In her piece of stuff this week, Ashley talked about the Germanic Christmas tradition of Krampus kidnapping naughty kids. Not to be out done, the Icelanders have a whole family hard at work sorting out whose been naughty and whose been nice, and dealing out punishments accordingly. The matriarch is Grýla, and although she is firmly a part of Icelandic Christmas tradition nowadays and features in children’s books and child-centric Christmas events. Her origins are decidedly darker.
The first appearance of Grýla in literature were in the thirteenth century, but she was clearly the subject of oral tradition long before that. At this time, she was not specifically related to Christmas and was probably part of the pagan past of the Icelandic people. In Snorri Sturluson’s Prose Edda, Grýla appears in the Skáldskaparmál (language of poetry) section, which is kind of a digest or handbook to understanding the allusions in Icelandic poetry, presented as a dialogue between Ægir, the divine personification of the sea, and Bragi, the god of poetry. Grýla appears in a list of heiti (appellations or terms) for troll-women. One manuscript of the Prose Edda, however, also has a list of heiti specifically for Grýla, gives a list of various terms for foxes.
It seems that in the original oral folklore Grýla was more bestial that the hag or crone of her current guise. Her name, Grýla, derive from gryle meaning howl or growl, and the earliest thirteenth century poems perhaps hint of her fox nature. One reads, “Here comes Grýla, down in the field,/ with fifteen tails upon her,” and another “Down comes Grýla from the outer fields/ with forty tails/ A bag on her back, a knife in her hand,/Coming to carve out the stomachs of the children/ who cry for meat during Lent.”[1] Grýla, then, is an intruding creature from beyond the homestead, even in the Christianized version; something from the outside that can cause harm, so not unlike a fox. The use of “comes” puts me in mind of Grendel’s approach to Heorot in Beowulf where the word com is repeated three times to create suspense. While the numerous tails on Grýla reminds me of the Kitsune of Japanese folklore, which can have up to nine tails: the more the older and more powerful. The kitsune can transform into human form, in some tales has omniscience, and can be bad or good.
The oldest Icelandic poem to connect Grýla to Christmas was written by Reverend Guđmundur Erlendsson (ca. 1595-1670), which opens with the line, “Hér er komin Grýla,” repeating that “comes” motif from the thirteenth century poems. Katlein Parsons in her analysis of this poem and two others of the seventeenth century tells us: “the basic narrative is basically identical: an insatiably hungry, animal-like antagonist arrives at a farm and begs for alms in the form of excess children (preferably naughty ones) but is inevitably refused – either placated with a gift of food or forcibly driven away. The unwelcome guest may visit more than one farm over the course of the poem, and the head of the household may co-operate to the extent of recommending a specific destination where he believes children may be particularly naughty.”[2] Grýla’s bestial nature continues to be emphasized in the seventeenth century poems. In one she is described as having hooves and a horn on her head, while in another she has a snout. While this Grýla is humanoid, she is not fully human, and she is cruel, crafty, and cannibalistic.
Over time Grýla’s family life become more defined. She has been married three times, and her latest husband is Leppalúđi, who is so lazy that he rarely gets out of bed, which is perhaps why Grýla must go about on her grisly begging. She also has a Yule Cat known as Jólakötturrin, but this is a cute kitty you’d have to stop and pet. Jólakötturrin is huge and vicious and is a bit of a fashionista. He prowls the snowy Iceland Yuletide on the look out for anyone dressed scruffily, and will eat anyone who has not received new clothes to wear before Christmas.
Grýla also has thirteen sons, collectively known as the Yule Lads. They are prankster-thieves who harass the population and steal from them. Each arrives on a different night before Christmas. First to come is Stekkjūstaur, the Sheepcote clod, who manages to harass sheep despite being impaired by two stiff peg legs; he comes on December 12. Then there’s Giljagaur, the Gully Gawk, he arrives on December 13 and waits for an opportunity to sneak into the cow shed to steal milk. On December 14, Stubby arrives, or Stúfur to give him his Icelandic name, and as the suggests he is abnormally short and his mischief is to steal cookware so he can eat the bits of food baked onto the bottom. Next up is Pvörusleiker, or the Spoon licker, who steals the wooden spoons used in cooking; he is painfully thin from malnutrition. Pottaskefill arrives on December 16, he is the Pot Scrapper, who steals pots to scrape out the leftovers. Askasleikir, the Bowl Licker, arrives on December 17 and hdes under beds waiting for someone to put a food bowl on the floor. On December 18, the Door Slammer, Hurđaskellir arrives, and as his name suggests he enjoys slamming doors, particularly in the middle of the night to wake everyone up. The next day, Skyrgámur, the Skyr gobbler arrives, skyr being a type of Icelandic yoghurt. December 20 sees the arrival of the Sausage Swiper, Bjúgnakraekir, who hides up the chimney hoping for the chance to steal any sausages that might be smoking. Gluggagaegir, the window peeper arrives next on December 21; he snoops at windows looking for things to steal. His brother, Gáttaþefur, arrives on December 22, he is the Doorway Sniffer, who has a very large noses and an acute sense of smell that he uses to locate bread. The ominously named, Meat Hook, Ketkrókur, comes the next day. But he only uses that hook to steal meat. Then lastly, December 24 sees the arrival of Kertasníkír, the Candle Beggar, who follows children to steal their candles, which he then eats because they are made of tallow.
The majority of Yule lads seem to be just trying to get some food, perhaps to show Icelandic children how lucky they have it compared to Grýla’s starving brood. One can imagine it may have been fun to “stage” the “crimes” of the Yule Lads to get children ready for Christmas and not focus on being greedy or careless.
In the twentieth century, the Yule lades were “santafied” and their starvation was replaced by a jolly santa look: they were given fat bellies and dressed in red costumes trimmed with white fur. Instead of stealing food, they instead left little treats for children. Grýla, herself, almost became sidelined because some people thought she was too scary. One popular Christmas song even killed her off. Lately, however, there has been a bit of a Grýla Renaissance, and there has been a cultural shift to reinstate Grýla, the Yule Cat, and the Yule lads to all their Christmas spookiness, which has been spearheaded by the Museum of Iceland.
[1] Quoted from Alex Palmer, Why Iceland’s Christmas Witch is Much Cooler (and Scarier) than Krampus,” Smithsonian Magazine, Dec 20, 2017.
[2] Katelin Parsons, “Grýla in Sléttuhlíđ,” in Gipla 24 (2013), 212-233.
Image credit: Grýla at wikimedia commons, author Thorsteinn, 1996. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Gr%C3%BDla-Gr%C3%BDlukv%C3%A6%C3%B0i2022.png
