There are a downsides
to having been raised vaguely Protestant
and residing in sometimes inhospitable northern climes. Perhaps the biggest is regarding with wistful
envy the liberating extravagance of Carnival
and Mardi Gras. It is the
un-religious holiday—a day of wallowing in the ways of the flesh and merry
making before getting down to the serious and unpleasant tasks of the proper
piety of Lent.
Catholics seem to know
how to take advantage of the opportunity, especially in warm places where the
streets beckon—New Orleans and Rio de Janeiro most famously. But folks from countries where Romance languages are spoken can find ways
to celebrate even in icy Quebec City.
The idea is
simple. Finnish up the Christmas season on the Feast of the Epiphany, the fixed day of
January 11, and then coast down the
hill of Ordinary Time until Ash Wednesday kicks off of Lent, which
by the lunar calendar falls anywhere from February to March, gathering speed all the
while. It is the “dead of winter.” Even in Mediterranean
countries it was dark and often cold.
Folks stayed inside more, got on each others’ nerves. But by Fat
Tuesday, the sap was running and Spring
seemed just over the horizon. Perfect
for one last opportunity to bust loose before breaking out the sack cloth and
ashes.
Protestants,
particularly Calvinists, their decedents,
and those who stood close enough by to be infected, took a dim view of the
whole process. More Papist/pagan nonsense
to them. A good Calvinist existed in a
state of perpetual Lent. The experience
of any sensual pleasure was regarded as a sinful distraction from contemplation
of the awesome majesty of God and our totally undeserving souls. It was for good reason that Puritanism has been described as the nagging
suspicion that somewhere, somehow, somebody is having a good time.
England, I am
told, once celebrated Carnival—a cultural gift of the Norman French aristocracy. Cromwell and his boys pretty much wiped
that out at the point of the sword. Even
when Kings remounted the Throne and the Anglican
Church regained the upper hand, the old traditions fell away. Instead they shrank the celebration down to
something called Shrove Tuesday, which
is celebrated mostly by making and eating pancakes. Now I bow to no man in my affection for
the flapjack or griddle cake, but even a high pile drenched in butter and real
maple syrup is a poor substitute for dancing semi-naked in the streets. They passed this tradition on to all of the
former pink spots on the globe where the Empire once ruled and to all of the Protestant
sects derived from Anglicanism and Calvinism.
Of course, not
all Catholics party with absolute abandon.
Those from northern and eastern Europe
either never celebrated or toned down Carnival. The Poles
celebrate with Pączki Day (pronounced pŭtch-kē). In the old country it was held on the
Thursday before Ash Wednesday, but in the immigrant communities of North
America it is held on Fat Tuesday.
Folks line up at bakeries at the crack of dawn to purchase pączkis, a
kind of jelly doughnut made only once a year.
This is a much bigger deal than it sounds.
In Germany, the Baltic states, and Scandinavian Fat
Tuesday is likewise celebrated with special local pastries meant to use up the
supply of sugar and lard before the Lenten fast.
Tonight the biggest and most honored Krews will be conducting
their parades in New Orleans. Down
there, they take Mardi Gras seriously and have stretched it to the whole season
between the Epiphany and Lent. Various
parades have been winding down the streets of different neighborhoods for weeks,
each followed by its own Ball. The
streets of the French Quarter will be crowded. Many revelers will be drunken northerners and
Calvinist escapees. They will party next
to the locals, drinking copiously, begging for beads cast from the parade
floats, and eying the pretty young girls flashing their tits. Everyone will forget that Rick Santorum or
the Catholic Bishops exist.
And I wish I was with them. It’s
been far too long since I reveled in sin and degradation.
I just finished this book and I have a hunch you'd enjoy it: Dancing in the Streets: A History of Collective Joy by Barbara Ehrenreich.
ReplyDeleteThanks!
ReplyDelete