I love history.
Locked within history is a wealth of information that when analyzed, can unlock life's mysteries. Understanding the past helps us prepare for the future. Re-telling the tales told to countless generations can provide Answers to the elusive Questions about why we are here, what came to pass, what may lie ahead...
And so in the interest of providing answers to questions you may have about . . .uh,
things, I will tell you the tale of one of the historical faces of Santa Claus: the Nordic-Germanic figure of Sinterklaas.
Sinterklaas was a real person. He was a Greek bishop named Nikolaos from Myra (Turkey), who loved all of the little children and poor. He is also known for
bitch-slapping Arius at the Council of Nicea for arguing that Jesus was mostly human.
And when he died in the year 343, his remains were transferred to Bari, which is in Italy, but at one point (apparently, a point that people in the Netherlands were concerned with) was part of Spain.
After his death, he was canonized as St. Nicholas, the patron saint of children, oftentimes seen carrying/suckling/smothering children:
His legend traveled to other parts of Europe, such as France, Germany, and the Netherlands. We'll focus on the Netherlands.
Just like the game of telephone, where a common phrase becomes increasingly mangled as it is told from person to person, the Netherlands is quite a ways away from southern Italy, and details about Nikolaos' life and works became, understandably, pretty mangled.
For example, every year on his feast day (Dec. 5), Sinterklaas would sail to the Netherlands from Spain on a boat:
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| It's supposed to be a steamboat, but as the legend translated into crappy porcelain ornaments, the steamboat morphed into just a regular old, tiny pirate ship. |
Sinterklaas kept his tabs on which children were good or bad utilizing black devils who listened at chimneys (sometime in the 1800s, these "black devils" were transformed, and are portrayed to this day, as red-lipped Moorish helpers in blackface called Zwarte Piets, or Black Peters, because exaggerated depictions of other races are a laugh riot).
Anyway, Sinterklaas comes to your house and it's customary to put one shoe in front of your fireplace to welcome him (a stocking may do in a pinch). Make sure to leave him a carrot or hay for his horse!
Sinterklaas hangs around outside your house and leaves presents in a burlap sack (sometimes, a Zwarte Piet will hide the presents in the house). Unless you are a bad child, in which case, you get a bundle of sticks. In some of the more disturbing legends, Sinterklaas would actually stuff bad children in sacks and take them back to Spain with him.
Being a dead bishop unaffiliated with modern merchandising, Sinterklaas isn't exactly
jolly. Note his branch to beat naughty children in one hand and bundle of sticks for naughty children in the other. In theory, there would be candy for the good children in his stylish purse, but judging by the stern look of disapproval, it appears he is traveling light.
As with most children's stories from medieval times, the legend of Sinterklaas offers an unsettling mixture of fantasy, whimsy, tradition, racial stereotypes, and the unrelenting certainty of final judgment.
I promised earlier that learning about history can lead to better understanding about modern times. And now, hopefully, I have answered the question of why sometimes Santa is a jolly fat man who brings toys for all, and why sometimes, he is gaunt, angry, and carrying a handful of twigs.
I can't explain the Vera Bradley handbag, though, sorry.
