The Legend of La Befana, the "Christmas Witch"
There's more to unpack here than you might think
January 6—to Americans, a day that will live in infamy, much like Guy Fawkes in the United Kingdom—is a holiday in Italy. As the last of the Twelve Days of Christmas, it commemorates the Epiphany and serves as a bookend to the season. The Epiphany or “Three Kings Day,” as you might recall, is when the Magi visited the Christ Child.
In Italy, it’s a whole lot more.
The Epiphany is also a celebration of La Befana, a broomstick-riding old woman who, on the previous night, brings gifts to good children and lumps of coal to bad ones. In the most Italian tradition ever, “lumps of coal” are actually pieces of delicious rock candy called carbone (coal) made out of powdered sugar, black food coloring, lemon juice and grain alcohol.
Keep in mind, La Befana has existed since the 13th century, long before Babbo Natale (Santa Claus) stole her thunder. She’s been rolling for years.
There are two legends regarding the origins of La Befana. In the first, the Three Magi stop at her house on their long journey to Bethlehem to ask for directions and grab a bite to eat. La Befana invites them inside, plies them with refreshments, and then asks where they’re headed. “We’re following a star that augurs the birth of a new king, a baby that will become our Savior,” one tells her. “Would you like to accompany us?”
La Befana thinks about this. It sounds exciting, but as a casalinga (housewife), she has a lot of chores to do. Regretfully, she declines the invitation, and the Magi go on their way.
Later, for reasons that are lost to us, she changes her mind. Gathering sweets for her journey, she sets out after the Magi, determined to see this baby savior they spoke of, but the Magi are long gone. With only a shining star as her guide, she tries to find Bethlehem, leaving sweets at every child’s door along the way. All these centuries later, La Befana is still searching for the baby Jesus.
But there is another legend, a much darker one. In this story, La Befana is just an ordinary mother with a greatly beloved son. The child dies, and she goes mad with grief. When news arrives that an infant savior was born, La Befana sets out to find him, convinced that he’s her son. Eventually, she meets Jesus and bestows gifts upon him, but the infant Jesus gives La Befana a gift in return—in the absence of her actual son, she will now become the mother of every child in Italy.
The first time I saw a La Befana celebration, I was enjoying an early-evening cappuccino at a bar in Civita Castellana, a village about an hour north of Rome, wholly ignorant of the tradition. Imagine my confusion when the piazza suddenly erupted with kids and parents, and a man wearing a witch costume climbed to the top of a belltower, mounted a broom, and then slowly descended on a single wire while tossing candy to the crowd. The entire procedure looked terrifying, and I held my breath until he safely landed and was promptly besieged by children.
In towns across Italy, this celebration is repeated on January 6, but nowhere so vividly as Piazza Navona in Rome where at midnight La Befana shows herself in a window. That’s the superstition, at least. Whether she actually appears is anybody’s guess.
It’s the psychological and symbolic architecture of the La Befana legend that speaks to me, and perhaps to you, too. In the original iteration, she wasn’t a witch, but a housewife, a woman of child-bearing age. She was invited to embark on the adventure of a lifetime, but chose not to go out of a sense of conscientious duty to her “daily chores.”
How many of us say no to a tough but rewarding journey when it beckons to us, whether that journey involves going back to school, writing a novel, moving overseas, switching careers, or having the courage to love again after heartbreak? There are always a thousand reasons not to do something, especially if the idea is wild and impractical. I can talk myself out of anything.
But La Befana regrets her decision. She packs her bag with sweets (symbolic wisdom and courage) and sets out. Her guides, the Magi, are long gone, and yet that doesn’t deter her. Here is a woman who understands life’s essential truth: it’s the process that matters. The journey. Whether she finds the baby Jesus (love in its many forms, familial or divine) or doesn’t, she still has gifts to give. Not just to our children, but the child in all of us.
The wisdom of woman, especially the Crone, often goes unheeded in fairytales and mythology—and the scoffers always come to regret it. So it must be with us. Let us not regret the things we failed to do because they were inconvenient or frightening.
Life calls to everyone, compelling them to “not miss the Magi.” The late, great poet Mary Oliver wrote, “What will you do with your one wild and precious life?”
It is my earnest hope that you will not waste it on trivialities. Reject what is familiar, safe, and comfortable, and strike out on your own Befana journey, even when it’s hard. Even when the way is unclear.
Trust me. You have gifts to give.
As always, I love to hear from you! Feel free to leave your comments below.
For some reason (probably because she played such a major role in the novel currently with the copy editor) the story caused me to flash on Baba Yaga, an enormously ambiguous figure in Eastern European folktales and myth.
Stacey, there is an increasingly influential subgroup in the Pagan community here in the US who are reviving folkloric figures like La Befana and having someone dressed as her to give out candy. People doing this usually do it at the winter solstice, and not on Epiphany. It's nice to see Italian-American customs being re-enacted instead of only north-west European folk traditions like Morris dancing and the Mari Lwyd from Wales.
Epiphany is also hugely celebrated in Haitian Vodoun, where Three Kings Day is a major holiday. I was very surprised. There is a lot of cake. Everyone likes a holiday with a great deal of cake.