In my account of the Nereids properly so-called, reference was made to

certain beings known in the Cyclades as ἀγιελοῦδες or γιαλοῦδες and

reckoned by several writers[462] among the nymphs of the sea. In this

they certainly have the support of popular etymology; for in Amorgos

Theodore Bent[463] heard that ‘an evil spirit lived close by, which now

and again rises out of the sea and seizes infants; hence it is called

Gialoù (from γιαλός[464], the sea (_sic_)).’ But it is, I think, only

an erroneous association by the inhabitants of the Cyclades of two

like-sounding words which has caused the Ἀγιελοῦδες to be regarded

as marine demons; Bent’s information transposes cause and effect.

Elsewhere in Greece there are known certain beings called Γελλοῦδες or

Γιλλοῦδες, female demons with a propensity to carry off young children

and to devour them; and it is strange that so careful an authority on

Greek folk-lore as Bernhard Schmidt should not have recognised that the

name ἀγιελοῦδες employed in some of the Cyclades is only a dialectic

form of the commoner γελλοῦδες[465] with an euphonetic ἀ prefixed as in

the case of νεράϊδες and ἀνεράϊδες. Enquiry in Tenos revealed to me the

fact, not mentioned, though perhaps implied, in the statement of Bent,

that the ἀγιελοῦδες are there believed to feed upon the children whom

they carry off. This trait at once confirms their identity with the

γελλοῦδες, and renders it impossible to class them as a form of nymph.

It is of course believed that nymphs of the sea or of rivers, when they

carry off human children to their watery habitations, do incidentally

drown them, but by an oversight and not of malice prepense. But

savagely to prey upon human flesh--for all the nymphs’ wantonness and

cruelty, that is a thing abhorrent from their nature and inconceivable

in them. This horrid propensity proves the γελλοῦδες or ἀγιελοῦδες to

be a separate class of female demons.

The chief authority on these malignant beings is Leo Allatius[466],

who both quotes a series of passages which enable us to trace the

development of the belief in them, and also tells a story which is the

only source of evidence concerning other of their characteristics than

their appetite for the flesh of infants.

Their prototype, mentioned, we are told, by Sappho, was the maiden

Gello, whose spectre after her untimely end was said by the people of

Lesbos to beset children and to be chargeable with the early deaths of

infants[467].

The individuality of this Gello continued to be recognised to some

extent as late as the tenth century[468]; for Ignatius, a deacon of

Constantinople, in his life of the Patriarch Tarasius named her as a

single demon, though he added that the crime of killing children in

the same way was also imputed to a whole class of witches. ‘Hence,’

comments Allatius, ‘it has come about that at the present day Striges

(i.e. the witches of whom Ignatius speaks), because they practise

evil arts upon infants and by sucking their blood or in other ways

cause their death, are called Gellones[469].’ In the story also which

exhibits the chief qualities of this demon, her name (in the form

Γυλοῦ) appears still as a proper name.

But the multiplication of the single demon into a whole class dates

from long before the time of Allatius. John of Damascus in the eighth

century used the plural γελοῦδες as a popular word, the meaning of

which he took to be the same as that of Striges (στρίγγαι); and Michael

Psellus too in the eleventh century evidently regarded these two words

as interchangeable designations of a class of beings (whether of demons

or of witches, he leaves uncertain); for after an exact account of the

Striges and their thirst for children’s blood, he says that new-born

infants who waste away (as if from the draining of their blood by these

Striges) are called Γιλλόβρωτα[470], ‘Gello-eaten.’

The story of Leo Allatius[471], which sets forth the chief qualities

of Gello, is a legend of which the Saints Sisynios and Synidoros are

the heroes. The children of their sister Melitene had been devoured

by this demon, and they set themselves to capture her. She, to effect

her escape, at once changed her shape, and became first a swallow and

then a fish; but, for all her slippery and elusive transformations,

they finally caught her in the form of a goat’s hair adhering to the

king’s beard. Then addressing to her the words ‘Cease, foul Gello, from

slaying the babes of Christians,’ they worked upon her fears until they

extorted from her a confession of her twelve and a half names, the

knowledge of which was a safeguard against her assaults.

It is this list of names in which the various aspects of her activity

appear. The first is Γυλοῦ, one of the forms of the name Gello; the

second Μωρά[472], the name of a kind of Lamia; the third Βυζοῦ or

‘blood-sucker’; the fourth Μαρμαροῦ, probably ‘stony-hearted’; the

fifth Πετασία, for she can fly as a bird in the air; the sixth Πελαγία,

for she can swim as a fish in the sea; the seventh Βορδόνα[473],

probably meaning ‘stooping like a kite on her prey’; the eighth

Ἀπλετοῦ, ‘insatiable’; the ninth Χαμοδράκαινα, for she can lurk like

a snake in the earth; the tenth Ἀναβαρδαλαία[474], possibly ‘soaring

like a lark in the air’; the eleventh Ψυχανασπάστρια[475], ‘snatcher

of souls’; the twelfth Παιδοπνίκτρια, ‘strangler of children’; and the

half-name Στρίγλα, the kind of witch whereof the next section treats.

Whether these names are anywhere still remembered as a mystic

incantation, or all the qualities which they imply still imputed to

the Gelloudes, I cannot say. But a modern cure for such of the demon’s

injuries as are not immediately fatal has been recorded from Amorgos.

‘If a child has been afflicted by it, the mother first sends for the

priest to curse the demon, and scratches her child with her nails; if

these plans do not succeed, she has to go down at sunset to the shore,

and select forty round stones brought up by forty different waves;

these she must take home and boil in vinegar, and when the cock crows

the evil phantom will disappear and leave the child whole[476].’

STRIGES.

The Striges, though often confused with Lamiae and with Gelloudes, are

essentially different from them. The two classes with which I have

dealt are demons; the Striges, in the modern acceptation of the term,

are women who possess the power to transform themselves into birds of

prey or other animals; and it is only the taste for blood, shared by

them with those demons, which has created the confusion.

The Striges moreover cannot, like the Lamiae or Gelloudes, be claimed

either as an original product of the Greek imagination or as the

exclusive property of Greek superstition at the present day. The

Albanians have a word σ̈τρῑ́γ̇ε̱α, and the people of Corsica a

term _strega_, both of which denote a witch of the same powers and

propensities as are feared in Greece; and it is likely that all of

them--Greeks, Albanians, Corsicans--have borrowed the conception from

Italy. The ancient Greeks indeed had a word στρίγξ identical with

the _strix_ of Latin, but the shrieking night-bird denoted by it was

not, so far as I can discover, invested by Greek imagination with any

terrors. In Italy on the contrary the Strix was widely feared as a

bloodthirsty monster in bird-form. Pliny evidently supposed it to be

some actual bird, though he doubted the fables concerning it. ‘The

_strix_,’ he says, ‘certainly is mentioned in ancient curses; but what

kind of bird it may be, is not I think agreed[477].’ Perhaps in those

‘ancient curses’ it was invoked to inflict such punishment upon enemies

as it once meted out to Otos and Ephialtes for their attempt upon

Diana’s chastity[478].

The notion however that Striges were not really birds but witches in

bird-form early suggested itself and found an exponent in Ovid[479].

‘Voracious birds,’ he says, ‘there are ... that fly forth by night and

assail children who still need a nurse’s care, and seize them out of

their cradles and do them mischief. With their beaks they are said to

pick out the child’s milk-fed bowels, and their throat is full of the

blood they drink. Striges they are called ... and whether they come

into being as birds or are changed thereto by incantation, and the

Marsian spell transforms old women into winged things,’--such are their

ways.

This was probably the state of the superstition when the Greeks added

Striges to their own list of nightly terrors; and the very form of

the word in modern Greek, στρίγλα or στρίγγλα (being apparently a

diminutive, _strigula_, such as spoken Latin would readily have formed

from the literary form _strix_), testifies to the borrowing of the

belief.

In Greece the latter of the two ways in which Ovid explained the

origin of the Strix seems to have been generally accepted as correct.

It is true that the modern Greeks still have a real bird called

στριγλοποῦλι[480] (either some kind of owl or the night-jar), which not

only loves twilight or darkness in the upper world but is also said to

haunt the gloomy demesnes of Charos below--thereby revealing perhaps

some slight evidence of its relationship to the _strix_ which tormented

the brother giants; but the Strigla has long ceased to be a real bird,

and (apart from the confusion with a Lamia or Gello) is always a witch.

The condition of the belief in the eighth century is noticed by John of

Damascus[481]. ‘There are some of the more ignorant who say that there

are women known as Striges (Στρῦγγαι), otherwise called Geloudes. They

allege that these are to be seen at night passing through the air, and

that when they happen to come to a house they find no obstacle in doors

and bolts, but though the doors are securely locked make their way in

and throttle infants. Others say that the Strix devours the liver and

all the internal organs of the children, and so sets a short limit to

their lives. And they stoutly declare, some that they have seen, and

others that they have heard, the Strix entering houses, though the

doors were locked, either in bodily form or as a spirit only.’

Again in the eleventh century Michael Psellus noticed the same

superstition, though as we have seen his language suggests some

confusion of Striges with Gelloudes. But he is really describing the

faculty of the former to assume the shape of birds when he says, ‘The

superstition obtaining nowadays invests old women with this power. It

provides them with wings in their extreme age, and represents them as

settling[482] unseen upon infants, whom, it is alleged, they suck until

they exhaust all the humours in them’[483].

Leo Allatius, by whom this passage is cited, produces both from his

own experience and from the testimony of others several instances of

such occurrences, and mentions also the various precautions taken

against them. These include all-night watches, lamps suspended before

the pictures of patron-saints, amulets of garlic or of coral, and

the smearing of oil from some saint’s lamp on the face of the child

or invalid. It will suffice however to quote his general description

of the Striges according to the beliefs of the seventeenth century.

Striges (στρίγλαις), he tells us in effect, are old women whom poverty

and misery drive to contract an alliance with the devil for all evil

purposes; men are little molested by them, but women and still more

commonly children, being a weaker and easier prey, suffer much from

them, their breath alone[484] being so pernicious as to cause insanity

or even death. They are especially addicted to attacking new-born

babes, sucking out their blood and leaving them dead, or so polluting

them by their touch that what life remains to them is never free from

sickness.

It will have been noticed in this last account of the Striges, that the

range of their activity is somewhat enlarged, so that women as well

as children fall victims to them. At the present day, though they are

believed to prey chiefly upon infants, even grown men are not immune,

as witness a story[485] from Messenia.

Once upon a time a man was passing the night at the house of a friend

whose household consisted of his wife and mother-in-law. About midnight

some noise awakened him, and listening intently he made out the voices

of the two women conversing together. What he heard terrified him, for

they were planning to eat himself or his host, whichever proved the

fatter. At once he perceived that his friend’s wife and mother-in-law

were Striges, and knowing that there was no other means of escaping the

danger that was threatening him, he determined to try to save himself

by guile. The Striges advanced towards the sleeping men and took hold

of their guest’s foot to see if it was heavy, and consequently fat and

good for eating; he however, understanding their purpose, raised his

foot of his own accord as they took it in their hands and weighed it,

so that it felt to them as light as a feather, and they let it drop

again disappointed. Then they took hold of the foot of the other man

who was sleeping, and naturally found it very heavy. Delighted at the

result of their investigation, they ripped open the wretched man’s

breast, pulled out his liver and other parts, and threw them among the

hot ashes on the hearth to cook. Then noticing that they had no wine,

they flew to the wine-shop, took what they wanted and returned. But

in the interval the guest got up, collected the flesh that was being

cooked, stowed it away in his pouch, and put in its place on the hearth

some animal’s dung. The Striges however ate up greedily what was on

the hearth, complaining only that it was somewhat over-done. The next

day the two friends rose and left the house; the victim of the previous

night was very pale, but he did not bear the slightest wound or scar

on his breast. He remarked to his companion that he felt excessively

hungry, and the other gave him what had been cooked during the night,

which he ate and found exceedingly invigorating; the blood mounted to

his cheeks and he was perfectly sound again. Thereupon his friend told

him what had happened during the night, and they went together and slew

the Striges.

This story exhibits all the essential qualities of Striges. The pair

of them are women, and one at least, the mother-in-law, is old; they

choose the night for their depredations; they can assume the form of

birds, for ‘they flew,’ it is said, to the wine-shop; and their taste

for human flesh is the _motif_ of the story.

It must however be acknowledged that as the area of the Striges’

activities has become somewhat extended, so also has the ancient

limitation of the term to old women become locally somewhat relaxed. In

many parts of Greece a belief is held that certain infants are liable

to a form of lycanthropy; and female infants so disposed are sometimes

called Striges. A story from Tenos[486], narrated in several versions,

concerns an infant princess who was a Strigla. Every day one of the

king’s horses was found to have been killed and devoured in the night.

The three princes, her brothers, therefore kept watch in turn; and it

fell to the fortune of the youngest of them, owing to his courage and

skill, to detect the malefactor. About midnight he heard a noise, and

fired into the middle of a cloud that seemed to hang over the horses,

thereby so wounding his sister that the mark observed on her next day

betrayed her nightly doings. Not daring however to accuse her to his

father, he fled from home with his mother to a place of safety, while

the girl remained undisturbed in her voracity and consumed one by one

all the people of the town.

But in other places where the same belief prevails, as we shall see

later, these _enfants terribles_, who may be of either sex, are called

not Striges but by some such name as ‘callicantzaros,’ ‘vrykolakas,’

or ‘gorgon’; and this variety of names is in itself a proof that, while

the idea of infant cannibals is widespread, no exact verbal equivalent

now exists, and each of the several names used is only requisitioned to

supply the deficiency. A child can indeed enjoy the title of Strigla by

courtesy; only an old woman can possess it of right.

Thus the old Graeco-Roman fear of Striges still remains little changed.

The Church has repeatedly forbidden belief in them[487]; legislation

has prohibited in times past the killing of them[488]. But the link of

superstition between the past and the present is still unbroken; and

witch-burning is an idea which in any secluded corner of Greece might

still be put into effect[489].

§ 12. GORGONS.

The modern conception of the Gorgon (ἡ γοργόνα) or Gorgons

(γοργόνες)--for popular belief seems to vary locally between

recognising one or more such beings--is extremely complex. Of my own

knowledge I can unfortunately contribute nothing new to what has been

published by others concerning them; for though I have several times

heard Gorgons mentioned, and always on further enquiry found them to

be terrible demons who dwell in the sea, it has so chanced that I have

been unable to get any more explicit information on the subject. The

present section is therefore, so far as the facts are concerned, a

compilation from the researches of others, especially of Prof. Polites

of Athens University.

A Gorgon is represented as half woman, half fish. Rough sketches on the

walls of small taverns and elsewhere may often be observed, depicting

a woman with the tail of a fish, half emerging from the waves, and

holding in one hand a ship, in the other an anchor; sometimes also

she is armed with a breastplate[490]. Similar designs are also to be

seen tattooed upon the arms or breasts of men of the lower classes,

especially among the maritime population.

The Gorgons themselves are to be encountered in all parts of the sea;

but their favourite resort, especially on Saturday nights, is reputed

to be the Black Sea, where if one of them meets a ship, grasping the

bows with her hand she asks, ‘Is king Alexander living?’ To this the

sailors must reply ‘he lives and reigns,’ and may add ‘and he keeps the

world at peace,’ or ‘and long life to you too!’; for then the awful

and monstrous Gorgon in gladness at the tidings transforms herself

into a beautiful maiden and calms the waves and sings melodiously to

her lyre. If on the contrary the sailors make the mistake of saying

that Alexander is dead, she either capsizes the ship with her own

hand or by the wildness of her lamentations raises a storm from which

there is no escape nor shelter[491]. The mention of Alexander the

Great in these stories of the Gorgons, as also sometimes in connexion

with the Nereids, is unimportant; it is not an instance of purely

oral tradition, but has its source in the history of Alexander by

Pseudocallisthenes[492], of which there exist paraphrases in the

popular tongue. The interest of such fables lies in the association of

beauty and melody as well as of horror with the Gorgons, and in the

_rôle_ of marine deity which they play.

In general however it is upon the monstrous and terrifying aspect of

the Gorgons that the common-folk seize, so that the name Gorgon is

metaphorically applied to ill-favoured and malevolent women[493].

Thus in Rhodes it is used of any large fierce-looking virago[494]; in

Cephalonia (where also the word Μέδουσα, Medusa, survives in the same

sense) of any lady conspicuously ill-featured[495]. Allusion too has

already been made to the case where a child possessed by a mania of

bloodthirstiness is occasionally called a Gorgon[496].

But there is another and fresh aspect of the Gorgon’s nature suggested

by the use of the word in Cythnos. There it is metaphorically applied

to depraved women[497]; and this isolated usage is in accord with one

description of the Gorgon which has come down from the middle ages.

This description forms part of a poem entitled ‘The Physiologus[498]’

(written in the most debased ecclesiastical Greek and supposed to date

from before the thirteenth century), which gives a fantastic account of

the habits of many birds and beasts among which the Gorgon is included.

‘The Gorgon is a beast like unto a harlot; the hair of her head is

all auburn; the ends thereof are as it were heads of snakes; and her

body is bare and smooth, white as a dove, and her bosom is a woman’s

with breasts fair to behold; but the look of her face brings death;

whatsoever looks upon her falls down and dies. She dwells in the

regions of the West. She knows all languages and the speech of wild

beasts. When she desires a mate, she calls first to the lion; for fear

of death he draws not near to her. Again she calls the dragon, but

neither does he go; and even so all the beasts both small and great.

She pipes sweetly and sings with charm beyond all; lastly she utters

human voice: “Come, sate fleshly desire, ye men, of my beauty, and I

of yours.” The men, knowing then their opportunity against her, lay

snares that she may lose her pleasure; and stand afar off, that they

may not see her, and raise their voice and cry and say unto her: “Dig

a deep pit and put thy head therein, that we may not die and may come

with thee.” She straightway then goes and makes a great hole and puts

her head therein and leaves her body; from the waist downward it is

seen naked; so she remains and awaits the pains of lewdness. The man

goes from behind, cuts off her head, holds it face downward, and places

it in a vessel, and if he meet dragon or lion or leopard, he shows the

head, and the beasts die.’

These modern or mediaeval descriptions of the Gorgons, though they are

by no means consistent one with another, offer four main aspects in

which the modern Gorgon may be compared with the creatures of ancient

mythology. Her face is terrible either in its surpassing loveliness or

in its overwhelming hideousness. She possesses the gift of entrancing

melody. She is voluptuous. She dwells in the sea.

The first aspect may be derived directly from the ancient conception

of the Gorgons. The word Γοργώ itself is a name formed from the

adjective γοργός and means simply ‘fierce’ or ‘terrible’ in look,

without implying anything of beauty or the opposite; while of Medusa,

the Gorgon _par excellence_, tradition relates that once she was a

beautiful maiden beloved of Poseidon, and that it was only through the

wrath of Athena that her hair was changed into writhing snakes and

her loveliness lost in horror. Moreover in ancient works of art the

representation of the Gorgon’s head varies from a type of cruel beauty

to a grinning mask. But it is also possible that the idea of their

beauty is due to a confusion of Gorgons with Sirens, from whom, as we

shall see, certain traits have certainly been borrowed.

These traits are the two next aspects of the modern Gorgons which

we have to consider, the sweetness of their singing and their

voluptuousness. These were the essential qualities of the Sirens, and

have undoubtedly been transferred to the Gorgons no less than to the

Lamia of the Sea[499].

Possibly also from the same source comes the mixed shape, half woman

and half fish, in which the Gorgon is now pourtrayed. The Sirens were

indeed originally terrestrial, dwelling in a meadow near the sea, yet

not venturing in the deep themselves, but luring men to shipwreck on

the coast by the spell of their song; and an echo perhaps of this

conception, though the Sirens themselves are no longer known, lives on

in a folk-song which pictures the enchantment of a maiden’s love-song

wafted to seafarers’ ears from off the shore: ‘Thereby a ship was

passing with sails outspread. Sailors that hearken to that voice and

look upon such beauty, forget their sails and forsake their oars; they

cannot voyage any more; they know not how to set sail[500].’ But by the

sixth century[501] the traditional habitat of the Sirens had changed.

‘The Sirens,’ says an anonymous work on monsters and great beasts,

‘are mermaids, who by their exceeding beauty and winning song ensnare

mariners; from the head to the navel they are of human and maidenly

form, but they have the scaly tails of fishes[502].’ This description

establishes an unquestionable connexion between the Sirens and the

modern Gorgons.

But the fourth aspect of the Gorgons on which I have to touch, their

connexion with the sea, is not, I think, to be explained as another

loan from the Sirens. On the contrary the Gorgons were it would seem

deities of the sea, when the Sirens were still dwellers upon the shore;

and it was their originally marine character which enabled them to

absorb the qualities once attributed to the Sirens. Thus according

to Hesiod[503] the three Gorgons were daughters of the sea-deities

Phorcys and Ceto, and their home was at the western bound of Ocean.

Further one of their number, Medusa, was loved by the sea-god Poseidon,

and gave birth both to the horse Pegasus whose name may be a derivative

of πήγη, ‘water-spring,’ and whose resort was certainly the fountain

of Pirene[504], and also to Chrysaor whose bride was ‘Callirrhoe,

daughter of far-famed Ocean.’ Whether this mythological problem is

capable of solution in terms of natural phenomena[505] does not here

concern us; but it is a straightforward and necessary inference from

these genealogical data, that an early and intimate connexion existed

between the Gorgons and the sea. And here art comes to the support of

literature. In the National Museum of Athens are two vases of about

the sixth century, depicting Gorgons in the company of dolphins. The

first, an early Attic _amphora_[506] represents the three Gorgons, of

whom Medusa appears headless, surrounded by a considerable number of

them. The second, a _kylex_[507] with offset lip of the _Kleinmeister_

type, pourtrays a single Gorgon with a dolphin on either side. These

artistic presentments furnish the strongest possible corroboration of

Hesiodic lore, and justify the assertion that from the earliest times

the Gorgons were deities of the sea. It was clearly then in virtue of

their own marine character that they were able later to usurp also the

place of the Sirens.

But the Sirens are not the only ancient beings who have contributed

to the formation of the popular conception of modern Gorgons. In one

story[508] the personality of Scylla is unmistakeable beneath the

disguise of name. This fusion is the more natural in that Scylla was

from the beginning[509] a monster of the sea, whose form, according

to Vergil[510], terminated like that of latter-day Gorgons in a fish’s

tail; a monster too fully as terrible in her own way as any Gorgon. The

following extract from the story contains all that is pertinent.

‘So the lad departed and tramped on for twenty hours. Then he came to

a village by the sea, and saw some men busy lading a boat with oil,

and they were carrying on board each one a barrel. When he drew near

to them, he said, “Can you carry but one barrel at a time, my good

fellows? See how many I will carry.” So saying, he took a barrel on

each shoulder, and placed them in the boat. Then said the captain to

him, “Thank you, my lad” (for he was afraid of him), “come and have

some food.” “No, thank you, captain,” he replied, “I do not want any.

But when you are passing yonder straits, please take me along with

you.” The captain was delighted to do so, for in the sea at that place

there was a Gorgon, and from every boat that passed she took one man

as toll and devoured him, or else swamped the whole boat. So they set

out, and as they were going the captain said to the lad, “Take a turn

at the tiller, my boy, that we may go and sleep, for we are tired.”

Accordingly they went below--to sleep, so they pretended--and the

lad remained at the helm. Suddenly the boat stopped. He was looking

about on each side when he heard a voice behind him. He turned at

once and saw a beautiful woman with golden hair, who said to him,

“Give me my tribute.” “What tribute?” replied the lad. “The man whom

I devour from each boat that passes.” “Give me your hand,” said the

lad to her. Straightway without demur she gave it to him, and tried to

pull him down into the sea. At this the lad grew angry. “Come up, you

she-devil, come up here,” he cried, and dashed her upon the deck. Then

he belaboured her soundly, and said to her: “Swear to me that you will

never molest man again, or I will not let you go.” “I swear,” she said,

“by my mother the sea and by my father Alexander, that I will molest

none.” Then he threw her back into the sea.’

Apart from the description of the Gorgon in this story, as in others,

as a ‘beautiful woman with golden hair,’ the tradition which has

contributed chiefly to the invention of the episode is the ancient

myth of Scylla and, we may perhaps add, of Charybdis; for here too the

straits are the scene of alternative horrors, either the devouring of

one man out of the crew or the sinking of the whole craft.

But in spite of the fusion of both Scylla and the Sirens with the

Gorgons in the crucible of popular imagination, analysis of the complex

modern conception still reveals two elements in the Gorgons’ nature

which vindicate their claim to their ancient name, their association

with the sea and the terror that they inspire.

§ 13. THE CENTAURS.

ἈΝΆΓΚΗ ΜΕΤᾺ ΤΟΥ͂ΤΟ ΤῸ ΤΩ͂Ν ἹΠΠΟΚΕΝΤΑΎΡΩΝ ΕἾΔΟΣ ἘΠΑΝΟΡΘΟΥ͂ΣΘΑΙ.

PLATO, _Phaedrus_, 7.

The Callicántzari (Καλλικάντζαροι) are the most monstrous of all the

creatures of the popular imagination, and none are better known to the

Greek-speaking world at large; for even where educated men have ceased

to believe in them, they still figure in the stories told and retold to

children with each recurring New Year’s Day; and, among the peasants,

many reach manhood or womanhood without outgrowing their early fears of

them.

The name Callicantzaros itself appears in many dialectic and widely

differing forms, and there are also a multitude of local by-names. Of

the former I shall treat later in discussing the origin of the word

Callicantzaros, while the by-names, being for the most part descriptive

of the appearance or qualities of these monsters, will be mentioned as

occasion requires. But even where other local names are in common use,

some form of the word Callicantzaros is almost always employed as well,

or at least is understood.

As in the nomenclature, so too in the description of the Callicantzari,

one locality differs very widely from another. And this cannot be

merely a result of the wide distribution of the belief in them;

for the Nereids certainly are equally widely known, and yet their

appearance and habits are, broadly speaking, everywhere the same.

The extraordinary divergences and even contradictions in different

accounts of the Callicantzari demand some other explanation than that

of casual variation. That explanation, as I shall show later, lies in

their identity with the ancient Centaurs. But before I discuss their

origin, I must attempt as general a description of their appearance and

habits as the vast variation of local traditions permits. In revising

this description I have had the advantage of consulting Prof. Polites’

new work on the traditions of modern Greece[511], from which I have

learnt some new facts, and have obtained on several points confirmation

from a new source of what I had myself heard or surmised. I take this

opportunity of gratefully acknowledging my indebtedness to him.

In describing the Callicantzari, although the diversities of their

outward form are almost endless, two main classes of them must be

distinguished, because corresponding with that physical division there

is also a marked difference in character. The two classes differ

physically in stature, and, while all Callicantzari are essentially

mischievous in character, the mischief wrought by the larger sort is

often of a malicious and even deadly order, while the smaller sort are

more frolicsome and harmless in their tricks.

The larger kind vary from the size of a man to that of a gigantic

monster whose loins are on a level with the chimneypots. They are

usually black in colour, and covered with a coat of shaggy hair, but

a bald variety is also sometimes mentioned. Their heads and also

their sexual organs are out of all proportion to the rest of their

bodies. Their faces are black; their eyes glare red; they have the

ears of goats or asses; from their huge mouths blood-red tongues loll

out, flanked by ferocious tusks. Their bodies are in general very

lean, so that in some districts the word Callicantzaros is applied

metaphorically to a very lean man[512]; but a shorter and thickset

variety also occurs. They have the arms and hands of monkeys, and their

nails are as long again as their fingers and curved like the talons

of a vulture. They are sometimes furnished with long thin tails. They

have the legs of a goat or an ass, or sometimes one human leg and

one of bestial form; or again both legs are of human shape, but the

foot so distorted that the toes come where the heel should be[513].

Hence it is not surprising that they are often lame, but even so they

are swift of foot and terrible in strength. ‘They devour their road

at the pace of Pegasus,’ wrote Leo Allatius[514]; and at the present

day several by-names bear witness to their speed. In Samos they are

called Καλλισπούδηδες[515], ‘those who make good speed’; in Cyprus

Πλανήταροι[516], ‘the wanderers’; in Athens they have the humorous

title Κωλοβελόνηδες, formed from the proverbial expression βελόνια

ἔχει ’στὸν κῶλο του, ‘he has needles in his buttocks,’ said of any one

who cannot sit still, but is always on the move[517]. Their strength

also has earned them one by-name, reported from Kardamýle in Maina, τὰ

τσιλικρωτά, said to be formed from the Turkish _tselik_ (‘iron’), in

the sense of ‘strong as iron[518].’

All or any of the features which I have mentioned may be found in the

person of a single Callicantzaros; but it must be allowed also that no

one of them is essential. For sometimes the Callicantzaros appears in

ordinary human form without so much as a cloven hoof to distinguish

him from ordinary mankind, or again completely in animal shape. In one

place they are described as ἀγριάνθρωποι[519], savages but human in

appearance, while in another they are ἄγρια τετράποδα[520], ‘savage

quadrupeds.’

Yet in general the Callicantzari are neither wholly anthropomorphic nor

wholly theriomorphic, but a blend of the two. In a story of some men

at Athens who dressed themselves up as Callicantzari, it is said that

they blacked their faces and covered themselves with feathers[521].

Again two grotesque and bestial clay statuettes from the Cabirium

near Thebes and now in the National Museum at Athens, were identified

by peasants as Callicantzari[522]; an identification I have also met

with when questioning peasants about similar objects in local museums;

in one case it was a Satyr and in another a Centaur which my guide

identified as a Callicantzaros. On the whole I should say that the

goat contributes more than any other animal to the popular conception

of these monsters. Besides having the legs and the ears of goats, as

was noted above, they are sometimes said to have their horns also;

and in Chios their resemblance to goats is so clearly recognised that

in one village they have earned the by-name of Κατσικᾶδες[523], which

by formation should mean ‘men who have to do with goats (κατσίκια),’

though it has apparently been appropriated to the designation of beings

who are in form half goat and half man. There are however districts, as

we shall see later, in which some other animal than the goat forms the

predominant element in the monstrous _ensemble_.

The smaller sort of Callicantzari is rarer than the large, but their

distribution is at any rate wide. They are the predominant type in

north-west Arcadia, in the district about Mount Parnassus, and at

Oenoë[524] on the southern shore of the Black Sea. They are most often

human in shape, but are mere pigmies, no taller than a child of five

or six. They are usually black, like the larger sort, but are smooth

and hairless. They are very commonly deformed, and in this respect the

strange beasts on which they ride are like them. At Arachova[525],

on the slopes of Parnassus, every one of them is said to have some

physical defect. Some are lame; others squint; others have only one

eye; others have their noses or mouths, hands or feet set all askew;

and as a cavalcade of them passes by night through the village, one is

to be seen mounted on a cock and his long thin legs trail on the ground

as he rides; another has a horse no bigger than a small dog; another,

the tiniest of them all, is perched on an enormous donkey’s back, and

when he falls off cannot mount again; and others again ride strange

unknown beasts, lame, one-eyed, or one-eared like their masters.

Callicantzari of this type are usually harmless to men. They play

indeed the same boisterous pranks as their larger brethren, but perhaps

owing to their insignificant size are an object of merriment rather

than of fear. But, as I shall show later, there is reason to believe

that they are not the original type of Callicantzari. It is only by a

casual development of the superstition, that these grotesque hobgoblins

have been locally substituted for the grim and gaunt monsters feared

elsewhere. They form, as it were, a modern and expurgated edition of

the larger sort of Callicantzari, to whom I now return.

The Callicantzari appear only during the δωδεκαήμερον or ‘period of

twelve days’ between Christmas and Epiphany[526]. The rest of the year

they live in the lower world, and occupy themselves in trying to gnaw

through or cut down the great tree (or in other accounts the one or

more columns) on which the world rests. Each Christmas they have nearly

completed their task, when the time comes for their appearance in the

upper world, and during their twelve days’ absence, the supports of the

world are made whole again.

Even during their short visit to this world, they do not appear in the

daytime. From dawn till sunset they hide themselves in dark and dank

places--in caves or beneath mills--and there feed on such food as they

can collect, worms, snakes, frogs, tortoises, and other unclean things.

But at night they issue forth and run wildly to and fro, rending and

crushing those who cross their path. Destruction and waste, greed and

lust mark their course. Now they break into some lonely mill, terrify

and coerce the miller into showing them his store, bake for themselves

cakes thereof, befoul with urine all that they cannot use, and are

gone again. Now they pass through some hamlet, and woe to that house

which is not prepared against their coming. By chimney and door alike

they swarm in, and make havoc of the home; in sheer wanton mischief

they overturn and break all the furniture, devour the Christmas pork,

befoul all the water and wine and food which remains, and leave the

occupants half dead with fright or violence. Now it is a wine shop that

they enter, bind the publican to his chair, gag him with dung, break

open each cask in turn, drink their fill, and leave the wine running.

Now they light upon some belated wayfarer, and make sport of him as

their fancy leads them. Sometimes his fate is only to dance all night

with the Callicantzari and to be let go at cockcrow unscathed; for

these monsters despite their uncouth shape delight in dancing, and to

that end often seek the company of the Nereids; but more often men are

sorely torn and battered before they escape, and women are forcibly

carried off to be the monsters’ wives. In some accounts they even make

a meal of their human prey.

The fact that the activities of the Callicantzari are always limited to

the night-time has given them a special claim to the name Παρωρίταις or

Νυχτοπαρωρίταις[527], formed from πάρωρα, ‘the hour before cockcrow,’

for then it is that their excesses and depredations have reached

their zenith; but the word cannot correctly be called a by-name of

the Callicantzari, for it is also, if more rarely, applied to other

nocturnal visitants.

The only redeeming qualities in these creatures’ characters, from the

point of view of men who fall into their clutches, are their stupidity

and their quarrelsomeness. They have indeed a chieftain who sometimes

tries to marshal and to discipline them, and who is at least wise

enough to warn them when the hour of their departure draws near. But

in general ‘the Great Callicantzaros[528],’ as he is called, or ‘the

lame demon[529],’ is too like the rest of them to be of much avail; and

indeed his place is not at the head of the riotous mob where he might

control them, but he limps along, a grotesque and usually ithyphallic

figure, in the rear. Thus in the popular stories it often happens that

either the Callicantzari go on quarrelling about the treatment of some

man or the possession of some woman whom they have captured, or else

their prisoner is shrewd enough to keep them amused, until cock-crow

brings release. For at that sound (or, to be more precise, at the

crowing of the third cock, who is black and more potent to scare away

demons than the white and red cocks who precede him[530]) they vanish

away, like all terrors of the night in ancient[531] as well as modern

times, to their dark lairs.

The tales told by the peasants about the Callicantzari are extremely

numerous, though there is a certain sameness about the main themes.

Three types of story however are deserving of notice, to illustrate

the character of the Callicantzari and the ways in which they may be

outwitted and eluded.

The first type may be represented by a tale told to me in Scyros in

explanation of the name of a cave some half-hour distant from the town.

Both the cave itself and that part of the path which lies just below it

are popularly called τοῦ καλλικαντζάρου τὸ ποδάρι, ‘the Callicantzaros’

foot.’ My enquiries concerning the name elicited the following story,

which seems incidentally to explain how the Great Callicantzaros came

to be lame.

‘Once upon the eve of Epiphany a man of Scyros was returning home

from a mill late at night, driving his mule before him laden with two

sacks of meal. When he had gone about half-way, he saw before him

some Callicantzari in his path. Realising his danger, he at once got

upon his mule and laid himself flat between the two sacks and covered

himself up with a rug, so as to look like another sack of meal. Soon

the Callicantzari were about his mule, and he held his breath and heard

them saying, “Here is a pack on this side and a pack on that side, and

the top-load in the middle, but where is the man?” So they ran back to

the mill thinking that he had loitered behind; but they could not find

him and came back after the mule, and looked again, and said, “Here is

a pack on this side and a pack on that side, and the top-load in the

middle, but where is the man?” So they ran on in front fearing that

he had hasted on home before his mule. But when they could not find

him, they returned again, and said as before, and went back a second

time towards the mill. And thus it happened many times. Now while

they were running to and fro, the mule was nearing home, and it so

happened that when the beast stopped at the door of the man’s house,

the Callicantzari were close on his track. The man therefore called

quickly to his wife and she opened the door and he entered in safety,

but the mule was left standing without. Then the Callicantzari saw how

he had tricked them, and they knocked at the door in great anger. So

the woman, fearing lest they would break in by force, promised to open

to them on condition that they should first count for her the holes in

her sieve. To this they agreed, and she let it down to them by a cord

from a window. Straightway they set to work to count, and counted round

and round the outermost circle and never got nearer to the middle; nor

could they discover how this came to pass, but only counted more and

more hurriedly, without advancing at all. Meanwhile dawn was breaking,

and so soon as the neighbours perceived the Callicantzari, they

hurried off to the priests and told them. The priests immediately set

out with censers and sprinkling-vessels in their hands, to chase the

Callicantzari away. Right through the town the monsters fled, spreading

havoc in their path and hotly pursued by the priests. At last when they

were clear of the town, one Callicantzaros began to lag behind, and by

a great exertion the foremost priest came up to him and struck him on

the hinder foot with his sprinkling vessel. At once the foot fell off,

but the Callicantzaros fled away maimed though he was. And thus the

spot came to be known as “the Callicantzaros’ foot.”’

This story consists of three episodes. The first, in which the driver

of the mule outwits the Callicantzari by lying flat on the animal’s

back and making himself look like a sack of meal, occurs time after

time in the popular tales with hardly any variation; indeed it often

forms in itself the _motif_ of a whole story, in which, as soon as

the man reaches his home, the cock crows and the Callicantzari flee.

The second episode in which the wife effects some delay by bargaining

with the Callicantzari that they shall count the holes in a sieve, is

also fairly common, but the difficulty which the monsters find, in

every other version of which I know, is that they dare not pronounce

the word ‘three,’ and so go on counting ‘one, two,’ ‘one, two’ till

cock-crow[532]. The third episode in which the priests chase away the

Callicantzari is not often found in current stories, but the belief

that the ἁγιασμός or ‘hallowing’ which takes place on the morning of

Epiphany is the signal for the final departure of the Callicantzari

is firmly held throughout Greece. This ceremony consists primarily in

‘blessing the waters’--whether of the sea, of rivers, of village-wells,

or, as at Athens, of the reservoir--by carrying a cross in procession

to the appointed place and throwing it in; but in many districts also

the priests afterwards fill vessels with the blest waters, and with

these and their censers make a round of the village, sprinkling and

purifying the people and their houses and cornfields and vineyards.

The fear which the Callicantzari feel of this purification is embodied

in some rough lines which they are supposed to chant as they disappear

at Twelfth-night:

φύγετε, νὰ φύγουμε,

τ’ ἔφτασ’ ὁ τουρλόπαπας

μὲ τὴν ἁγι̯αστοῦρα του

καὶ μὲ τὴ βρεχτοῦρα του,

κι’ ἅγι̯ασε τὰ ῥέμματα

καὶ μᾶς ἐμαγάρισε[533].

Quick, begone! we must begone,

Here comes the pot-bellied priest,

With his censer in his hand

And his sprinkling-vessel too;

He has purified the streams

And he has polluted us.

In the actual tales however as told by the people the intervention

of the priests is not a common episode. More often the story ends in

a rescue effected by neighbours armed with firebrands, of which the

Callicantzari go in mortal terror, or simply with the crowing of the

black cock.

The second type of story deals with the adventures of a girl sent by

her wicked stepmother to a mill during the dangerous Twelve Days,

nominally to get some corn ground, but really in the hope that she

will fall a prey to the Callicantzari. Having arrived at the mill the

girl calls in vain to the miller to come and help unload her mule, and

entering in search of him finds him bound to his chair or dead with

fright and the Callicantzari standing about him. They at once seize the

girl, and begin to quarrel which shall have her for his own. But the

girl keeps her wits, and says that she will be the wife of the one who

brings her the best bridal array. So they disperse in search of fine

raiment and jewels. Meanwhile she sets to work to grind the corn, and

each time a Callicantzaros returns with presents, she sends him on a

fresh errand for something more. Finally the corn is all ground, and

she quickly loads the mule with two sacks, one on either side, clothes

herself in the gold and jewels which the Callicantzari have brought,

mounts the mule and lies flat on the saddle covered over with a sack,

and eluding the Callicantzari who pursue her, like the muleteer in the

previous story, reaches home in safety.

The wicked stepmother seeing that her plans have miscarried and that

her stepdaughter is now rich while her own daughter is poor, determines

to send the latter the next evening to the mill. She too finds the

mill occupied by the Callicantzari, but not being so shrewd as her

half-sister either falls a victim to the lust of the monsters, or is

killed and eaten by them, or, in one version[534], is stripped of her

own clothes, dressed in the skin of her mule which the Callicantzari

have killed and flayed, and sent home with a necklace of the mule’s

entrails about her neck.

The third type of story, one which is known all over Greece, introduces

us to the domestic circle of a Callicantzaros. A midwife is roused

one night during the Twelve Days by a furious rapping at her door,

and, imagining that the call is urgent, slips on her clothes in haste

without enquiring who it is that needs her services, and stepping out

of her door finds herself face to face either with an unmistakeable

Callicantzaros who seizes her and carries her off, or else with a man

unknown to her who subsequently proves to be a Callicantzaros[535].

On their way to his home he bids her see to it that the child with

which his wife is about to present him be male; in that case he will

reward her handsomely; but if a female child be born, he will devour

the midwife. Arrived at the cave or house where the Callicantzaros

dwells, the midwife goes about her task, and the Callicantzaros’

wife is soon delivered of a child; but to the midwife’s horror it is

female. Her wits however do not desert her, and she quickly devises a

scheme for her escape. Taking a candle, she warms it and fashions from

the wax a model of the male organs and fastens it to the child. Then

calling the Callicantzaros, she tells him that a fine male child is

born and holds up the infant for him to see. Thereat he is content and

bids her swaddle it. This done, she craves leave to go home, and the

Callicantzaros, true to his word, rewards her with a sack of gold and

lets her go.

The conclusion of the story varies. In some versions, the fraud is

discovered before the midwife reaches her home, the Callicantzaros

curses the gold which he has given her, and when she opens her sack she

finds nothing but ashes. In others, she reaches home in safety with

the gold and by magic means breaks the power of the Callicantzaros

over his gift; and when he arrives at her door in hot pursuit, she has

already taken all precautions against his entrance and lies secure and

silent within.

The wife of the Callicantzaros here mentioned is in some stories

pictured as being of the same monstrous species as himself, in others

as an ordinary woman whom he has seized and carried off. But, apart

from these stories in which she is a necessary _persona dramatis_,

she has no hold upon the popular imagination. A feminine word,

καλλικαντζαρίνα or καλλικαντζαροῦ, has been formed in this case just

as the word νεραΐδης[536] has been formed as masculine of Nereid

(νεράϊδα), and female Callicantzari are as rare and local as male

Nereids. Their existence is assumed only as complementary to that of

their mates.

Security from the Callicantzari is sought by many methods, some of

them Christian in character, others magical or pagan. Foremost among

Christian precautions is the custom of marking a cross in black upon

the house-door on Christmas Eve; and the same emblem is sometimes

painted upon the various jars and vessels in which food is kept to

ensure them against befouling by the Callicantzari, and even upon the

forehead of infants, especially if they are unbaptised, to prevent them

from being stolen or strangled[537] by the monsters. If in spite of

these precautions the inmates of any house are troubled by them, the

burning of incense is accounted an effectual safeguard. For out-door

use, if a man is unfortunate enough to encounter Callicantzari, an

invocation of the Trinity or the recitation of three Paternosters is

recommended.

But precautions of a more pagan character are often preferred to these

or combined with them. Ordinary prudence demands that the fire be kept

burning through all the Twelve Days, to prevent the Callicantzari

entering by the chimney, and the usual custom is to set one huge

log on end up the chimney, to go on burning for the whole period.

In addition to this a fire is sometimes kept burning at night close

by the house-door. Certain herbs also, such as ground-thistle[538],

hyssop, and asparagus[539], may be suspended at the door or the

chimney-place, as magical charms. If even then there is reason to

suspect that Callicantzari are prowling round the house, the golden

rule is to observe strict silence and, above all, not to answer any

question asked from without the door; for it is commonly believed that

the Callicantzari, like the Nereids, can deprive of speech any who

have once talked with them. At the same time it is wise to make up the

fire, throwing on either something which will crackle like salt or

heather[540], or something which will smell strong, such as a bit of

leather, an old shoe, wild-cherry wood[541], or ground-thistle; for

the stench of these is as unbearable to the Callicantzari as that of

incense.

Such at any rate is the current explanation of the purpose of these

malodorous combustibles; but in view of the notorious gullibility of

the Callicantzari I am tempted to surmise that both the crackling and

the smell were originally intended to pacify them for a while with

the delusive hope that a share of the Christmas pork, their favourite

food, was being prepared for them. For certainly even now propitiatory

presents to the Callicantzari are not unknown. At Portariá and other

villages of Mount Pelion it is the custom to hang a rib or other bone

from the pork inside the chimney ‘for the Callicantzari,’ but whether

as a means of appeasement or of aversion the people seem no longer to

know: in Samos however the first sweetmeats made at the New Year are

placed in the chimney avowedly as food for the Callicantzari[542], and

in Cyprus waffles and sausages are put in the same place as a farewell

feast to them on the Eve of Epiphany[543]. Moreover in earlier times

the custom of appeasing them with food was undoubtedly more widespread;

for in places where, so far as I know, the custom itself no longer

exists, a few lines supposed to be sung by the Callicantzari on the

eve of their departure are still remembered, in which they ask for ‘a

little bit of sausage, a morsel of waffle, that the Callicantzari may

eat and depart to their own place[544].’

But propitiation of the Callicantzari, in spite of this evidence of

offerings made to them, is certainly not now so much in vogue as

precautions against them; and it is perhaps simpler to suppose that

the choice of crackling or odorous fuel was originally prompted by the

intention of conveying to the Callicantzari a plain warning that the

fire within the house was burning briskly; for apart from the Christian

means of defence--crosses, incense, invocations and the general

purification on the morning of Epiphany--it may be said that the one

thing which they really fear is fire. Everywhere it is held that so

long as a good fire is kept burning on the hearth the Callicantzari

cannot gain access to the house by their favourite entrance; and that

the utmost they will venture is to vent their urine down the chimney

in the hope of extinguishing the fire. For this reason the wood-ashes

from the hearth, which are generally stored up and used in the washing

of clothes, are during the Twelve Days left untouched, and after the

purification at Epiphany are carried out of the house; but in some

districts[545], though the ashes are not thought suitable for ordinary

use, they are not thrown away as worthless impurities, but, owing I

suppose to their contact with supernatural beings, are held to be

endowed with magically fertilising properties and are sprinkled over

the very same fields and gardens which the priests have sprinkled with

holy water. Again there are not a few stories current[546] in which

a Callicantzaros, attracted to some house at Christmas-tide by the

smell of roasting pork, has been put to rout by having the hot joint

or the spit on which it was turning thrust in his face. In one version

also of the song which the Callicantzari are supposed to sing as they

depart, ‘the pot-bellied priest with censer and sprinkling-vessel’ is

accompanied by his wife carrying hot water to scald them[547]. In other

stories again the rescue of a man from the clutches of Callicantzari is

effected by his neighbours with fire-brands as their only weapons; and

where such help cannot be obtained, a man may sometimes free himself

merely by ejaculating ξύλα, κούτσουρα, δαυλιὰ καμμένα, ‘sticks, logs,

and brands ablaze!’ for the very thought of fire will sometimes scare

the monsters away.

Other safeguards are also mentioned; you are recommended for instance

to keep a black cock in the house, or you may render the Callicantzaros

harmless by binding him with a red thread or a straw rope[548]; but the

latter method would in most cases be like putting salt on a bird’s tail.

Such, on a general view, are the monsters whose origin I now propose

to examine; and the first step in the investigation must be to

account for the extraordinary variations in shape exhibited by the

Callicantzari in different districts.

I have already observed that the Callicantzari are sometimes conceived

to be of ordinary human form, but that more commonly there is an

admixture of something beast-like. Among the animals which are

laid under contribution, first comes the he-goat, from which the

Callicantzari borrow ears, horns, and legs. Almost equally common is

a presentment of Callicantzari with the ears and the legs of an ass

combined with a body in other respects human; or again the head of an

ass, according to Pouqueville[549], may be combined with the body and

legs of a man. In other districts again the wolf has once been a factor

in the conception of Callicantzari. Thus in Messenia, in Cynouria

(a district in the east of Laconia), and in parts of Crete[550] the

Callicantzari are called also Λυκοκάντζαροι, in which the first half of

the compound name is undoubtedly λύκος, ‘wolf.’ Similarly in some parts

of Macedonia Callicantzari are often called simply ‘wolves’ (λύκοι),

and both names are also applied metaphorically to any particularly

ill-favoured man[551]. Resemblances to apes are also mentioned,

particularly in the long, lean, hairy arms of the Callicantzari;

and Pouqueville speaks also of their monkey-like tails[552]. Next

from Phoeniciá in Epirus comes the suggestion that Callicantzari may

resemble squirrels; for there they have the two by-names σκιορίσματα

and καψιούρηδες[553], in which it is not hard to recognise the two

ancient Greek names for the squirrel, σκίουρος and καμψίουρος.

Concerning the local character of these I have no information; but

it is fairly safe to surmise that they possess the power, commonly

ascribed to the smaller sort of Callicantzari, of climbing with great

dexterity the walls and roofs of houses in order to gain access by the

chimney. Finally in Myconos, as noted above, the Callicantzari are

described as ‘savage four-footed things’--a description which need

not exclude some human attributes any more than it does in the savage

four-footed Centaurs of ancient art, but implies it would seem at

least a predominance of the bestial over the human element.

What then is the explanation of these wide divergences of type?

The answer is really very simple and final. The Callicantzari were

originally believed to possess the power, which many supernatural

beings share, of transforming themselves at their pleasure into

any shape. The shapes most commonly assumed differed in different

districts, and gradually, as the belief in the metamorphosis of

Callicantzari here, there, and almost everywhere was forgotten, what

had once been the commonest form locally assumed by Callicantzari

became in the several districts their fixed and only form.

The correctness of this explanation was first proved to me by

information obtained from the best source for all manner of stories

and traditions about the Callicantzari, the villages on Mount Pelion.

There I was definitely told that the Callicantzari are believed to

have the power of assuming any monstrous shape which they choose;

and the accuracy of this statement is, I find, now confirmed by

information obtained independently by Prof. Polites[554] from one of

these same villages, Portariá; he adds that there the shapes most

frequently affected by Callicantzari are those of women, bearded men,

and he-goats. Further evidence of the same belief existing also in

Cyprus is adduced by the same writer. ‘The Planetari (πλανήταροι),’ so

runs the popular tradition which he quotes from a work which I have

been unable to consult, ‘who are also called in some parts of Cyprus

Callicantzari, come to the earth at Christmas and remain all the Twelve

Days. They are seen by persons who are ἀλαφροστοίχει̯ωτοι[555] (i.e.,

to give the nearest equivalent, ‘fey’). Sometimes they appear as dogs,

sometimes as hares, sometimes as donkeys or as camels, and often as

bobbins. Men who are ‘fey’ stumble over them, and stoop down to pick

them up, when suddenly the bobbin rolls along of its own accord and

escapes them. Further on it turns into a donkey or camel and goes on

its way. The man is deceived (by its appearance) and mounts it, and

the donkey grows as tall as a mountain and throws the man down from a

great height[556], and he returns home half-dead, and if he does not

die outright, he will be an invalid all his life[557].’

Linguistic evidence is also forthcoming that the same belief in the

metamorphosis of these monsters was once held both in Epirus and in

Samos. The by-name σκιορίσματα, recorded from Phoeniciá, proves more

than the squirrel-form of Callicantzari; it implies that that shape

is not natural but assumed. From the ancient word σκίουρος, comes

by natural formation an hypothetical verb σκιουρίζω, ‘I become a

squirrel,’ and thence the existing substantive σκιούρισμα or σκιόρισμα

(for this difference in vocalisation is negligible in modern Greek)

meaning ‘that which has turned into a squirrel.’ Similarly in Samos the

by-name κακανθρωπίσματα means ‘those that have turned into evil men.’

Whether the belief implied by these names is still alive in Epirus,

I do not know; in Samos it has apparently died out, for the word

κακανθρωπίσματα is popularly there interpreted to mean ‘those who do

evil to men[558]’--a meaning which the formation really precludes.

Since then the belief that Callicantzari possess the power of

metamorphosis either obtains now or has once obtained in places as far

removed from one another as Phoeniciá in Epirus, Mount Pelion, Samos,

and Cyprus, it is reasonable to conclude that this quality was in

earlier times universally attributed to them, and therewith the whole

problem of their multifarious presentments in different districts is at

once solved.

The next question which arises is this; if the various forms in

which the Callicantzari are locally represented are, so to speak, so

many disguises assumed by them at their own will, what is the normal

form of the Callicantzaros when he is not exercising his power of

self-transformation? On reviewing the various shapes assumed, one fact

stands out clearly; it is the animal attributes of the Callicantzari

which are variable, while the human element in their composition

(with a possible exception in the case of the ‘savage quadrupeds’

of Myconos) is constant. But the variation of form results, as has

been shown, from the power of transformation. Therefore the animal

characteristics, which are variable, are the characteristics assumed

at pleasure by the Callicantzari, and the constant or human element

in their composition indicates their normal form. In other words, the

Callicantzaros in his original and natural shape was anthropomorphic,

as indeed he is sometimes still represented to be.

And here too, while the various types of Callicantzari are still before

us, it is worth while to notice, at the cost of a short digression,

a curious principle which seems to govern the representation of

Callicantzari in those districts in which the belief in their power

of metamorphosis has been lost. On Mount Pelion and in Cyprus the

shapes which the Callicantzari are said to assume at will are those of

known and familiar objects--in the former place of women, bearded men,

and he-goats, in the latter of dogs, hares, donkeys, and camels--but

always complete and single shapes whether of man or beast; on the other

hand in the large majority of places in which the remembrance of this

power of transformation is lost, the Callicantzari are represented in

fanciful and abnormal shapes--hybrids as it were between men and such

animals as goat, ass, or ape. What appears to have happened in these

cases is that, as the belief in the metamorphosis of Callicantzari

was lost from the local folklore, a sort of compensation was made by

depicting them arrested in the process of transformation, arrested

halfway in the transition from man to beast. Now there are very few

parts of Greece in which this change in the superstition has not taken

place; and each island of the Greek seas, each district of the Greek

mainland--I had almost said each village, for the folklore like the

dialect of two villages no more than an hour’s journey apart may differ

widely--may be fairly considered to furnish separate instances on which

a general principle can be founded. The law then which seems to me to

have governed the evolution of Greek folklore is this, that a being of

some single, normal, and known shape who has originally been believed

capable of transforming himself into one or more other single, normal,

and known shapes, comes to be represented, when the belief in his power

of transformation dies out, as a being of composite, abnormal, and

fantastic shape, combining incongruous features of the several single,

normal, and known shapes.

How wide may be the application of this principle, I cannot pretend

to determine; but obviously it may supply the solution of certain

puzzles in ancient Greek mythology. The goddess Athene, to take

but one instance, is in Homer regularly described as γλαυκῶπις, an

epithet which, though interpreted by ancient artists in the sense of

‘blue-eyed’ or ‘gray-eyed,’ seems, in view of Athene’s connexion with

the owl, to have meant originally ‘owl-faced’; for the sake of argument

at any rate, without entering into the controversy on the subject, let

me assume this; let it be granted that the goddess was once depicted as

a maiden with an owl’s face. How is this hybrid form to be explained?

If our principle holds here, the explanation is that in a still earlier

stage of Greek mythology the goddess Athene was wont to transform

herself into an owl and so manifest herself to her worshippers, just as

in early Christian tradition it is recorded that once ‘the Holy Ghost

descended in a bodily shape like a dove[559].’

But this digression is long enough. Later in this chapter I shall have

occasion to return to the principle which has been formulated. At

present the Callicantzari are calling.

Thus far our investigation has shown us that the Callicantzari were

originally anthropomorphic, possessing indeed and exercising the power

of transmutation into beast-form, but in their natural and normal form

completely human in appearance. What therefore remains to be determined

is whether these beings were anthropomorphic demons or simply men.

On this point there is a direct conflict of evidence at the present

day. The very common tradition that the Callicantzari come from the

lower world at Christmas and are driven back there by the purification

at Epiphany; the fact that they are often mentioned under the vague

names παγανά and ξωτικά which have already been discussed[560], and

that their leader is sometimes called ὁ κουτσοδαίμονας, ‘the halting

demon’; the belief that they are fond of dancing with the Nereids,

and sometimes exercise also a power, proper to the Nereids, of taking

away the speech of those who speak in their presence; these and other

such considerations might be thought abundantly to prove that the

Callicantzari were a species of demon.

But on the other hand there is equally abundant evidence of the

belief that Callicantzari are men who are seized with a kind of

bestial madness which often effects a beast-like alteration in their

appearance. This madness is not chronic, but recurrent with each

returning Christmas, and the victim of it displays for the time being

all the savage and lustful passions of a wild animal. The mountaineers

of South Euboea for example have acquired the reputation of being

Callicantzari and are much feared by the dwellers on the coast.

A remarkable feature in this form of the superstition is the idea that

the madness is congenital. Children born on Christmas-day, or according

to some accounts on any day between Christmas and Epiphany, are deemed

likely to become Callicantzari. This, it is naively said, is the due

punishment for the sin of a mother who has presumed to conceive and to

bring forth at seasons sacred to the Mother of God; whence also the

children are called ἑορτοπιάσματα or ‘feast-stricken.’ In Chios, in the

seventeenth century, this superstition was so strong that extraordinary

methods of barbarism were adopted to render such children harmless.

They were taken, says Leo Allatius[561], to a fire which had been

lighted in the market-place, and there the soles of their feet were

exposed to the heat until the nails were singed and the danger of their

attacks obviated. A modern and modified form of this treatment is to

place the child in an oven and to light a fire outside to frighten

it, and then to ask the question, ‘Bread or meat?’ If the child says

‘bread,’ all is well; but if he says ‘meat,’ he is believed to be

possessed by a savage craving for human flesh, and the treatment is

continued till he answers ‘bread[562].’

These infant Callicantzari are particularly prone, it is said, to

attack and kill their own brothers and sisters. Hence comes the by-name

by which they are sometimes known, ἀδερφοφᾶδες, ‘brother-eaters,’ as

also, according to Polites’ interpretation, the name κάηδες, which

is an equivalent for Callicantzari in several islands of the Aegean

Sea. This word Polites holds to be the plural of the name Cain, and to

denote ‘brother-slayers’; but inasmuch as a longer form καϊμπίλιδες

appears side by side with κάηδες in Carpathos[563], I hesitate to

accept this interpretation of the one while the other remains to me

wholly unintelligible. At any rate to the people themselves the word

has ceased to convey any idea of murderous propensities; for in the

island of Syme, where the name is in use, the beings denoted by it are

held to be harmless[564].

The issue before us is well summarised in two popular traditions

which Polites adduces from Oenoë and from Tenos, and which are in

clear mutual contradiction. The tradition of Oenoë begins thus:

‘“Leave-us-good-sirs” (Ἀς-ἐμᾶς-καλοί) is the name which we give them

(the Callicantzari), though they are really evil demons (ξωτικά).’ The

tradition of Tenos opens with the words: ‘The Callicantzari are not

demons (ζωτ’κά)[565]; they are men; as New Year’s Day approaches, they

are stricken with a fit of madness and leave their houses and wander

to and fro.’ How are we to decide which of these two traditions is the

older?

The evidence in favour of either is at the present day abundant;

the two chief authorities on the subject, Schmidt and Polites, both

acknowledge this; and, in my own experience, I should have difficulty

in saying which view of the Callicantzari I have the more frequently

heard expressed. On the mainland they are most commonly demons; in the

islands of the Aegean, more usually human. But in a matter of this kind

it would be of no value to count heads; even if the whole population of

Greece could be polled on the question, the view of the majority would

have no more value than that of the minority. The issue must be decided

on other than numerical grounds.

And clearly the first consideration which suggests itself must be the

nature of the earliest evidence on the subject. The earliest authority

then is Leo Allatius[566], and his statement is in brief as follows.

Children born in the octave of Christmas are seized with a kind of

madness; they rage to and fro with incredible swiftness; and their

nails grow sharp like talons. To any wayfarer whom they meet they put

the question ‘Tow or lead?’ If he answer ‘tow,’ he escapes unhurt; if

he answer ‘lead,’ they crush him with all their power and leave him

half-dead, lacerated by their talons.

Thus far the testimony of Leo Allatius distinctly favours the belief

that Callicantzari are human and not demoniacal in origin; but at the

same time it must be admitted that his statement was probably founded

upon the particular traditions of his native island only and carries

therefore less weight. The barbarous custom however which he next

proceeds to describe is of some importance. He states that children

born during the dangerous period between Christmas and New Year had

the soles of their feet scorched until the nails were singed and so

they could not become Callicantzari. Now there is a small but obvious

inconsistency in this statement. Persons who scratch one another use,

presumably, not their toe-nails but their finger-nails; and animals

likewise employ the fore feet and not the hind feet. To scorch the feet

therefore, and particularly the soles of the feet, is not a logical

method of preventing the growth of talons. But on the other hand the

treatment adopted might well be supposed to prevent the development

of hoofs, such as in many parts of Greece the Callicantzari are still

believed to have. In other words, the custom which Leo Allatius

describes was not properly understood in his time. But a custom

which has ceased to be properly understood and has had an inaccurate

interpretation set upon it is necessarily of considerable age. Already

therefore in the first half of the seventeenth century the custom which

Allatius describes was of some antiquity; and the belief that children

turn into Callicantzari, which is implied alike by the original meaning

and by the later interpretation of the custom, was equally ancient. In

Chios then at any rate the human origin of Callicantzari is a very old

article of faith.

But more important for our consideration is the answer to be made to

the following question; is it more probable, that Callicantzari, if

they were originally demons, should have come in the belief of many

people to be men, or that, being originally men, they should have

assumed in the belief of many people the rank of demons? Here, if I may

trust the analogy of other instances in Greek folklore, my answer is

decided. I know of no case in which a demon has lost status and been

reduced to human rank; but I can name three several cases in which

beings originally human have been elevated to the standing of demons.

The human maiden Gello was the prototype of the class of female demons

now known as Gelloudes. Striges (στρίγγλαις) are properly old women

who by magical means can transform themselves into birds, but they too

both in mediaeval and in modern times are frequently confused with

demons. ‘Arabs’ (Ἀράπηδες), as the name itself implies, were originally

nothing but men of colour, but they now form, as will be shown in

the next section, a recognised class of _genii_. And if we turn from

modern Greek folklore to ancient Greek religion, there also we find the

tendency in the same direction. There men in plenty are elevated to the

rank of hero, demon, or god, but the degradation of a demon to human

rank is a thing unknown. In view of this strongly marked principle of

Greek superstition or religion, it is impossible to come to any other

conclusion than that the Callicantzari were originally not demons but

men--men who either voluntarily or under the compulsion of a kind of

madness chose or were forced to assume the shape and the character of

beasts.

Having thus disposed of the problem presented by the various types

of Callicantzari, we must next investigate the origin of the name

itself. This investigation too is not a little complicated by the

fact that the dialectic varieties of the name are fully as manifold

and divergent as the various shapes which the monsters are locally

believed to assume. There can be few words in the Greek language which

better illustrate the difference in speech between one district and

another. The most general form of the word, and one which is either

used side by side with other dialectic forms or at least is understood

in almost every district, is the form which I have used throughout this

chapter καλλικάντζαρος or, to transliterate it, Callicantzaros; but in

reviewing all the dialectic varieties of the word, I find that there

are only two out of the fourteen letters composing this word, which do

not, in one dialect or another, suffer either modification of sound or

change of position. The consonant κ in the first syllable and the vowel

α in the third are the only constant and uniform elements common to

all dialects.

These dialectic forms demand consideration for the reason that some of

the derivations proposed take as their starting-point not the common

form καλλικάντζαρος but one of the rarer by-forms--a method which is

evidently open to objection when it is seen, as the accompanying table

of forms will show, that καλλικάντζαρος, besides being the common

and normal form, is also the centre from which all the dialectic

varieties radiate in different directions. In compiling my list of

forms, however, I may abbreviate it by the omission of those which are

a matter of calligraphic rather than of phonetic distinction. Thus

the first two syllables of καλλικάντζαρος are often written καλι- or

καλη-, but since ι and η represent exactly the same sound and λλ is

very seldom distinguished from λ, I have uniformly written καλλι- even

where my authority for the particular form uses some other spelling.

On the other hand, as regards the use of τζ or τσ, between which there

is a real if somewhat subtle difference in sound, I have retained the

particular form which I have found recorded.

Starting then from the normal form καλ-λι-κάν-τζα-ρος, which I thus

dismember for convenience of reference to its five syllables, I may

classify the changes which the word undergoes in various dialects as

follows:

(1) The insertion of α in the second syllable, giving λι̯α in the place

of λι.

(2) The prefixing of σ to the first syllable, giving σκαλ for καλ. With

this Bernhard Schmidt well compares the modern σκόνη for κόνις, and

σκύφτω for κύπτω.

(3) The complete suppression of the second syllable, or the retention

of the ι only as a faintly pronounced y.

(4) Combined with, and consequent upon, the suppression of the

second syllable, the change of λ to ρ in the first syllable, or the

interchange of the λ in the first syllable with the ρ in the fifth.

(5) The loss of either ν in the third syllable or τ in the fourth.

(6) The change of the α in the first syllable to ο.

(7) The change of the α in the third syllable to ε, ι, ο, or ου.

Instances of this are most frequent in combination with the changes

under (4).

(8) The interchange of the κ in the third syllable with the τζ (or τσ)

in the fourth. The νκ thus produced becomes γγ.

(9) The formation of diminutive neuter forms ending in -ι instead of

the masculine forms in -ος, with the consequent shift of accent from

the third to the fourth syllable, the -ι representing -ιον. These

neuter forms occur chiefly in the plural.

Further it may be noted that the formation of the nominative plural of

the masculine forms shows some variation; the ordinary form is in -οι

with the accent on the antepenultimate as in the nominative singular;

a second form has the same termination but with the accent shifted to

the penultimate, as commonly happens in some dialects with words of the

second declension (e.g. ἄνθρωπος with plural ἀνθρώποι) by assimilation

to the other cases of the plural; while a third form has the anomalous

termination -αῖοι (e.g. in Cephallenia, σκαλλικάντσαρος with plural

σκαλλικαντσαραῖοι).

The following genealogical table exhibits the dialectic progeny of the

normal form καλλικάντζαρος. The numeral or numerals placed against each

form refer to the classification of phonetic changes as above. Beneath

each form is noted the name of one place or district (though of course

there are usually more) in which it may be heard, or, failing the

_provenance_, the authority for its existence.

καλλικάντζαρος

(with which καλλικάντσαρος and καλλικάντσι̯αρος (Cythnos and Melos) may be considered identical)

|

+--------------------+--------------+--------------------+------------------+-------------------------+--------------+

| | | | | | |

καλλιακάντζαρος (1) καλλικάτζαρος (5) καλλικάνζαρος (5) σκαλλικάντζαρος (2) καλι̯κάντζαρος (3) κολλικάντζαρος (6) καλλιτσάγγαρος (8)

(Πολίτης, Μελέτη, (Cyprus) (Cythera) (Ionian Islands) and καλκάντζαρος (3) (Gortynia and (Pyrgos in Tenos

p. 67) | (Lesbos, etc.) Cynouria, districts and Western shores

| | of the Peloponnese) of Black Sea)

+---------------------+-------------------+--------------+ | | |

| | | | κολλικάτζαρος (6, 5) |

σκαλλικαντζούρια (τὰ) σκαλκαντσέρι (τὸ) σκαλκάντζερος | (Πολίτης, Παραδόσεις, |

(2, 7, 9) (Sciathos) (2, 3, 7, 9) (2, 3, 7) | II. p 1245) |

(Arachova on (Arachova on | |

Parnassus) Parnassus) | +------------------+-----+

| | |

| καλσάγγαροι καρτσάγγαλοι (8, 4)

+----------------------+-------------------------+----------+ (8, 3, 5) (Oenoë on S. shore

| | | (Tenos) of Black Sea)

καρκάντσαλος (4) καλκάντσερος (3, 7) καρκάντζαρος (4)

(Stenimachos in (Arachova on (Scyros)

Roumelia) Parnassus)

|

+----------------+----------+-------------------------+

| | |

καρκάντζελος (4, 7) καρκάντσιλος (4, 7) καρκάντζολος (4, 7)

(Zagorion in (Ophis, on S. shore (Cythnos)

Epirus) of Black Sea) |

| _Albanian_

καρκαντσέλια (τὰ) καρκανdσόλ-ι

(4, 7, 9) (cf. Hahn, _Alban. Stud._,

(Portariá on Vocabulary, s.v.)

M^t Pelion) and

_Turkish

karakóndjolos_

This table of dialectic forms, which was originally based mainly

upon the information of Schmidt[567] and my own observations and has

now been enlarged with the aid of Polites’ new work[568], is even so

probably far from complete; nor have I included in it, for reasons to

be stated, the following forms: καλκάνια[569] (τὰ) which is apparently

an abbreviated diminutive formed from the first two syllables of

καλκάν-τζαρος with a neuter termination, and is therefore a nickname

rather than a strict derivative: καλκαγάροι which Bent[570] represents

to be the usual form in Naxos and Paros, but I hesitate to accept

without confirmation from some other source: σκατσάντζαροι[571], a

Macedonian form, and καλκατζόνια, a diminutive form from the district

of Cynouria, both so extraordinarily corrupt that I can find no place

for them in the table: λυκοκάντζαροι, which has been thought to be

κολλικάντζαρος with the first two syllables reversed in order--a change

to which I can find no parallel--but is, as I shall show later, a

distinct and very important compound of the word κάντζαρος: and lastly

καλι̯οντζῆδες[572] which has nothing at all to do with καλλικάντζαροι

etymologically, but is an euphemistic and not particularly good pun

upon it, really meaning the ‘sailors of a galleon[573]’ (Turkish

_qālioundji_), and humorously substituted for the dreaded name of the

Callicantzari.

To conclude this compilation, it must be added that the wives of

Callicantzari are denoted by feminine forms with the termination -ίνα

or -οῦ, and their children by neuter forms ending in -άκι or -οῦδι in

place of the masculine -ος.

From a careful analysis of this material two main facts seem to emerge.

First, the form καλλικάντζαρος, the commonest in use, is also the

centre from which the other dialectic forms diverge in many directions;

and therefore if one of the rarer dialectic forms be selected as

the parent-form and the basis of any etymological explanation, the

advocate of the particular etymology not only assumes the burden of

showing how his original form came to be so generally superseded by

the form καλλικάντζαρος, but also will require many more steps in his

genealogical table of existing varieties of the word. Secondly, the

words καλλικάντζαρος and λυκοκάντζαρος (if, as I hold, they cannot

be connected through the mediation of the form κολλικάντζαρος) show

that we have to deal with a compound word of which the second half is

κάντζαρος: and corroboration of this view is afforded by the existence

of a form of the uncompounded word in the dialect of Cynouria, where

σκατζάρια[574] (τὰ)--i.e. a diminutive form of κάντζαρος with σ

prefixed and ν lost--is used side by side with the words καλλικάντζαροι

and λυκοκάντζαροι to denote the same beings.

In view of the latter inference, or perhaps even apart from it, there

is no need to delay long over a derivation propounded by a Greek

writer, Oeconomos, whose theory, that ‘callicantzaros’ is a corruption

of the Latin ‘caligatus’ or perhaps of ‘calcatura,’ suggests a vision

of a monster in hob-nailed boots which does more credit to its author’s

imagination than to his knowledge of philology.

A suggestion which deserves at any rate more serious consideration is

that of Bernhard Schmidt[575] who holds that the word is of Turkish

origin and passed first into Albanian and thence into Greek--reversing,

that is, the steps indicated in the above table. But to this there

are several objections, each weighty in itself, and cumulatively

overwhelming.

First, if the Turkish word _karakondjolos_ be the source from which the

multitude of Greek forms, including in that case λυκοκάντζαρος[576]

are derived, it ought to be shown how the Turkish word itself came to

mean anything like ‘were-wolf[577].’ It is compounded, says Schmidt, of

_kara_, ‘black,’ and _kondjolos_ which is connected with _koundjul_,

a word which means a ‘slave of the lowest kind[578].’ But before that

derivation can be accepted, it should be shown what link in thought may

exist between a slave even of the lowest and blackest variety and a

were-wolf, and also how the supposed Turkish compound came to have the

Greek termination -ος.

Secondly, the theory that the Greeks borrowed the word, and presumably

also the notion which it expressed, from the Turks contravenes

historical probability. For when did the supposed borrowing take

place? Evidently not before the Ottoman influence had made itself

thoroughly felt in Eastern Europe not only in war but in peace; for

only those peoples who are living side by side in friendly, or at

the least pacific, relations, are in a way to exchange views on the

subject of were-wolves or any other superstitions; and in the case of

the Greeks and the Turks such intercourse would certainly have been

retarded by religious as well as racial animosity. Presumably then,

even if the transference of the word from the Turkish to the Greek

language had been direct and not, as Schmidt somewhat unnecessarily

supposes, through the medium of Albanian, two or three generations

must have elapsed after the Ottoman occupation of Chios in 1566[579],

and the seventeenth century must have well begun, before the Greeks of

that island even began to adopt the new word and the new superstition

involved in it. Yet the form of the word familiar to Leo Allatius

since the beginning of that century, when he lived as a boy in Chios,

was not _karakondjolos_ or anything like it, but _callicantzaros_;

while the belief that children born in the octave of Christmas became

Callicantzari was of such antiquity in Chios that a custom founded

upon it had already come, as I have shown, to be misinterpreted.

Indeed, as the same writer tells us, the Callicantzari and their

haunts and habits were so familiar to the people of Chios that two

proverbs of the island referred to them. One, which was addressed to

persons always appearing in the same clothes--βάλλε τίποτε καινούριο

ἀπάνω σου διὰ τοὺς καλλικαντζάρους, ‘put on something new because of

the Callicantzari’--is more than a little obscure; it would seem to

imply that the clothes which were being worn would hardly be worth

the while even of the mischief-loving Callicantzari to tear; but in

any case the very existence of an obscure proverb is evidence that

the Callicantzaros and all his ways had long been a matter of common

knowledge. The second saying--ἐκατέβης ἀπὸ τὰ τριποτάματα, ‘You have

come down from the Three Streams,’ or in another version, δὲν πᾶς ’στα

τριποτάματα; ‘Why not go to the Three Streams?’--was addressed to mad

persons, because, as Allatius explains, ‘the Three Streams’ was a

wild wooded place in Chios reputed to be the haunt of Callicantzari.

Historically then the theory that the people of Chios borrowed from the

Turks the name and the conception of the Callicantzari is untenable.

Another piece of historical evidence against Schmidt’s theory is

that the Callicantzaros of the present day appears to be identical

with the ‘baboutzicarios’ whereof Michael Psellus[580] discoursed in

the eleventh century. He himself indeed, with his usual passion for

explaining away popular superstitions, affirms that ‘baboutzicarios’

is the same as ‘ephialtes,’ the demon who punishes gluttony with

nocturnal discomfort and a feeling of oppression; and in that view he

was followed by Suidas[581] and other lexicographers; but he states

two important points in the popular superstition which he combats: the

‘baboutzicarios’ appears only in the octave of Christmas; and it is at

night that he meets and terrifies men. Moreover the name itself is, I

suspect, derived from the Low-Latin _babuztus_[582] meaning ‘mad,’ and

indicates the existence then of the belief which is so largely held

to-day, that the monstrous apparitions of Christmastide are really men

smitten with a peculiar kind of madness. Thus all the information which

Psellus gives about the ‘baboutzicarios’ tallies with modern beliefs

concerning the Callicantzaros, and militates against the supposition

that the Greeks are indebted for this superstition to the Turks.

Finally there is positive evidence that the Turks borrowed the word

in question from the Greeks; for the time at which they used to fear

the advent of the _karakondjolos_--whether the superstition still

remains the same, I do not know--was fixed not by their own calendar

but by that of the Christians. An article written on the subject of the

Turkish calendar early in last century contains this statement: ‘The

Turks have received this fabulous belief from the Greeks, and they say

that this demon, whom the former call Kara Kondjolos and the latter

Cali Cangheros, exercises his sway of maleficence and mischief from

Christmas-day until that of the Epiphany[583].’ Clearly the Turks would

not have fixed the time for the appearance of the _karakondjolos_ by

the Christian festivals if they had not borrowed the whole superstition

from the Greeks; and indeed the very termination in -ος of the Turkish

form of the word betrays its Hellenic origin.

The proposed Turkish derivation of the word καλλικάντζαρος must

therefore be rejected as finally as Oeconomos’ Latin derivation, and it

remains only to deal with those which treat the word as genuinely Greek.

The first of these is that proposed by Coraës[584], who made the word

a compound of καλός and κάνθαρος. The formation, as might be expected

of so great a scholar, is irreproachable; for the phonetic change of

θ to τζ; is seen in the development of the modern word καντζόχοιρος

(a hedgehog) from the ancient ἀκανθόχοιρος. But the meaning obtained

is less satisfactory. What has a ‘good’ or ‘beautiful beetle’ to do

with a Callicantzaros such as I have described? The question remains

without an answer. And yet some of Coraës’ followers in recent times

have thought triumphantly to vindicate his view by pointing out that in

the dialect of Thessaly ‘a species of large horned beetle’ is known as

καλλικάτζαροι. Now I am aware that elsewhere in Greece stag-beetles are

called κατζαρίδες, which is undoubtedly a modern form of the ancient

κάνθαρος and illustrates once more the phonetic change involved in

Coraës’ derivation; and I can believe that the Thessalian peasantry

with a certain rustic humour sometimes call them καλλικάτζαροι instead.

But what light does this throw on the supposed development of meaning?

The view which these disciples of Coraës appear to hold, namely that

the Callicantzari, who are known and feared throughout Greek lands and

even beyond them in Turkey and in Albania, were called after an alleged

Thessalian species of Coleoptera, would be fitly matched by a theory

that the Devil was so named after a species of fish or a printer’s

assistant or a patent fire-lighter.

The same objection holds good as against Polites’ first view[585].

Taking the word λυκοκάντζαρος as his starting-point, instead of the

common and central form καλλικάντζαρος, he proposed to derive the word

from λύκος, ‘wolf,’ and κάνθαρος, ‘beetle.’ But though the resulting

hybrid might be a monster as hideous as the worst of Callicantzari,

these creatures so far as I know show no traits suggestive of

entomological parentage. But since Polites himself has long abandoned

this view, there is no need to criticize it further.

His next pronouncement on the subject[586] banished both wolf and

beetle and seemed to recognise the necessity of keeping the main form

καλλικάντζαρος to the fore. But while he naturally assumed καλός to be

the first half of the compound, he could only set down κάντζαρος as an

unknown foreign, perhaps Slavonic, word.

But in his latest publication[587] he relinquishes this position

and falls back once more on a dialectic form καλιτσάγγαρος which is

reported to be in use at the village of Pyrgos in Tenos and at some

places on the western shores of the Black Sea. This word he believes to

be a compound, of which the second half is connected with a Byzantine

word τσαγγίον, meaning a kind of boot, and the still existing, if

somewhat rare, word, τσαγγάρης, ‘a boot-maker,’ while the first half

is to be either καλός, ‘fine,’ or καλίκι, ‘a hoof[588].’ The former

alternative provides easily the form καλοτσάγγαρος or, as would be

almost more likely, καλλιτσάγγαρος, meaning ‘one who wears fine boots’;

while in the other alternative there results a supposed original

form καλικοτσάγγαρος, meaning ‘one who has hoofs instead of boots,’

whence, by suppression of the third syllable, comes the existing word

καλιτσάγγαρος, or again, by loss of the first syllable, a supposed form

λικοτσάγγαρος which developed into λυκοκάντζαρος.

On the score of formation the former alternative is unassailable; but

the latter, with its supposed loss of syllables, is more questionable.

The loss of a first syllable is common enough in modern Greek, where

it consists of a vowel only (e.g. βρίσκω[589] for εὑρίσκω, μέρα for

ἡμέρα, etc.), but the supposed loss of the syllable κα would, I think,

be hard to parallel. Again the loss of a syllable in the middle of a

word is fairly common either through the suppression of the vowel ι (or

η, which is not distinguished from ι in sound) as in καλκάντζαρος for

καλλικάντζαρος, ἔρμος for ἔρημος, etc., or else when two concurrent

syllables begin with the same consonant, as in ἀστροπελέκι, ‘a

thunderbolt,’ for ἀστραποπελέκι, but the loss of the syllable κο from

the form καλικοτσάγγαρος is a bold hypothesis.

But on the score of meaning both alternatives are alike

unconvincing. Polites indeed cites one or two popular traditions in

which the Callicantzari are represented as wearing wooden or iron

shoes--wherewith no doubt the better to kick and to trample their

victims; and such footgear might, I suppose, be described ironically as

‘nice boots.’ But to find in this occasional trait the origin of the

word Callicantzaros[590] appears to me a counsel of despair. Nor does

the other alternative commend itself to me any more. It is of course

a widely accepted belief--and one by the way which contradicts the

traditions just mentioned--that the Callicantzari have feet like those

of an ass or a goat. But in describing such a creature no one surely

would be likely to say that it had hoofs ‘instead of boots’--‘instead

of feet’ would be the natural and reasonable expression. To suppose

that the Callicantzari (or rather, to use the hypothetical form,

the καλικοτσάγγαροι) are so named because their boot-maker provides

them with hoofs instead of detachable foot-gear, is little short of

ludicrous.

But though neither of the proposed derivations will, I think, win much

acceptance, the historical evidence which Polites adduces in support of

his views forms a valuable contribution to the study of this subject.

The inferences which he draws therefrom may not be correct; but the

material which he has collected is of high interest.

Singling out of the many traditions concerning the Callicantzari the

widely, and perhaps universally, prevalent belief that their activities

are confined to the Twelve Days between Christmas and Epiphany, he

argues that if we can discover the origin of this limitation, we shall

be in a fair way to discover also whence came the conception of the

Callicantzari themselves.

Accordingly he traces the history of winter festivals in Greece,

starting from the period in which the Greeks, in deference to their

Roman masters, adopted the festivals known as the Saturnalia, the

Brumalia, and the Kalándae (for so the celebration of the Kalends of

January was called by the Greeks) in place of their own old festivals

such as the Kronia and some of the festivals of Dionysus. The change

however was more one of name than of method of observance[591]. The

pagan orgies which marked these festal days were strongly denounced

by the Fathers of the Church from the very earliest times. In the

first century of our era, Timothy, bishop of Ephesus, met with his

martyrdom in an attempt to suppress such a festival. At the end of the

fourth century S. John Chrysostom and, after him, Asterios, bishop of

Amasea, loudly inveighed against the celebration of the Kalandae. At

the end of the seventh century the sixth Oecumenical Council of the

Church promulgated a canon forbidding all these pagan winter-festivals.

But still in the twelfth century, as Balsamon testifies[592], the

old abuses continued unabated; and there are local survivals of such

festivals at the present day.

The most prominent feature of these celebrations was that men dressed

themselves up in various characters, to represent women, soldiers, or

animals, and thus disguised gave themselves up to the wildest orgies.

At Ephesus it is clear that these orgies included human sacrifice, and

that Bishop Timothy was on one occasion the victim; for we are told by

Photius that he met with his death in trying to suppress ‘the polluted

and blood-stained rites of the Greeks[593]’; and the same writer

speaks of τὸ καταγώγιον--so this particular ceremony was called--as

a ‘devilish and abominable festival[594]’ in which men ‘took delight

in unholy things as if they were pious deeds[595].’ And again another

account of the same celebration tells how men with masks on their faces

and with clubs in their hands went about ‘assaulting without restraint

free men and respectable women, perpetrating murders of no common sort

and shedding endless blood in the best parts of the city, as if they

were performing a religious duty (ὡσανεὶ ἀναγκαῖόν τι καὶ ψυχωφελὲς

πράττοντες)[596].’

At Amasea, according to Asterios, at the beginning of the fifth

century, things were not much better. The peasants, he says, who come

into the town during the festival ‘are beaten and outraged by drunken

revellers, they are robbed of anything they are carrying, they have

war waged upon them in a time of peace, they are mocked and insulted

in word and in deed[597].’ Here too the custom of dressing up was in

vogue among those who took part in the festival--women’s dress being

especially affected.

Again in the seventh century the points specially emphasized by the

canon of the Church are that ‘no man is to put on feminine dress, nor

any woman the dress proper to men, nor yet are masks, whether comic,

satyric, or tragic, to be worn’; and the penalty for disregard of this

ordinance was to be excommunication. Yet for all these fulminations the

old custom continued. The author of ‘the Martyrdom of S. Dasius[598],’

writing perhaps as late as the tenth century, speaks of the festival of

the Kronia as still observed in the old way: ‘on the Kalends of January

foolish men, following the custom of the (pagan) Greeks, though they

call themselves Christians, hold a great procession, changing their

own appearance and character, and assuming the guise of the devil;

clothed in goat-skins and with their faces disguised,’ they reject

their baptismal vows and again serve in the devil’s ranks. And still in

the twelfth century these practices obtained not only among the laity

but even among the clergy, some of whom, in the words of Balsamon[599],

‘assume various masks and dresses, and appear in the open nave of the

church, sometimes with swords girt on and in military uniform, other

times as monks or even as quadrupeds.’

Several instances of the continuance of this custom in modern times

have been collected by Polites[600] and others; the savage orgies of

old time have indeed dwindled into harmless mummery; but their most

constant feature, the wearing of strange disguises, remains unchanged;

and the occasion too is still a winter-festival, either some part

of the Twelve Days or the carnival preceding Lent. From certain

facts concerning these modern festivals it will be manifest that

some relation exists between the mummers who celebrate them and the

Callicantzari.

In Crete, where the New Year is thus celebrated, the mummers are

called καμπουχέροι, while in Achaia a fuller form of the same word,

κατσιμπουχέροι, is a by-name of the Callicantzari. At Portariá on

Mount Pelion, each night of the Twelve Days, a man is dressed up as an

‘Arab,’ wearing an old cloak and having bells affixed to his clothes.

He goes the round of the streets with a lantern; and the villagers

explicitly state that this is done γιὰ τὰ καρκαντζέλια, ‘because of

the Callicantzari,’ i.e., says Polites, as a means of getting rid of

them. At Pharsala there is a sort of play at the Epiphany, in which

the mummers represent bride, bridegroom, and ‘Arab’; the Arab tries to

carry off the bride, and the bridegroom defends her. In some parts of

Macedonia similar mumming takes place at the New Year; in Belbentós the

men who take part in it are called ‘Arabs’; at Palaeogratsana they have

the name ῥουκατζιάρια (evidently another compound of κάντζαρος, but one

which I cannot interpret); formerly also ‘at Kozane and in many other

parts of Greece,’ according to a Greek writer in the early part of the

nineteenth century, throughout the Twelve Days boys carrying bells used

to go round the houses, singing songs and having ‘one or more of their

company dressed up with masks and bells and foxes’ brushes and other

such things to give them a weird and monstrous look.’

This custom is evidently identical with one which I myself saw enacted

in Scyros at the carnival preceding Lent. The young men of the town

array themselves in huge capes made of goat-skin, reaching to the

hips or lower, and provided with holes for the arms. These capes are

sometimes made with hoods of the same material which cover the whole

head and face, small holes being cut for the eyes but none for purposes

of respiration. In other cases the cape covers the shoulders only,

leaving the head free, and the young man contents himself with the

blue and white kerchief, which is the usual head-gear in Scyros, and a

roughly made domino. A third variety of cape is provided with a hood

to cover the back of the head, while the mask for the face is made

of the skin of some small animal such as a weasel, of which the hind

legs and tail are attached to the hood, while the head and forelegs

hang down to the breast of the wearer; eye-holes are cut in these as

in the other forms of mask. These capes are girt tightly about the

waist with a stout cord or strap, from which are hung all round the

body a large number of bronze goat-bells, of the ordinary shape but

of extraordinary dimensions, some measuring as much as ten inches for

the greatest diameter. The method by which these bells are attached

to the belt is remarkable, and is designed to permit a large number of

them to be worn without being in any way muffled by contact with the

cape. Each bell is fastened to one end of a curved and springy stick of

about a foot in length, and the other end is inserted behind the belt

from above; the curve and elasticity of the stick thus cause the bell

to hang at some few inches distance from the body, free to jangle with

every motion of the dancer. Some sixty or seventy of these bells, of

various sizes, are worn by the best-equipped, and the weight of such

a number was estimated by the people of the place as approximately

a hundredweight--no easy load with which to dance over the narrow,

roughly-paved alleys of ‘steep Scyros.’ Those however who lack either

the prowess or the accoutrements to share in the glorious fatigue

do not abstain altogether from the festivities; even the small boys

beg, borrow, or steal a goat-bell and attach it to the hinder part of

their person in lieu of a tail, or, at the worst, make good the caudal

deficiency with a branch from the nearest tree.

Thus in various grades of goat-like attire the young men and boys

traverse the town, stopping here and there, where the steep and

tortuous paths offer a wider and more level space, to leap and dance,

or anon at some friendly door to imbibe spirituous encouragement to

further efforts. In the dancing itself there is nothing peculiar to

this festival; the swinging amble, which is the gait of the more

heavily equipped, is prescribed by the burden of bells and the

roughness of roads. The purpose of the leaping and dancing is solely

to evoke as much din as possible from the bells; and prodigious indeed

is the jarring and jangling in those narrow alleys when the troupe of

dancers leap together into the air, as high as their burdens allow, and

come down with one crash.

Since I first published[601] an account of these festivities in Scyros,

similar celebrations of carnival-time have been reported from other

places; at Sochos in Macedonia[602] the scene is almost identical

with that which I have described; in the district of Viza in Thrace a

primitive dramatic performance was recently observed in which the two

chief actors wore similar goat-skins, masks, and bells, and had their

hands blackened[603]; and again at Kostí in the extreme north of Thrace

there is mummery of the same kind[604].

A scene of the same sort was formerly enacted in Athens also during

the carnival, and was known by the expressive name τὰ ταράματα (i.e.

ταράγματα), ‘The Riotings.’ A man dressed up as a bear used to

rush through the streets followed by a crowd of youths howling and

clashing any noisy instruments that came to hand. That this ceremony

was originally of a religious character is shown not only by its

association with the season of Lent, but by an accessory rite performed

on the same occasion. Wooden statues, actually called ξόανα as late

as the time of the Greek War of Independence, were carried out in

procession; and the well-being of the people was believed to be so

bound up with the due performance of these rites, that even during the

Revolution, when Athens was in the hands of the Turks, a native of the

place is said to have returned from Aegina, whither he had fled for

safety, in order to play the part of the bear and to carry out the

_xoana_ for the general good[605].

The close connexion of these several modern customs, whether the

occasion of them is the Twelve Days or Carnival-time, cannot be

doubted. The variation of date is of old standing; for the canon of

the Church, on which Balsamon[606] comments, condemns certain pagan

festivals on March 1st (approximately the carnival time) along with the

_Kalandae_ and _Brumalia_; and the similarity of the dresses, masks,

bells, and other accoutrements proper to both occasions proves the

substantial identity of the festivals.

A comparison of these allied modern customs can only lead to one

conclusion. The use of the same word to denote the mummers in Crete and

the Callicantzari in Achaia; the name ῥουκατζιάρια for these mummers

at Palaeogratsana; the custom of blackening the face, which is clearly

indicated by the employment of the name ‘Arab’ in this connexion; the

monstrous and half-animal appearance produced by masks, foxes’ brushes,

goat-skins, and suchlike adornments; the attempted rape of the bride

by the ‘Arab’ in the play at Pharsala--all furnish contributory

evidence that the mummers themselves represent Callicantzari. Only at

Portariá is the significance of the custom somewhat confused; there

the ‘Arab’ in his old cloak and bells has long ceased to represent a

Callicantzaros, and has actually been provided with a lantern with

which to scare the Callicantzari away.

The mummers then represent Callicantzari; the question which remains to

be answered is whether the mumming was the cause or the effect of the

belief in Callicantzari.

Polites, in support of his theory that the name Callicantzari, in its

earliest form, meant either ‘wearers of nice boots’ or ‘possessors of

hoofs instead of boots,’ claims that the mummers first suggested to

the Greek imagination the conception of the Callicantzari (it is not

indeed anywhere mentioned in the above traditions that the feet or the

footgear of the mummers were in any way remarkable, but we may let

that pass), and that the fear which their riotous conduct inspired in

earlier times gradually elevated them in men’s minds to the rank of

demons. This, he urges, is the reason why these demons are feared only

during the Twelve Days, the period when such mumming was in vogue.

In confirmation of his view Polites cites some of the evidence

concerning the human origin of the Callicantzari, mentioning both

the fairly common belief that men turn into Callicantzari, and the

rarer traditions that a Callicantzaros resumes his human shape if a

torch be thrust in his face and that the transformation of men into

Callicantzari can be prevented by certain means. With this evidence

I have already dealt, and I agree with Polites that in it there

survives a genuine record of the human origin of the Callicantzari.

But of course on the further question, whether the particular men thus

elevated to the dignity of demons were the mummers of Christmastide, it

has no immediate bearing.

As a second piece of corroboration, he adduces another derivation

hardly more felicitous than those with which I have already dealt.

The word on which he tries his hand this time is καμπουχέροι

or κατσιμπουχέροι--the name of the mummers in Crete and of the

Callicantzari in Achaia. Here again, with a certain perversity, he

selects the worse form of the two, καμπουχέροι, which is evidently

a syncopated form of the other, and proceeds to derive it from the

Spanish _gambujo_, ‘a mask,’ leaving the subsequent development of

κατσιμπουχέροι totally inexplicable. For my own part I consider it far

more probable that the word κατσιμπουχέροι is a humorously compounded

name, of which the second half is the word μπουχαρί[607] (an Arabic

word which has passed, probably through Turkish, into Greek) meaning

‘chimney,’ and that the whole by-name has reference simply to the

common belief that Callicantzari try to extinguish the fire on the

hearth and thus to gain access to the house by the chimney. As to

the meaning of κατσι-, the first half of the compound, I can only

hazard the conjecture that it is connected with the verb κατσιάζω,

which ordinarily means to blight, to wither, to dry up, and so forth,

though its passive participle, κατσιασμένος, is said by Skarlatos[608]

to be applied to clothes which are ‘difficult to wash.’ If then the

compound κατσιμπουχέροι is a descriptive title of the Callicantzari,

meaning those who render the chimney difficult to wash, the coarse

and eminently rustic humour of the allusion to their habits needs no

further explanation; and it is the mummers of Crete who owe their name

to the Callicantzari, not _vice versa_.

While therefore I acknowledge and appreciate to the full the value of

Polites’ researches into the history of the Twelve Days, the inferences

which he draws from the material collected seem to me no more sound

than the derivations which they are designed to corroborate. My own

interpretation of the historical facts which Polites has brought

together is as follows.

The superstitions and customs connected by the modern folk with

the Twelve Days are undoubtedly an inheritance from ancestors who

celebrated the Brumalia and other pagan festivals at the same season

of the year. These ancient festivals, though Roman in name, probably

differed very little in the manner of their observance from certain

old Greek festivals, chief among which was some festival of Dionysus.

This is rendered probable both by the date of these festivals and

by the manner of their celebration. For the worship of Dionysus was

practically confined to the winter-time; at Delphi his cult superseded

that of Apollo during the three winter months[609]; and at Athens the

four festivals of Dionysus fell within about the same period--the rural

Dionysia at the end of November or beginning of December, the Lenaea

about a month later, the Anthesteria at the end of January, and the

Great Dionysia at the end of February. As for the manner of conducting

the Latin-named festivals, Asterios’ description of the Kalándae in the

fifth century plainly attests the Dionysiac character of the orgies,

and Balsamon, in the twelfth, was so convinced, from what he himself

witnessed, of their Bacchanalian origin, that he actually proposed

to derive the name _Brumalia_ from Βροῦμος[610] (by which he meant

Βρόμιος) a surname of Dionysus.

The mumming then, which is still customary in some parts of Greece

during the Twelve Days, is a survival apparently of festivals in

honour of Dionysus. Further the mummers dress themselves up to

resemble Callicantzari. But the worship of Dionysus presented a

similar scene; ‘those who made processions in honour of Dionysus,’

says Ulpian, ‘used to dress themselves up for that purpose to resemble

his companions, some in the guise of Satyrs, others as Bacchae, and

others as Sileni[611].’ The mummers therefore of the present day have,

it appears, inherited the custom of dressing up from the ancient

worshippers of Dionysus and are their modern representatives; and

from this it follows that the Callicantzari whom the modern mummers

strive to resemble are to be identified with those motley companions of

Dionysus whom his worshippers imitated of old.

The more closely these two identifications are examined, the

more certain they will appear. Take for example Müller’s general

description[612] of the celebration of Dionysus’ festivals. ‘The

swarm of subordinate beings--Satyrs, Panes, and Nymphs--by whom

Bacchus was surrounded, and through whom life seemed to pass from

the god of outward nature into vegetation and the animal world, and

branch off into a variety of beautiful or grotesque forms, were ever

present to the fancy of the Greeks; it was not necessary to depart

very widely from the ordinary course of ideas, to imagine that dances

of fair nymphs and bold satyrs, among the solitary woods and rocks,

were visible to human eyes, or even in fancy to take a part in them.

The intense desire felt by every worshipper of Bacchus to fight,

to conquer, to suffer, in common with him, made them regard these

subordinate beings as a convenient step by which they could approach

more nearly to the presence of their divinity. The custom, so prevalent

at the festivals of Bacchus, of taking the disguise of satyrs,

doubtless originated in this feeling, and not in the mere desire of

concealing excesses under the disguise of a mask; otherwise, so serious

and pathetic a spectacle as tragedy could never have originated in

the choruses of these satyrs. The desire of escaping from _self_ into

something new and strange, of living in an imaginary world, breaks

forth in a thousand instances in these festivals of Bacchus. It is

seen in the colouring the body with plaster, soot, vermilion, and

different sorts of green and red juices of plants, wearing goats’ and

deer skins round the loins, covering the face with large leaves of

different plants; and lastly in the wearing masks of wood, bark, and

other materials, and of a complete costume belonging to the character.’

To complete this description it may be added that ‘drunkenness, and the

boisterous music of flutes, cymbals and drums, were likewise common to

all Dionysiac festivals[613].’ Which of all these things is missing in

the mediaeval or modern counterpart of the festival? The blackening

of the face or the wearing of the masks, the feminine costume or

beast-like disguise, the boisterous music of bells, the rioting and

drunkenness--all are reproduced in the celebration of Kalandae and

Brumalia or in the mumming of the Twelve Days. The mummers are the

worshippers of a god, whose name however and existence they and their

forefathers have long forgotten.

And again are not the Callicantzari faithful reproductions of the

Satyrs and Sileni who ever attended Dionysus? Their semi-bestial form

with legs of goat or ass affixed to a human trunk, their grotesque

faces and goat-like ears and horns, their boisterous and mischievous

merriment, their love of wine, their passion for dancing, above all

in company with Nereids, the indecency of their actions and sometimes

of their appearance, their wantonness and lust--all these widely

acknowledged attributes of the Callicantzari proclaim them lineal

descendants of Dionysus’ motley comrades.