Posted on by Amy

Beastmen to Bonfires: Alpine Folk Customs Through the Seasons

The Alps span several geopolitical borders and encompass significant cultural and linguistic diversity, and yet it is a region, when considered as a geographical entity rather than as a serious of nations, united by its folk customs.

Rooted in pre-Christian, nature-worshipping Alpine religions, many local legends, calendar customs, and artisanal crafts in Italy’s Trentino-Alto Adige/South Tyrol continue to reflect the deep connections with the natural landscape that characterize Alpine folklore and folkways. Grounding them all is a ritualistic acknowledgement of the extreme seasonal shifts, isolation, and solitude inherent to mountain life. 

Alpine Beastmen. South Tyrolean festivities that mark significant cyclical transitions—such as the winter and summer solstices, the end of the harvest, or the arrival of spring—feature a host of folkloristic figures who congregate in spectacular public events. These include the Perchtenlauf, followers of the pagan Alpine goddess Perchta who are collectively known as Perchten. The Perchten wear frightful animal costumes and bang on massive drums to drive out winter darkness as they follow their leader, a Hex who symbolically “sweeps up” the previous year’s evil to be tossed into the fire. 

A similar figure is Krampus, another anthropomorphized beastman who inhabits the wintry Alpine and northern European realms. Every year, on the eve of Saint Nicholas Day, Krampuslauf parades take place throughout Trentino-Alto Adige, in towns like Pergine (near Trento) and Dobbiaco (east of Bolzano), with Krampus teasing and terrifying onlookers as part of the larger Saint Nicholas festivities. 

Other customs in this region include the Klöckeln, when costumed figures knock on farmhouse doors in villages like Varna and Scalares in the Val Sarentino on the first three Thursdays of Advent—the Christian liturgical season leading up to the arrival of Christ. Similar to winter mumming, the ritual involves great secrecy among the participants, whose peculiar white masks, long mossy beards, and floppy red noses entirely disguise their identities. According to tradition, sweets and wine must be offered to the Klöckeln, who then conclude the visit by etching a crucifix on or near the threshold, such as on the doorfront or in surrounding snow. 

Wood Carving. South Tyrol’s long tradition of wood carving can be admired in places like Val Gardena in the Dolomites, where local artisans have been carving wooden toys, figurines, and large, elaborate nativity scenes for centuries. Wood carving is also the foundational craft employed to create Krampus’s strikingly grotesque and beastly appearance, typically made from local pine. The masks are then further embellished with ram or goat horns, furs, and faux skins, before being painted to frightening effects. The Maranatha Nativity Museum in Luttago (in the province of Bolzano) houses a collection of these handcrafted masks, with an atelier showcasing their evolution from blocks of wood into depictions of the devilish face we associate with Krampus.

Summer Bonfires. Lighting bonfires—falò in Italian—to mark the summer solstice is an ancient and common practice throughout Europe, derived from pre Christian sun worship rituals that in Italy have merged over centuries with Saint John the Baptist observances in late June. The practice continues today, with the month of June in South Tyrol seeing its mountain slopes and high peaks light up in a dramatic display of flames, creating a wondrous spectacle that spans the dark-of-night landscape for miles. 

In a specific derivation of the midsummer falò tradition, South Tyroleans commemorate the successful Tryolean defeat of Napoleonic forces in June of 1796 with the lighting of Herz-Jesu Feuer, or Sacred Heart of Jesus fires. These fires, which are lit on the third Sunday after Pentecost—coinciding with the summer solstice period—recall the Tyrolean troops’ pledge to the Sacred Heart as they organized their defense against the imminent French invasion. The act of burning immense heart shapes and crosses in June has come to symbolize resistance, Tyrolean unity, and divine protection. 

pictured: Klöckeln in Sarntal Valley; photo @ sudtirol.com 

nb: a version of this piece first appeared in Italy Magazine’s Bellissimo, Winter 2023 Edition, Trentino-Alto Adige. Subscribe here!

Posted on by Amy

The Dark Winter Companions of Saint Nicholas

Saint Nicholas’s ‘dark’ companions, those whose function is to frighten or punish, often present as beastmen or half-beasts adorned in furs, horns, and claws—costumes in stark contrast to Nicholas’s benignly bearded appearance.

The tradition speaks (in part) to the role these figures play as bridges between deep winter pagan customs involving nature worship and observance of the cycle of light and dark—indeed, the frightful costumes worn are conceived partly as protection against the very real threats posed by winter’s long, dark nights—and later Christianized observances, such as Saint Nicholas processions and Santa Claus’s annual magical delivery of gifts. 

The fascinating figure of Belsnickel, for instance, combines this anthropomorphic beastliness with the ragged look of other Nicholas cohorts (like Italy’s la Befana, a Christmas witch who traditionally appears dressed in tatters). Draped in old furs and looking on the whole rather disheveled, Belsnickel may wear an animal mask of some kind, but he usually shows up to the Saint Nick party looking more man than beast. He’s described as mean and crotchety. He passes out candies and other treats to children, only after having tricked them in some way that involves his ever-present switch / whip. 

With his fellow Christmas cohorts, Belsnickel shares the dual task of delivering presents to good children and punishing bad children. His name derives from the diminutive of Nicholas and a German word that means “to beat severely”, yet an alternative version of his name, Pelznickel, refers to his fur-clad appearance (pelz = pelt). Interestingly, his name might also be related to Krishkinkle, aka Kris Kringle, though it seems the more widely confirmed origin of Kris Kringle is Cristkindle, German for “Christ child.”

Belsnickel is well traveled. He’s known in America, in particular in Pennsylvania, as discussed in this 2018 Pennsylvania Heritage piece that discusses Belsnickel’s evolution and journey from his German and Dutch roots to America with fascinating depth and detail.

pictured: Swiss engraver Karl Janslin’s 1880 portrayal of Belsnickel at the threshold reflects his various functions: though distributing treats to reward the “good” children, he nonetheless has his whip at the ready, while the children hide in fear.

Posted on by Amy

December Demons

December has become, for many, a time to reject the saccharine and materialistic version of Christmas and embrace instead the magical stillness of Midwinter’s long, dark nights.

For me, it is also a time to wonder at the fascinating cast of folkloristic figures who make their appearance this month—starting on Saint Nicholas’s Day (and eve) through Twelfth Night and the Feast of the Epiphany.

Among these characters, Krampus has lately taken center-stage as the most popular of Saint Nicholas’s sidekicks. In the past decade, in fact, Krampus has climbed from his relatively unknown status (outside his native Germanic/Nordic realms) to one of global Christmastime superstar, with books, articles, social media campaigns and even movies dedicated to him, while his annual parades, the Krampuslauf, grow evermore crowded, elaborate, and visually documented each year.

His primary function is counterpart to Saint Nicholas: Nicholas rewards, while Krampus punishes. His typical punishments come in the form of whipping and shoving children into his sack, to be carried off to his lair. Or maybe to hell. It depends on the version of the lore, really, and the naughtiness of the particular child. He can sometimes be placated with a offering of schnapps.

Many people question the appropriateness of Krampus, in particular his seemingly glorified acts of terrorizing children into being “good”. A counter-response I’ve frequently encountered asks if such a practice is any worse than bribing children into not being “naughty,” or exacting any type of specific behavior through the promise of excessive, superficial rewards (such as overpriced plastic crap and sugary foods).  

I think it’s important to see Krampus and his fearsome ilk as much more than winter “monsters”. He is a link, a sort of figurative bridge between the pre-Christian pagan beliefs and practices observed by peoples in Europe’s Northern and Alpine regions and the later figures who came to represent the Christianized version of Midwinter (Saint Nicholas, Santa Claus). Moreover, if we are paying attention, Krampus reminds us that our ancestors spent this time of year in connection with the natural world and in deep contemplation and acknowledgement of darkness and death. Celebrations took place, of course—think of the ancient Roman festival Saturnalia, for instance, from which we’ve inherited fascinating Midwinter concepts and practices such as misrule, disguise, inverted social roles and norms, etc—yet, broadly speaking, this time of year has turned into one of forced cheer and joy only relatively recently. 

Krampus’s surge in popularity may also represent a growing need to express our distaste with what Christmas has become, a way to purge oneself of antithetical ideas and feelings not permitted, even taboo, during this be merry or else season. In that sense, Krampus and his acts might be considered cathartic. Personally, I find his revival promising: a sign of increased interest in these fascinating forms of ancient deep winter observance and festivity.

image courtesy of Davide Bon