Janet Haven

Oh lucky me, experiencing Christmas as an American child. While I cried on Christmas mornings past when I got Kissing Barbie instead of Etch-a-Sketch, or a bright pink cable-knit sweater instead of the stripey Danskin legwarmers I craved, my Central European counterparts were spending the month of December dodging birch-switch beatings by the Krampus, St. Nick's evil sidekick in these parts. In my homeland, Christmas is a riskless experience for children, a mushy blend of holiday cheer and a strong sense of entitlement. Not so in Central Europe, where Mikulás showed up on December 6th* accompanied by (or according to some legends, preceeded by) a foul-breathed, forked-tongued creature who sought out the bad children and instilled terror and a sense of gratitude before, maybe, doling out the apples he lugged around on his back -- or maybe just taking the bad children away with him.

The Krampus (or Krámpusz, in Hungarian) appeared all across the Austro-Hungarian lands in one form or another. Often, he was rather unimaginitively depicted as a traditional Christian-style devil (horns, cloven hooves, forked tail or tongue, flaming red) on Krampus-themed Christmas postcards that circulated in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Leave it to the Weiner Wertstatte in Vienna to really get down to the essence of the Krampus in their version of the nasty fellow. This postcard, currently for sale on eBay for 1500 USD, shows us the Krampus as we'd like to remember him -- furry, stunted, behorned, and tongue-lollingly silly, giving a couple of fashionable Viennese kids a run for their money while fabulously Art Deco St. Nicholas looks on with approval. This particular Krampus card indicates a somewhat different relationship between St. Nick and his unpleasant friend than we might otherwise assume. Here, the monster seems positively beleagured by his duties of child-terrorizing, driven by his cruel, supervising taskmaster. Before I saw this card, I had always assumed that kindly St. Nick was a bulwark against the evils of the Krampus, not in collusion with the little beast. In fact, the Weiner Werkstatte seems to suggest from the patriarch's smug expression that the Krampus is really an employee of the Santa empire, clearing out the nastiest brats so that Szent Miklos could come in and drop off his gifts more efficiently across the Austro-Hungarian lands.

So, American children, be happy. In earlier days, the threat of coal in the stocking may have hung vaguely over naughty children, but let's face it --- Christmas in America is a time of national amnesia, when parents from coast to coast forget all offspring-related evils, from dishes left undone to neighborhood arson. The Krampus wouldn't let you off so easily, but he hasn't made it to your neck of the woods yet.

*In Hungary, holiday traditions of the Christian bent are confusing to begin with. Children in Hungary expect two days of present-giving in December. The first, Miklos Nap or Mikulás (Nicholas Day), falls on December 6th; Saint Nicholas, as might be expected, attends to this event. On the night of December 24th, the Baby Jesus shows up, dragging with him a tree and another round of gifts.