Hypertrichosis: Notes on the Cases of Fedor Jeftichew and Petrus Gonsalvus

Jo-Jo the Dog Faced Boy and Petrus Gonsalvus

 

 

I.

 

Reading about the life of St. Christopher - the dog-headed bearer of Christ - made me wonder what had happened to Jo-Jo the Dog-Faced Boy; for despite having secured his place within the cultural imagination, it's ages since I last heard reference to him ... 

 

Fedor Jeftichew, better known by his professional name of Jo-Jo, was born in St. Petersburg in 1868, and was already a famous Russian sideshow performer before he was taken to the United States in 1884 by P. T. Barnum. 

 

Jo-Jo, like his father before him, suffered from hypertrichosis - a medical condition that results in an abnormal amount of hairgrowth either all over the body, or in localised areas. Although often a congenital condition, it can also be acquired later in life (so keep the clippers handy, 'cos you never know). 

 

Whilst, obviously, it can have negative consequences for the person afflicted, hypertrichosis does at least open up a career in showbiz; provided one is willing to accept being labelled a freak, like Jo-Jo, who was happy to tour extensively with the circus and play up to public expectations by barking and growling like a dog. (In reality, Jeftichew was a well-read individual who spoke several languages.)  

 

Sadly, Jo-Jo died from pneumonia, aged 36, in January 1904, whilst on tour in Greece. 

 

 

II.

 

Of course, not everyone born with a rare medical condition wishes to be considered a freak and accept life as a sideshow attraction. And the case of Petrus Gonsalvus (1537-1618) - aka the wild man of the woods - provides us with an example of someone who, despite their hypertrichosis, forged a highly successful (and relatively normal) life, even if never considered fully human by many of his contemporaries. 

 

For not only did Gonsalvus serve as a popular royal courtier in France (where he was raised from childhood by King Henry II and educated in the ways of a gentleman) and Italy (where he eventually settled), but he was also a happily married family man (despite four of his seven children being born on the excessively hairy side and thus subject to extensive medical inquiry and artistic interest). 

 

It is thought by some commentators that the story of Gonsalvus and his young French wife, Lady Catherine, may have partially inspired the fairy tale Beauty and the Beast. Whilst I'm not convinced of this, what I can believe is that the Church refused to give Gonsalvus a decent Christian burial on the grounds that he was part-animal (just something else for Jesus and the angels to weep about).       

St. Christopher: the Dog-Headed Saint

Ágios Christóforos

Kynokephalos

Until I read the 'Sinister Writings of Abel Tiffauges' [1], I had no idea that St. Christopher - the Christ-bearer - was widely believed in Byzantium to belong to the savage race of dog-headed people known as the cynocephali ... 

 

Obviously, the Orthodox Church didn't like to acknowledge this and disapproved of depictions of the saint that showed him as semi-human; it was only from the 17th-century on that artists began to paint Christopher in his full therianthropic glory (though these images were prescribed in 18th-century Russia during the reign of Peter the Great).        

 

The ancient Greeks, of course, were long familiar with canine-headed Egyptian dieties, such as Duamutef (son of Horus) and Anubis (ruler of all things associated with death) and believed that there was a race of dog-headed people living in the mountains of India who wore the skins of animals and communicated by barking.     

The cynocephali afford such a marvellous combination of magic and animality, that they have become archetypal figures within the human imagination, as we can see, for example, in medieval art and literature. Early Christian scholars wrestled with the question of their origin; how could they be descendants of Adam? And, if they weren't descendants of Adam, then how could they be considered human?     

It really is a fascinating topic; one which certainly makes me more interested in the life of St. Christopher, who was not only canine of feature, but described by some as a giant. I do wish he'd dropped the accursed Christ-child in the river, however, and left him there to drown. For if he had, then perhaps the latter's moral legacy would not continue to weigh so heavily upon us all ...   

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Part I of Michel Tournier's brilliant novel The Erl-King, trans. Barbara Bray, (Atlantic Books, 2014). See pp. 35-37. The account given here of the life of St. Christopher is adapted from Jacapo da Varazze's Golden Legend - a collection of hagiographies originally compiled c. 1259-66 and widely read in late-Medieval Europe.