| Title | : | The Night Before Christmas |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 0399231900 |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9780399231902 |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Hardcover |
| Number of Pages | : | 32 |
| Publication | : | First published December 23, 1823 |
The Night Before Christmas Reviews
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AND NOW IS THE TIME OF YEAR I FLOAT OLD CHRISTMAS REVIEWS TO COUNTDOWN TO BING BONG BING BONG!!!
IT IS CHRISTMAS EVE!
i'm not sure if this is the correct edition to review. the one i have is also illustrated by arthur rackham ♥, but it has this cover:
which is much better than the one shown above.
i'm not sure how to review this, because it's just the night before christmas, but since i feel compelled to review all the books i read ever, i am just putting it out there that this is a wonderful christmas present to receive, and reading it on christmas eve with a giant mug of cocoa is a pretty nice way to spend a few minutes.
also - i love arthur rackham.
merry merry!!
come to my blog! -
This is one of my most treasured Christmas books to read over the holiday season, particularly on Christmas Eve. I believe most people already know the classic poem “Twas the Night Before Christmas” by Clement C. Moore, and I just reviewed another vintage edition that we read every year, but this version is also grand. This picture book contains beautiful illustrations that are lifelike and enchanting. It's one to keep.
5***** -
The Night Before Christmas: The Classic Account of the Visit from St. Nicholas, Clement C. Moore
Clement Clarke Moore (July 15, 1779 - July 10, 1863) was an American writer and Professor of Oriental and Greek Literature.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night! Since it first appeared anonymously in 1823 as A Visit from St. Nicholas. It is, and always has been, the quintessential holiday tale. It's a must-have stocking filler for readers aged 5 and up. This book contains beautiful illustrated pictures.
تاریخ نخستین خوانش روز نوزدهم ماه آوریل سال2022میلادی
عنوان: شب قبل از کریسمس؛ نویسنده: کلمنت سی نیکولاس؛ موضوع داستانهای نویسندگان ایالات متحده آمریکا - سده19م
در شب کریسمس، خانواده ای در حال خوابیدن هستند، از پنجره که به بیرون نگاه میکنند، «سنت نیکلاس» را در سورتمه ای میبینند، که هشت گوزن شمالی آن را میکشند؛ «سنت نیکلاس» پس از فرود سورتمه اش روی پشت بام، در حالیکه گونی اسباب‌بازی را با خود دارد، از دودکش وارد خانه می‌شود؛ پدر مینگرد که بازدید کننده اش جورابهای آویزان شده کنار شومینه را پر میکند، و میخندد؛ پیش از اینکه «سنت نیکلاس» دوباره دودکش را ببندد، لحظه ای دل انگیز را نیز به اشتراک میگذارد، در حال پرواز، «کریسمس مبارک برای همه، و برای همه یک شب خوب» را آرزو میکند
تاریخ بهنگام رسانی 31/01/1401هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی -
This is such a classic!
I LOVE this Christmas story, I read it every year, if not more than once. This format was great to read to the kids (ebook) although there weren’t really cool pictures to share with them. Great for just reading at bedtime off your phone for free through KU though. -
Merry Christmas, all you who celebrate this day, one way or the other!
Every year, in some fashion, I read this aloud to the kids. This is one of the old classic illustrated versions, more for me than the kids, in a way, though we have five versions of it around the house this time. Everyone likes it, though this year the eldest mimics some of the action that I describe, lightly making fun of it. He has this idea Santa no longer exists! Where do these kids nowadays get this fake news!?
Here it is, folks. Just begin reading iot aloud and if no one hits you with a Christamas stocking, keep on reading!
“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, Donder and Blixen!
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 pedler 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!” -
Re-read the copy Gammy & Grandy gave me for Christmas in 1972. I love the illustrations in this edition more every single year.
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'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' 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 danc'd in their heads,
- The opening lines of 'Twas the Night Before Christmas.
'Twas the Night Before Christmas or A Visit from St. Nicholas, by Clement Clarke Moore is arguably one of the most popular Christmastide themed poems ever written. The poem was originally published anonymously in Sentinel on December 23, 1823 and portrayed St. Nicholas, in an air-borne sleigh pulled by eight reindeer visiting houses and distributing toys for children on the Christmas Eve told through the eyes of a father. The poetry is short and simple and is pleasant to read and it follows a metrical form, which is almost similar to a limerick.
From the introduction of the edition from 1912 we can perceive Moore’s motivation behind writing the poem.Clement C. Moore, who wrote the poem, never expected that he would be remembered by it. If he expected to be famous at all as a writer, he thought it would be because of the Hebrew Dictionary that he wrote. He was born in a house near Chelsea Square, New York City, in 1781; and he lived there all his life. It was a great big house, with fireplaces in it; -- just the house to be living in on Christmas Eve.
Dr. Moore had children. He liked writing poetry for them even more than he liked writing a Hebrew Dictionary. He wrote a whole book of poems for them. One year he wrote this poem, which we usually call "'T was the Night before Christmas," to give to his children for a Christmas present. They read it just after they had hung up their stockings before one of the big fireplaces in their house. Afterward, they learned it, and sometimes recited it, just as other children learn it and recite it now.
This piece of poem that Moore wrote for his children Margaret, Charity and Mary influenced the physical appearance and the jolly bright personality of St. Nicholas in American popular culture pretty soon.
Lines like:
His eyes how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow; ,
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.,
and
he was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
Moore’s template for the Santa that he drew through his poetry soon replaced the centuries old characteristic depictions of St. Nicholas of Europe. The poem also influenced the ideas of Christmas Eve gifting and is believed to have popularized the concept of Santa visiting homes on Christmas Eve bearing gifts in America.
Santa as illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith based on the description by Moore in the poem.
The poetry was soon reprinted in many newspapers and magazines and was also adapted for many musical renderings.
A scan of the poem, which was printed in the December 29, 1877 issue of ‘Home Circle’ newspaper, published from Boston.
Jessie Willcox Smith - The Illustrator
Jessie Willcox Smith (right side, facing the camera) with artist Violet Oakley (left side, facing the camera), illustrator Elizabeth Shippen Green and horticulturist Henrietta Preface Cozens, a mutual friend of the three artists. Photograph from the Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution.
The edition, which I had with me, was published by Hougton Mifflin Company in 1912 and the poem was accompanied by cute and rich illustrations done by Jessie Willcox Smith, one of the most famous female illustrators in the US during the late 19th and early 20th centuries; a time period which is often regarded as the Golden Age of American Illustration. Born in 1863 in Philadelphia, Jessie Willcox Smith was a prolific contributor to a range of well known magazines and periodicals of the time like Good Housekeeping, Scribner's and Collier's . She also did illustrations for literary works like An Old-Fashioned Girl (Louisa May Alcott), A Child's Garden of Verses (Robert Louis Stevenson), The Bed-Time Book (Helen Hay Whitney), Dicken’s Children (Charles Dickens) and Heidi (Johanna Spyri).
Jessie Willcox Smith was definitely influenced by French impressionist painters in her choice of colors and was equally proficient in working with a whole range of media like oil, watercolor, charcoal and pastels. A large percentage of her works reflects motherly love with children being portrayed as the main subjects. She passed away in 1935.
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 conclusion of the poem as illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith - from the 1912 edition of ‘Twas the night before Christmas’
The illustrations in this edition reflect the spirit and joy of Christmas and they portray the wonder, the cheer and the anticipation, in children on the night of Christmas Eve.
:-) Happy Holidays to all my GR friends and I wish you all a very Smashing 2016. -
This book is featured on today's Shabby Sunday @
https://readrantrockandroll.com/2017/...
This is one of my most treasured Christmas books to read over the holiday season, particularly on Christmas Eve. I believe most people already know the classic poem “Twas the Night Before Christmas” by Clement C. Moore, and I couldn’t tell you how many different editions we have of this one, but what makes this edition so special to me are the classic vintage illustrations by Leonard Weisgard that take me back in time to my childhood. I think I cherish this version more than my kids do for that reason alone.
My edition is the 1983 printing by Grosset & Dunlap. The cover is in bad shape and I’ve had to hot glue the pages back in already. The pages, however, are in near perfect condition! They’re crisp and clean for their age and the illustrations are still as vivid as ever.
5***** -
Read it again aloud last night. Merry Christmas, to all you who celebrate this day in one way or another, and may you have a happier New Year!
But go ahead, you, too, read this aloud Christmas Eve or on Christmas to someone or someones. It's not fake news; my mom swore every word is true, and I never knew her to tell a lie:
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 the 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 the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it 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 dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top 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 of 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 bowlful 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!" -
'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 down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the 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 the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it 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, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top 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 of 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 bowlful 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."
Merry Christmas Goodreaders!! -
I just love this beautiful edition. It’s huge and my favorite is the big pull out page!!
Sorry the pics aren’t the greatest. I have to go to the computer now to upload my own pics so I got the ones out in the ethos!
Mel 🖤🐶🐺🐾 -
Still a delight to read after all these years ...
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We've all heard this poem so many times that it easily loses its magic and beauty. This CD/Book edition is a spectacular combination for bringing the poem back to life. On the CD is an interview with Jan Brett about her work, practices for completing a book, and even her chickens. Then while Jim Dale narrates, the Boston Pops accompany the reading of the poem with closeups of the gorgeous and intricate illustrations on the screen. By the way, it is no surprise that the Pops are helping out as Jan Brett's husband is a bass player in the orchestra. Needless to say, this is an unforgettable way to experience this iconic poem. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!
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I couldn't resist --- got this as another early Christmas present for my youngest daughter (4 years old). Like with "How the Grinch Who Stole Christmas", she loved it. Unfortunately, I will be away from home, working this Christmas --- but she liked this so much, she wants me to read it to her via video chat on Christmas Eve. So --- definitely a 5-star rating. A classic every parent ought to read to their kids during the Christmas season!
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This is a version of the classic poem illustrated by Jessie Smith in 1912. (I couldn’t find a correct entry in Goodreads, this is the best I could do.) I rather enjoy the artwork and I recognize a few panels that companies use for Santa Claus. I haven’t seen this one. Santa isn’t all in red, but dark clothes with soot and ashes on him. The artwork reminds me of turn of the century coca-cola product art.
The kids love this poem.
From the Treasure of Winter-time Tales. -
A lovely, festive, and timeless Christmas poem which really fills me with the Christmas spirit.
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A visit from Saint Nicholas may have seemed more like a Yuletide home invasion back in 1823 – or so it might seem from a close reading of Clement Clarke Moore’s original poem. That poem, which may be better-known to many readers simply as “The Night Before Christmas,” has done a great deal to influence how Americans in the two centuries since its publication think about the holiday – even if the Saint Nicholas of the poem differs in many respects from the popular Santa Claus figure of the present day.
A word, first, about an authorship controversy that still swirls, like cold winter winds, around this beloved poem. While Moore, a classics professor and Episcopalian divine at New York’s General Theological Seminary, took credit in 1837 for the anonymously published 1823 poem, a number of critics and historians have joined with the family of Henry Livingston Jr., in claiming that Livingston, a New Yorker who served as a major in the Continental Army during the American Revolution, actually wrote the poem and regularly recited it to his children.
It would seem, therefore, that – just as Shakespeare scholars are divided into “Stratfordians” (who believe that Shakespeare wrote his own plays) and “Oxfordians” (who insist that Edward DeVere, 17th Earl of Oxford, actually wrote the plays and had them published under Shakespeare’s name) – so those who examine the life of this poem can be divided into “Mooreans” and “Livingstonians.” But without delving too far into the holly-thorned thickets of literary controversy – where, 100 years from now, Dr. Scrooge of Oxford and Dr. Grinch of Stanford and Dr. Krampus of Heidelberg will no doubt be fighting out this controversy in the scholarly journals of 2121 – let us turn to this delightful poem, and enjoy it for its own sake, in the true spirit of Christmas.
The poem begins on a note that will be quite familiar to everyone:
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…
Here, we see that by 1823 – in the midst of American history’s “Era of Good Feeling,” in the year when President James Monroe had published the “Monroe Doctrine” stating that the nations of the Americas were henceforth closed to European colonization – the tradition of hanging stockings by the chimney, for Saint Nicholas to fill them with gifts, was already well-entrenched.
The scene is one of a peaceful, contented, safe early-19th-century American home –
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 down for a long winter’s nap…
And that scene too has become thoroughly familiar to us, even if relatively few people, young or old, eat sugarplums nowadays.
At that point, the poem takes on a somewhat darker tone – “When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,/I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.” Even if the makers of the film The Santa Clause (1994) had some fun with these lines from the poem, showing the appearance at the main characters’ house of a magical ladder manufactured by “The Rose Suchak Ladder Company,” it seems evident that the speaker of the poem, a homeowner, is worried about the prospects of a burglary gang attacking his peaceful home.
Once the worried homeowner has flown like a flash to his bedroom window, opened the shutters, and raised the sash, he engages in an oft-overlooked bit of elaborate 19th-century description – “The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow/Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below”. And against that brightly lit winter night-time landscape, the reader gets a first sight of “a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.”
The manner in which the speaker insists upon the miniature size of the sleigh and reindeer may seem a curiosity to us nowadays, as the sleigh and the eight reindeer are always depicted in modern Christmas tales as being full-size. But given the “elf” references that appear throughout the poem, the poet may have felt obligated to make these future archetypes of the Christmas holiday “elfin” in nature by reducing their size.
It is at this point that we are introduced to one of the most famous characters in all of folklore – as the reindeer are being guided by “a little old driver, so lively and quick,/I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick.” The reader must wait a bit for more of a proper introduction to the saint, as the poet, evidently quite taken with the image of the reindeer as “coursers”, shows Saint Nick calling to his reindeer by name, issuing a quite-specific command:
“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!”
There it is: the reindeer have names – names that will live on as long as December 25th is celebrated as a holiday.
Once this command has been given, the poet offers one more descriptive flourish, and then the eight reindeer display their most famous magical ability:
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and Saint Nicholas, too.
Please note that the reindeer do indeed fly, but only in response to Saint Nicholas’ command, and only for the purpose of getting the sleigh up and onto the roof; evidently, up until that point, the sleigh and its reindeer simply went dashing through the snow just the way less magically-adept people’s horse-drawn sleighs do.
The speaker of the poem hears the hoof-prints of reindeer “prancing and pawing” on his roof; and then, just as he’s closing his window, “Down the chimney Saint Nicholas came with a bound!” The poem takes on particular interest for the modern viewer here, as the speaker gets his first clear look at a Saint Nicholas who appears quite different from the Santa Claus of today:
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.
This “St. Nick,” I would dare say, looks quite different from Saint Nicholas of Myra (270-343 A.D.), whose surprise gifts of gold coins, dropped through the windows of three homes of poor families in Asia Minor, saved the marriageable daughters of those families from being sold to human traffickers. Nor does this soot-covered, fur-clad figure seem much like the red-and-white-clad Santa Claus of today, who took shape in the early 20th century in depictions like Haddon Sundblom’s illustrations for Coca-Cola advertisements.
Even the use of the word “peddler” is multi-layered and potentially troubling. Peddlers were the door-to-door salesmen of their day; they brought the convenience of immediate access to consumer goods in a still largely-rural America, but represented a potentially troubling irruption of “outside” values (as demonstrated by the profusion of “traveling salesman” jokes in American folklore). And, as the Wikipedia entry on peddlers points out, peddlers in 19th-century America were often of Greek, Italian, or Jewish background, belonging to groups that faced ethnic intolerance and religion-based discrimination from the monolithic, Anglo-American, Protestant majority of the U.S.A.’s population.
One wonders: if the devout Moore did indeed write this poem, might he be offering a subversive, transgressive reminder to his readers that the Saviour they all worshipped was a Jewish man who dressed humbly (perhaps not unlike a “peddler”), had no fixed address, and was rejected by many of the “respectable” people of His time? Or that the original Saint Nicholas was Greek, and would have been Orthodox rather than Protestant, and was a man who spent his life preaching human equality rather than seeking to elevate some human beings “above” others? But perhaps I’m reading too much into the poet’s deployment of one simple word. Or perhaps not.
We can all agree that the poet’s depiction of Saint Nicholas is vivid, with immediate sensory appeal and compelling characterization:
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 of 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 bowlful of jelly.
Here, we see elements of the modern Santa Claus archetype taking shape. He is jolly, benevolent, slightly mischievous – as suits someone who commits countless acts of breaking-and-entering each year, but breaks into homes to give gifts rather than taking things away. All one needs to do is take away the details about Saint Nicholas smoking a pipe – something that would not pass muster with modern sensibilities.
Overall, St. Nick makes a positive impression on the poem’s speaker – “He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf/And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.” And the speaker’s fears of a home invasion by elves finally seem to be dissipated when the speaker reflects that “A wink of [St. Nick’s] eye and a twist of his head/Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.” About time you realized that, sir!
Free at last of the homeowner’s suspicions, St. Nick “spoke not a word, but went straight to his work/And filled all the stockings”, as has been a St. Nick tradition ever since. Once he is done with his appointed task, St. Nick “turned with a jerk,/And laying his finger aside of his nose,/And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose” – demonstrating the magical gravity-defying abilities that would become a part of Santa Claus folklore forevermore.
The poem’s speaker records that St. Nick “sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,/And away they all flew like the down of a thistle”. It is not clear here whether the word “flew” means that they flew through the sky, in the conventional Santa-and-reindeer scenario of today, or whether they all just drove off in the sleigh really quickly. Nonetheless, the speaker heard St. Nick “exclaim, as he drove out of sight,/Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
There have been many book adaptations of “The Night Before Christmas” – Acadian (“Cajun”), African-American, Arizonan, Irish, “Kiwi” (New Zealand), LaNochebuena (Mexican), Ozark, Pennsylvania-Dutch, and Texan “Nights Before Christmas,” as well as versions for dinosaurs, pirates, and the Rugrats, and even occupation-specific variants directed toward librarians, pirates, preachers, principals, soldiers, and teachers. And there have been eight films with the title, from 1942 to 1994. Here one sees proof of the poem’s ongoing power and influence, along with evidence in favour of that old saying regarding the sincerest form of flattery.
Yet nothing – not authorship controversies, not a host of not-always inspired readings and adaptations, not the changes in holiday fashion over two centuries and counting – takes away from the power and the influence of this little poem. Whether you call it “A Visit from Saint Nicholas” or “The Night Before Christmas,” it is one of the most influential poems ever written, and is a joy to experience, on Christmas Day or at any other time. -
At what age did you stop believing in Santa Claus? Last Christmas, I still had to buy something for my daughter and wrote “From: Santa Claus” on the gift tag because she still believed in him. She was 16.
This morning while I was about to drop her at the gate of her school, she again borrowed the rosary hanging on the rearview mirror of my car. The rosary was a gift from my friend who attended the World Youth’s Day in Brazil this year so I am proud of it and taking care of it. The beads are made of wood and each mystery has its own color. As my daughter was removing it from the mirror I told her that I will *hint, hint* … or maybe Santa Claus will… give her a rosary for Christmas so she will stop borrowing my rosary. She sweetly smiled as if in acceptance that a rosary would be a nice gift from Santa. She is now 17.
Do parents need to stop encouraging their young children to believe in Santa Claus? When the child grows up, are parents expected to correct this by saying something like, ”Now that you are a grownup, sorry if we fooled you but there is no Santa.”
Clement Moore, the author of this poem ’Twas the Night Before Christmas, was a reticent man and it is believed that a family friend, Miss H. Butler, sent a copy of the poem to the New York Sentinel who published the poem. The condition of publication was that the author of ’Twas the Night Before Christmas was to remain anonymous. During that time professors were highly respected people in the society and it was shameful for them to author any works for children. The poem was first published on 23rd December 1823 and it was an immediate success. The reason? It set the most appealing and now widely-accepted image of Santa Claus: with his toy-giving activity on Christmas Eve with his sleigh and pulled by the eight reindeers including their individual names. From then on, the tradition of reading ’Twas the Night Before Christmas poem on Christmas Eve is now a worldwide institution and tradition. Moore said to have been inspired by a trader whom he saw doing retails one Christmas morning with goods on a sleigh and also, of course, the image of St. Nicholas.
So it was Moore who started this idea of children to believe in Santa Claus. Did he do us a favor? Or is it high time that we stop this crap altogether?
In my opinion, the sweet smile that my daughter gave this morning was an indication that she now knows that I have been her Santa Claus all these years. So, there is no need for me to tell her. She does not say that she knows. Neither do I need to apologize to her for fooling her. I think that she now equates the image of Santa Claus to something similar to that of a father’s love. My love for her. That Santa is an extension of that love that is somewhat special that it gets to manifest itself during Christmastime when the weather is cooler and people are merry and bright. -
A cute illustrated book of the classic poem. It brings so much nostalgia and good memories.
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My review disappeared, so annoying. I had completed my 2021 reading challenge of 325 books and now it's down to 323, Goodreads says 'better luck next year'
The reviews for this book seem to have been combined with other reviews for 'Twas the Night Before Christmas illustrated by other illustrators. This review is for the recently published P.J Lynch version.
This much awaited picture book was really disappointing, I love this illustrator and was expecting another 5 star read. Maybe there was something wrong with my copy but the images were so dark you couldn't make out what they were unless you read directly under a very bright light. It's disappointing it's so dark, you can't read this by candlelight or firelight, it's too dark to read by a bedside light which is probably where most people will be reading or attempting to read this one. Even the cover was much darker than the image here on Goodreads and you could barely make out what it was.
I thought it was pointless in a recently published book to have Father Christmas smoking, no idea why this was included. -
I have read this story every Christmas Eve for as long as I can remember, it's always been part of our Christmas traditions and it will always have a special place in my part because of that.
I don't think there are many people out there that aren't familiar with this poem by Clement C. Moore that was originally published in 1823. Theres a reason it's a classic and that's because it captures the magic of Christmas. We've had many versions of the book over the years but the one we read from now is beautifully illustrated by Richard Johnson, this is such a gorgeous book and I can't imagine a Christmas without it!
'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 down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the 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 the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it 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 dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top 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 hand, 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 of 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 bowlful 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!
-
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
This review is from the following free Kindle edition:
Product Details
ASIN: B004UJKKC0
Publication date: March 30, 2011
Language:: English
File size: 82 KB
Simultaneous device usage: Unlimited
Text-to-Speech: Enabled
Screen Reader: Supported
Enhanced typesetting: Enabled
X-Ray: Enabled
Word Wise: Enabled
Print length: 26 pages
Lending: Enabled
Our daughter and I had not read this together since she was very little but she could still recite some passages as I read. At age 12, near 13, she thinks that she is too old and mature for many "childish" things, but not for this classic beloved Christmas poem. One sign of her growing maturity is that she was also interested in my telling her facts about Dr. Clement Moore from the very good introduction to this free Kindle edition. Unfortunately, as usual, there were no illustrations in this edition.
Amazon and Goodreads have jumbled together reviews for different editions. Downloading a FREE edition is safe as you have nothing to lose except a little time but if you are purchasing a copy, read the description carefully and be aware that the reviews are not necessarily for the edition which you are considering. -
Neo led us through this holiday classic that never fails to put me in the mood for Christmas. Perhaps it is the silence in the house or the stirring atop the roof, but I can never get enough of the story. When St. Nick calls on his reindeer to make a soft landing and he exits to deliver presents, all I can think of is the gleam in the eye of little children (and Neo) to see what might be left. With some challenging words for Neo to tackle, especially those not usually used any longer, he was able to decipher most of it and sped through the parts he knows well. Wonderfully illustrated and full of colour as well.
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It's a delightful poem for the Christmas. Poet depicted the scenes from night before Christmas to the arrival of Santa Clause. It's written in very easy way. Didn't want to read this but accidentally opened it and thought to read it.
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Nothing, to me, says Xmas more than this poem. Showered with it throughout my childhood, I decided to pass on the torture.. I mean the joy of the simple little poem with my daughter.
It's strange how little it resembles the satanism and the consumerism of the (TM) Santa we've all grown to love and enjoy with our Coke, no?
And best of all, Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night! -
Just looking at this book every year makes me cry happy tears of nostalgia. Every Christmas Eve my father would read it to me before we put out the milk and cookies. My copy is worn and torn but brought out every year. I think this speaks to the power of books to help make some of our most cherished memories.
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The Night Before Christmas is a delightful little gem. I loved the simple yet heart-warming poetry with great descriptions and beautiful, rich illustrations. I don't know which version of this classic I read but I loved and read it few times back to back as it warmed my heart to no end.
5 stars -
Beautiful illustrations!
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How many decades ago did I memorize this poem, "Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash...." Does any kid now hearing this know what a "sash" is, not to mention a chimney etc. "As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly...": now as we await the wet leaves--and yacht boating boots--of the Republicans at their national convention hall in Tampa, a full foot above sea level at least: has anyone ever seen DRY leaves flying before a hurricane?
Sounds like someone from NY who has never seen a hurricane, possibly Clement Moore himself, possibly the one from whom some say he borrowed it.
I have said it from memory to my kids and maybe one grandkid, though now whole swatches of it have washed down the drain with other hurricane detritus.
There's a wonderful book by historian Stephen Nissenbaum on the growth of Santa over the long 19C, from a little man, the "right jolly old elf" of this 1822 offering, with his "stump of a pipe"--the remnant of a pottery pipe, a sign that this elf Santa was not properous--to the grand, well dressed and long-pipestemmed santas of today's bourgeois cards. In the poem, Santa is an intruder, the vestige of the old Christmas which was rather like our Halloween, with people coming to the door for chestnuts for a carol--not very different from beggars. In the poem, Santa is feared--though his smile "soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread." And his dress doesn't help, "his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot."* The gifts he distributes all fit in a stocking-- he "filled all the stockings...."
As the avatar of intrusive magic, Santa is powerful but not entirely welcome, a poorly-dressed, poorly-piped elf. Santa the smoker! Ah, times have changed.
Clement Moore chose a truly 19C meter to write in, anapaestics, a triple- meter like Cambridge poet Longfellow's "Evangeline," "This is the forest primeval..." in the other triple-foot meter, dactyllic. Moore did not hazard Evangeline's long, hexameter lines, but stuck with four anapaests, tetrameter. "'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house/ Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse." Moore also rhymed, while Longfellow's dactyls were unrhymed, recalling Greek epic meter, and Roman, Vergil's "Arma virumque cano, Troiae qui primus ab oris / Italiam, fato profugis, Lavinaque venit."
* Many dads have dressed up as Santas to fill their kids stockings, but the best I heard from a grad classmate decades ago. His father, an upstate NY judge, went to their front door Christmas Eve and yelled, "Get outta here!...Gwan!" His sons asked what was wrong. "Some bum. Filthy, covered with soot, dirty red pants." His young sons thought, "NO! He's chased away Santa Claus.." -
When my kids were little they memorized every other line of this poem. I would say a line and they would do their line till the last line that we would all say together. Since then it has become a tradition for every Christmas. So when Mr. H, my brilliant grandson, came along I set about teaching it to him. But, he decided to learn the whole poem. So at three he began entertaining us by reciting it. I LOVE traditions!! 😊🎄🎅🏻
