Gone Medieval - Medieval Christmas

Episode Date: December 25, 2021

Ever wondered why we call Christmas, ‘Christmas’? And why it’s celebrated on the 25th December? Or maybe where the Christmas tree came from, the Yule log, the nativity, Father Christmas and even the advent calendar?Well you might be surprised to learn they’re all rooted in medieval traditions. From the bringing in of evergreen trees to hold on to a symbol of new life to come, to a Greek 4th century bishop giving out presents to all the children who had been good that year. Grab some nibbles and a drink of choice, and let our host Matt Lewis, take you on a journey through a medieval Christmas.Don’t forget to leave us a rating and review while you're here!For more Gone Medieval content, subscribe to our Medieval Monday newsletter here.If you'd like to learn even more, we have hundreds of history documentaries, ad free podcasts and audiobooks at History Hit - subscribe today!To download, go to Android or Apple store.Music:Agne Parthene - Pavlos Karpalos, St Sophia Greek Orthodox Cathedral, Michael Georgiou Alexandros Gkikas, Matthew Tomko and Thom Ntinas Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

From long-loss Viking ships and kings buried in unexpected places to tales of murder, power, faith, and the lives of ordinary people across medieval Europe and beyond. Join me, Matt Lewis, Dr. Eleanor Jarniger, and some of the world's leading historians as we bring history's most fascinating stories to life, only on history hit. With your subscription, you'll unlock hundreds of hours of exclusive documentaries

with a brand-new release every week exploring everything from the ancient world, to World War II. Just visit historyhit.com forward slash subscribe. Welcome to this festive episode of Gone Medieval. I'm Matt Lewis. I thought today we could take a break from all the Christmas madness to look at the development of the season through the Middle Ages

and when some of those elements that we might recognise as quintessential to Christmas first emerged. I've got a fire going, I've got a good supply of mint pies, a big pot of Stilton, and an even bigger bottle of port. And I'm ready to make my full-bellied, bleary-eyed way through a medieval Christmas Day. The first and most obvious matter to deal with

is the name of this celebration. Christmas is a slightly shortened version of Christ's mass. It appears in various forms through the medieval period, combining Christ days from the Greek translation of the Hebrew word meaning Messiah or anointed, and the Latin Mesa, the celebration of the Eucharist. Xmas is another further abbreviation of the word, which is often frowned upon and discouraged,

and you can find online style guides that will say don't use Xmas. It's too informal. But it does appear in Middle English texts. What we recognise as the letter X is in fact the Greek letter Kai, and it's used as an abbreviation of the Greek Christos, which begins with the letter Kyi. High. Anglo-Saxons referred to the period as midwinter and sometimes as nativity. Old English contained references to yule, a word and a celebration that has Viking and Scandinavian heritage,

which covered December and January and eventually became associated with Christmas. By the late 14th century, the old French word Noel derived from the Latin Natalus, meaning birth, was beginning to enter use in English too. So, whether it's Christmas, Exmus, Noel, the Nativity or Yule, the name you use for this period is derived from the Middle Ages. The next question is why Christmas is celebrated on the 25th of December. Nowhere in the Bible are we offered a date for the birth of Christ. The Gospels of Luke and Matthew describe Jesus being born in Bethlehem,

but they don't provide a date for the moment. So how did the early church settle on the 25th of December? At the beginning of the 3rd century, Clement of Alexandria explained the prevailing uncertainty around Christ's state of birth. Some, he felt, had worked out the year as being the 28th year of Augustus, who ruled from 27 BCE. Although Herod's death before the year zero means that that can't be correct. Clement added that some thought the actual date was the 20th of May, while others were

suggesting the 20th or 21st of April, these dates being originally based on an Egyptian calendar. The first record of a Christmas celebration comes on the 25th of December in the year 336 in Rome. The reason that the date the 25th of December was settled on is both easy to understand and and a source of future problems. After the implementation of the Julian calendar in 46 BCE, the winter solstice had been set at the 25th of December. Solstice derives from the Latin word solstitium, combining sun and stand still. Christ was already being associated with light, the sun and an end to perpetual darkness, so layering his birthday over a moment in which Rome already celebrated the end of shortening days

and what might be considered a rebirth of the sun just made sense. The use of the date was carefully designed to smooth Christianity's acceptance by the Roman Empire. Mithraism was a growing religion in the late 3rd century and focused on the idea of the unconquered sun. By absorbing this date as a focus for its celebrations, Christianity avoided setting aside the festivals of its rivals while associating Christ with renewal and the arrival of light.

The effort to meld existing celebrations into Christianity followed a very Roman tradition of incorporating rather than destroying the important dates and celebrations of conquered regions and peoples and it's symptomatic of Christianity's birth within the Roman Empire. Other festivals were key. carefully absorbed too. Saturnalia, an ancient Roman celebration of Saturn, the god of agriculture, and his relationship to the growing of crops, was spread over several days from the 17th to the 23rd of December. Calens was traditionally set for the 1st of January and was the date on which the

empire's officials took their offices. Beyond the empire's bounds, Yule was also a significant celebration. Its Norse roots are poorly documented, but its influence can be seen in Christianity's medieval geography. Easter was usually considered the most significant Christian festival, but the farther north in Europe a traveller might go, the more importance was being attached to Christmas, in part because of its relation to the period of yule. You might have a fire going in the living room now, like I have. The yule log would be what kept you warm on Christmas Day. Right now for me, it's the port, but hey, don't judge. Norway is thought to be the birthplace of the tradition of the Yule Log. It would usually be lit using the remains of last year's

Yule Log, speaking to ideas of cyclical continuity. In some traditions, it was a whole tree slowly fed into the fire over the 12 days of Christmas, the rest of the tree hanging out into the room, which seems terrifyingly dangerous. Whatever was left, after the 12 days was safely stored to start next year's fire. The Yule log is the explanation for so many puddings that either share the name or the cylindrical shape. As recently as 1923, H.J. Rose noted the Yorkshire tradition of the Yule log. In the last generation, the Yule log was still burned

and a piece of it saved to light next year's fire. On Christmas morning, something great. a leaf or the like, was brought into the house before anything was taken out. In an age of central heating, Christmas imagery still lingers on the open fire, warming the family. The notion was absorbed into the idea of Christmas during the medieval period. What's next on our list of medieval links? The nativity scene. You might have a nativity set up somewhere in your home,

or you may pass them out walking in the shopping centre, or near the church. The nativity scene was developed through the Middle Ages as the church tried to get to grips with its own doctrine on Christ. At the Council of Nicaea in 325 and at Ephesus in 431, the church struggled to settle the nature of Christ, whether he was God or man or a bit of both.

Nicaea had declared that he was both, but the ambiguity was unsatisfactory and was removed at Ephesus when it was settled that Jesus had been God from birth. These debates all helped to focus attention on the moment of Christ's birth, as well as establishing Mary as the mother of God as distinct from the mother of Christ. It's perhaps no surprise that the first recorded celebration of the Feast of the Nativity arrived in 336. In 400, an eyewitness account recorded a celebrant.

of the date with an accompanying crib. By the 430s, in the immediate aftermath of Ephesus, a crib is recorded in Rome as part of the celebrations. It's sometimes claimed that St Francis of Assisi invented the crib scene, first creating one at Greco in 1223, but that can't be correct because we know they'd been part of Christmas celebrations for nearly 900 years by then, and that was 800 years ago. The idea and the spectacle continued to develop to include the shepherds, the magi and so on.

In a changing world in which fashions come and go, the sheer longevity of some of these traditions is astounding. The crib is first recorded in the same year that Emperor Constantine reconquered Dacia for the Roman Empire, and it's still a mainstay of Christmas nearly 1800 years later. After all this initial excitement around the celebration of Christmas, it seemed to wane in importance for several centuries. The beginning of its revival appears to have been in the year 800, when Charles the Great, better known as Charlemagne, was crowned emperor of the Carolingian Empire on the 25th of December.

The re-emergence of Christmas as an important celebration is therefore something we owe to the medieval world. Several of the things that we associate with the Christmas period are very medieval too. Advent was a fixture in the run-up to Christmas by around the year 500. It was originally called the quadragesima of St Martin, referring to the 40 days that it lasted. Advent is definitely less of a mouthful.

I wouldn't fancy asking the kids if they'd open their quadragicema of St. Martin calendars every morning. There's plenty of confusion over whether Advent was meant as a time of penit as northern Europe preferred with fasting and abstinence, or of joyous celebration, an approach preferred in the south where the influence of saturnalia in the Roman world still lingered. Looking around the room, I don't know how I missed that huge, flashing hulk in the corner,

but the Christmas tree, as we might recognise it, as it may be standing in your home during December, emerges at the very end of the medieval period. It became a central part of the first of the farcephal period. festive period after Queen Victoria and Prince Albert were shown in an illustration with their children gathered around a Christmas tree in 1848. The fashion was immediately seized on in England and the tree has kept its place at the core of Christmas celebrations ever since. It seems to have first become part of Christmas traditions in Germany in the 16th century, perhaps as early as 1509 when we have

an engraving by Lucas Kranak the elder. The inspiration for today's tree is medieval and perhaps even older. John Stowe, a Tudor Antiquarian, wrote that before his time, every man's house and also his parish church was decked with home, ivy, bays and whatsoever the season of the year afforded to be green. He'd seen an account from 1444 that referred to a standard of tree being set up in the midst of the pavement in Cornhill, London, fast in the ground, nailed full of home and ivy for the disbought of Christmas to the people. The desire in the depths of winter's darkness and its bitter chill to remind ourselves that this wouldn't last forever, that renewal was coming, and to celebrate the moment when the tide turned, is very human. With no artificial light or heating

and a careful balance to be struck between eating enough to keep a family alive and making provisions last until winter was over, it's even easier to understand why the people of the medieval period would want to bring into their homes, evergreen branches that would speak directly to better times to come. It's the same reason Christ's birth became linked to the 25th of December,

a promise of renewal and salvation from darkness. The medieval chivalric romance of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, written by an anonymous 14th century author and the basis for the 2021 film The Green Knight is set at King Arthur's Court during Christmas. The Green Knight, who rides a green horse and is dressed all in green, as well as having green skin, can be interpreted as representing rebirth and fertility,

as well as a number of other things, including lust and witchcraft. I'll try not to give away any spoilers, but his challenge can be seen as representing both threat and promise, which come together at Christmas, the threat of starvation, cold and no crops, but the promise that things will change for the better, only to be repeated again at the same time next year. If you're interested in hearing the whole original story of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, it's available as an audiobook for subscribers to History Hit. Here's a description of what the anonymous 14th century writer thought the Christmas festivities at King Arthur's Court would look like.

This king lay royally at Camelot at Christmas Tide, with many fine lords, the best of men, all the rich brethren of the round table, with right rich revel and careless mirth. There, full many heroes tournade betimes, jousted full gaily, then returned these gentle knights to the court to make carols. For there the feast was held full 15 days alike

with all the meat and the mirth that men could devise. Such a merry tumult, glorious to hear, joyful din by day, dancing at night. All was high joy in halls and chambers with lords and ladies as pleased them best. What's next on the list? Ah yes. What's next on the list? Ah yes. Get it? I've got a list and I'm checking it twice. No, okay. Ho ho ho ho! I did nearly forget to ask though. Has he been? Were their presents waiting this morning?

Father Christmas emerged in England during the reign of Henry VIII. A fat man who gives presents instead of taking heads. You can kind of see the appeal. Tudor Father Christmas is often depicted in green. fitting with that medieval story of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. You see, it's all medieval really. Father Christmas is also known as Santa Claus, and that speaks directly to his relationship with St Nicholas. Nicholas was a 4th century Greek bishop of Myra, a place today located in Turkey and called Demri.

Nicholas's feast day was the 6th of December, and it was traditional on that date to give presents to children. At the Reformation, when venerating saints was suddenly outlawed in Protestant countries, there was a desire to retain this tradition of gift-giving to children. So, St Nicholas became Santa Claus, Father Christmas, so that he could continue to deliver presents to those children around the world who'd been good enough. If you've had something cool for Christmas this year, thank medieval history for creating a tradition so beloved

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You might be getting ready to sit down for your Christmas dinner. dinner now, or perhaps trying to stay awake in its contented aftermath. Turkey arrived in England about a quarter of the way through the 16th century. Potatoes nearer the end of that century, so many elements of what we would consider a traditional Christmas dinner weren't available to medieval European tables. Nevertheless, feasting has always been at the heart of Christmas celebrations. Those who observed an advent that required abstinence would refrain from eating meat during the period,

so Christmas Day offered a chance to indulge in what they'd deprive themselves of. The food that was eaten by all but the highest tables isn't well recorded. Before the turkey's arrival, the yule boar seems to have been the centrepiece of many tables. This might have been an actual boar where they could be found, or a pie made into the shape of one, if a boar was. couldn't be hunted. Laborers might well expect a little time off work for the church's last great feast period of the year.

They might be invited to the local manor to partake of their Lord's hospitality there. Some records talk of visitors being expected to bring their own plate and tankered as well as a log for the fire, but then to be provided with as much food and alcohol as they could manage. Monks who wrote the chronicles of the period refer to monarchs. a nobleman holding a Christmas court or celebrating the period, but they offer little detail. You can sometimes feel the disapproval oozing from their brevity.

As the medieval period moved on, improved record-keeping gives us some glimpses of the breathtaking extent of those celebrations. One example is the Christmas of 1377. It's well recorded and often hailed as one of the best celebrated in England during the period, the gold standard of medieval Christmas. Richard II had just become king. He was only 10 years old and his minority was being overseen by his uncles.

The oldest, richest and most influential, as well as the most unpopular of these, was John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, who was most likely behind the arrangements for Christmas 1377. We're told by John Stowe that, on the Sunday before Candlemas, In the night, 130 citizens, disguised and well-horsed in the mummery,

with sound of trumpets, sackbots, cornets, shames and other minstrels, and innumerable torchlights of wax rode from Newgate, through cheap, over the bridge, through Southwark, and so to Kennington beside Lambeth, where the young prince remained with his mother and the Duke of Lancaster. The court reportedly catered to more than ten thousand. people. 28 oxen and 300 sheep were slaughtered and prepared as part of the feast. There were no doubt political reasons why 1377 was so extravagantly celebrated.

John of Gaunt wasn't on good terms with the city of London, and he may have been putting on a show to win them over as the country faced a minority period that would require them all to work together. Whatever the cynical reasons behind it may have been, it does offer a glimpse of what a medieval Christmas could look like when you didn't have to worry about the budget. Stowe continued, in the first rank did ride 48 in the likeness and habit of esquires, two and two together, clothed in red coats and gowns of say or sandal,

with comely visors on their faces. After them came riding 48 nights in the same livery of colour and stuff. Then followed one richly arrayed like an emperor, and after him some distance, one stately attired like a pope, whom followed 24 cardinals, and after then eight or ten with black visors, not amiable, as if they had been legates from some foreign princes. The presence of one dressed like an emperor

alludes to the medieval tradition of the Lord of Miss Rule, who was known in Scotland as the abbot of unreason. The tradition was related to the Feast of Fools, and the appointment of the boy bishop, which you can hear more about in the New Year's episode. And it speaks to a time when the imitation of your betters and the upsetting of the social order was encouraged and enjoyed. Obviously, the church didn't really like it.

A Lord of Miss Rule was frequently found at the courts of kings in the households of noblemen and even in law schools and universities. They might hold office for 12 days around Christmas, but were sometimes appointed as early as Halloween. Their job was to organise and oversee all of the Christmas parties. So if you do that at work at the moment, consider Lord of Miss Rule a new part of your job title. The Lord of Miss Rule probably evolved from the Magister Ludi,

the Master of the Games, who oversaw the Roman Festival of Saturnalia. The recollections of the 1377 celebrations continue that These masters, after they had entered Kennington, alighted from their horses, and entered the hall on foot, which done, the prince, his mother and the lords, came out of the chambers into the hall, whom the said mummers did salute, showing by a pair of dice upon the table, their desire to play with the prince, which they so handled that the prince did always win when he cast them. Then the mummers set to the prince three jewels, one after another,

which were a bowl of gold, a cup of gold, and a ring of gold, which the prince won at three casts. Then they set to the prince's mother, the duke, the earls and the other lords, to everyone a gold ring, which they did also win. So gambling was another central part of the Christmas celebrations, and another upon which the church was. frowned, at least officially. Dice games were popular, as demonstrated here. The young Richard the 2nd is indulged by being allowed to win a rigged game of dice so that he can gain prizes,

a gold bowl, a cup and a ring. Other lords and ladies were then similarly indulged, doubtless with John of Gaunt picking up the tab for the prizes. There is some evidence that card games were beginning to reach England, perhaps with Gaunt's second wife, Constance of Castile, where it had been adopted from the Moorish population of the Iberian Peninsula. So when we gather to play board games, which we never do in my house anymore because it's an experience that leaves all involved traumatised in an intense and fiery atmosphere of competitiveness,

it's because of this medieval love of games at Christmas. Stowe's record of 1377 ends by telling us, after which they feasted and the music sounded, and Prince and Lords danced on the one part with the mummers, which did also dance, which jollity being ended, they were again made to drink, and then departed in order as they came.

So medieval Christmas essentially seems to have involved turning up at the big house, eating, drinking, dancing, gambling, being forced to drink some more, and then going home. Another example of the kind of thing that went on at Christmas can be found in the Paston letters, a treasure trove of personal and business letters

left by the Paston family of Norfolk in the 15th century. On Christmas Eve 1459, one family member wrote to another to try to work out how to behave at Christmas during a period of bereavement. Sir John Fastolfe, a close friend of the family, had just passed away, and the family ended up seeking advice from a neighbour

who had been widowed the previous Christmas. Asked what she had done, the widow was able to tell them, there were no disguisings, no harping, no looting, nor singing, and no loud sports, but playing at the tables and chess and cards, which sports she gave her folks leave to play, and none other. Although the story is sad and it's on the negative side, the restrictions placed on disguising's, harping, looting, singing, and other loud sports,

suggest that they were all part of the more usual Christmas festivities. Board games, chess and cards were the quieter, more respectful ways to enjoy a muted Christmas. The problem for the church that I mentioned earlier is that in its earliest days, it had adopted that Roman tactic of gently absorbing the rituals of converts so as to avoid depriving them of what they knew and loved. Rome would often add new gods to its pantheon. The monotheistic Christianity altered the process slightly by layering Christian festivals, anniversaries and celebrations

over dates that were already important in the pagan calendar. This created a risk of conflict between the pagan and the Christian, which, as the church grew more confident, more powerful and more sure of its doctrine, it became keen to shake off. It's worth noting, though, that this was often a sporadic effort, both in terms of time and geography. Some popes or bishops or leading religious figures might give it prominence for a time, and others less so.

Gregory the Great's letter to St Augustine of Canterbury around the beginning of the 7th century, referred to by the venerable bead, instructed Augustine to absorb and work with the pagan rituals that the newly converted English knew and held dear. We've seen the many ways in which the church employed this very tactic to ease its acceptance and enable its embedding in everyday medieval life. Contrast that with St Boniface,

an English-born missionary to Germany who became Archbishop of Mainz, and who was furious in 742 when he wrote to Pope Zachary. He'd been successfully converting German pagans to a doctrinally strict form of Christianity, and many had travelled to Rome for the Christmas period to visit the tombs of the apostles and experience the celebrations of the birth of Christ at the home of Christianity.

And what did they find? Well, Boniface raged. They returned with stories of singing and dancing in the streets in pagan style, heathen acclamations and sacrilegious songs, banquets by day and night. undoing Boniface felt all of his hard work. This is an essential conflict at the heart of many elements of the Christmas celebration still considered central and quintessentially Christian today.

In order to become an accepted religion, Christianity grafted itself onto dates in the calendar already important to the pagan world. It then sought to eradicate the origins of those rituals and traditions in order to make them wholly Christian. Finding something to celebrate in the depths of hard winters has been part of the human experience for millennia. The moment at which winter ceases to deepen, at which spring begins to creep back into the days to make them longer, and at which it's possible to look forward to better, warmer times when food will hopefully be more abundant is a natural moment for celebration. That, more than any other reason, seems to be why Christ's birthday was placed on the 25th of December,

why it's marked by a celebratory feast and merry-making, and why bringing greenery into the home was important. The actual date of Jesus's birth became less important than easing Christianity's acceptance and seizing on this fundamental part of the human experience to position Christ at the very moment when light begins to triumph over darkness, when the promise was no longer of shorter, colder days, but of warmth and of light pouring back into the world. The medieval mind had a clear grasp on what really mattered, not the literal, not the actual calendar date on which Jesus was born, but what it represented to the medieval Christian mind, the moment in which the world changed, which light began to prevail over darkness and in which we're supposed to have learned to love each other unconditionally.

Christmas represents the beginning of better things. The days lengthen almost imperceptibly. The sun warms slowly. The time to sow crops and enjoy plenty again creeps closer. It doesn't happen overnight, but the instance in which it starts is a moment of hope. These things are true whether you're Christian or not, and the moment has been celebrated since before Christianity existed. Perhaps the reason traditions associated with Christmas have persisted for centuries, and were lifted from traditions stretching back millennia more, is that they fulfil such a basic human need to hope for better. So, if you're celebrating Christmas, then enjoy all it has to offer, but maybe spare a moment's thought for why we do the things we do during this period.

It has less to do with being Christian than with being human, and we're all human. Remember too, it's basically a medieval party you're having right now. You can join Dr Kat Jarman on Tuesday for a brand new episode. Please subscribe wherever you get your podcasts. It really does help and let all of your friends and family know that you've gone medieval. If you'd like a little more medieval goodness in your life, then you can subscribe to our Medieval Monday newsletter. Just follow the link in the show.

show notes below. Anyway, I'd better let you go and get back to your Christmas Day. I've been Matt Lewis and we've just gone medieval at Christmas with history hit.