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I realized something, last night:
Dec. 19th, 2018 11:11 amNamely, that a in "A Visit from Saint Nicholas," the narrator was dreaming.
Now, that’s far from proof that Santa Claus is fake (we can certainly have dreams about real people and real events). But it does ... loosen ... the scope of possibilities of how Santa Claus really fulfills his mission, each year (For example, the sleigh and reindeer, and chimney, may all be open to negotiation)
Here, let me break the poem down, and show you how I figured this out:
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the housetop the coursers they flew
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
The implication of this, of course (!), is that the 2014 Doctor Who Christmas Special, where Santa Claus invades people's dreams to help defeat the alien monster, and save their lives, is, arguably, the most true-to-the-original-poem depiction of Santa Claus that we have on screen.
And there's a certain part of me that is pleased by this.
Now, that’s far from proof that Santa Claus is fake (we can certainly have dreams about real people and real events). But it does ... loosen ... the scope of possibilities of how Santa Claus really fulfills his mission, each year (For example, the sleigh and reindeer, and chimney, may all be open to negotiation)
Here, let me break the poem down, and show you how I figured this out:
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap.
- So, the author and his family are already in bed and, if he, himself, is not sound asleep, yet, he’s certainly starting to drift off...
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
- Wait a minute -- his wife is in the room with him. If this were really happening, wouldn’t she wake up when he opens the window in the middle of the night, and lets in all that cold air (and yell at him for it)? I would.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the housetop the coursers they flew
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
- Okay, this whole thing started in the narrator’s bedroom... And now we’re in the main parlor (I think)? I mean, granted, bedrooms had their own fireplaces, back then. But would the children have hung their stockings on their parents’ private mantle? That seems odd for the waking world. But the sudden shift of location like this happens all the time, in dreams.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
- His clothes were covered in soot (from all that chimney bounding), but his beard was pristine (calling back to the snow imagery from before)?
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
- If this were happening in the waking world, there is no way the narrator could see Saint Nick get into his sleigh, and it would be very hard, if not impossible, for the narrator to see the sleigh flying away from the roof, while he’s still inside the room.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
The implication of this, of course (!), is that the 2014 Doctor Who Christmas Special, where Santa Claus invades people's dreams to help defeat the alien monster, and save their lives, is, arguably, the most true-to-the-original-poem depiction of Santa Claus that we have on screen.
And there's a certain part of me that is pleased by this.
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