overhanging tufts of eyebrows–generally not white, so as not to be confused with Santa Claus..
My Grandmother’s particular family view of Belschnickel was not as an actual living figure, but a mischievous pre-Christmas spirit. Because St. Nicholas’ Day is not widely celebrated in America, by the time we grandchildren came around, for expedience’ sake our family’s Belschnickel usually arrived before Christmas dinner (since gifts came AFTER). He manifested himself as my Grandmother wrapped in a bedsheet, sneaking around the outside of the old Craftsman house, turning the doorhandles, rattling windows, emitting shrill shrieks (one or two recognizable as “Belschnickel’s here!”) and clomping footsteps on the porch, from which we recoiled in fear as our parents said “What was that at the window?” or asked “Did you hear something?” After the noise died down and we convinced ourselves that he had left, my Grandmother would appear from the kitchen to herd us toward the front door to be sure he was gone, where a scant few pieces of candy would be scattered across the doormat.
Nobody dared ask if they could eat them before dinner.
12.11.08
