‘Tis the day before Christmas, and Hanukkah, too, 

And the South Branch has uncovered a mystery for you… 

Anyone who recognizes the meter and rhyme scheme of the above parody will easily attribute it to “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” as it’s officially titled, but more often referred to as “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.”  Because today is Christmas Eve (among other things, including the first day of Hanukkah), I thought it would be fun to write a bit about Clement C. Moore, the person who I recognized as the author of the poem and maybe even include the poem here, but as I was researching whether or not the poem was in the public domain, I came across these words from www.poetryfoundation.org: ” Authorship is typically attributed now to Major Henry Livingston, Jr., whose great-grandson spent many years trying to establish Major Livingston as the author.”

Huh? I grew up reading this poem every Christmas Eve with my mom (until we switched to A Christmas Carol later in my reading life) and saw the author as Clement C. Moore. The South Branch has a fairly extensive collection of wonderfully different illustrated versions of this poem – all attributed to Clement C. Moore. The Library of Congress attributes the poem to Clement C. Moore. Who is this Henry Livingston Jr. of which the Poetry Foundation speaks? Has my childhood been a lie?

Part of the problem is that the poem was originally published anonymously on December 23, 1823 in the Troy Sentinel and it was fourteen years before it was attributed to anyone. A friend of Moore’s, Charles Fenno Hoffman attributed it to his friend in 1837 and Moore himself assented to having it appear in an anthology of his works in 1844. Henry Livingston died prior to the authorship claims in 1828 and never made the claim of authorship himself. However, at the turn of the century, Livingston’s surviving family began to claim authorship on his behalf, asserting family lore, including that he had recited the poem to his children prior to its publication in the Sentinel. In 2000, a  scholar specializing in authorial attribution from Vassar College insists that it was Livingston, not Moore who wrote the poem, citing that several Dutch words were originally used in the poem of which Moore, an American who spoke some German, would not have known, but Livingston, an American descendant of Dutch farmers, would have known. However, Moore is said to have been friends with Rip Van Winkle and The Legend of Sleepy Hollow writer Washington Irving, whose familiarity with the Dutch traditions and culture in New York is well documented, and who wrote about St. Nicholas as smoking a pipe and laying a finger beside his nose before he disappeared (familiar images in the poem, yes?) in his A History of New York.

Encyclopedia Britannica claims that a “21-st Century, computer-aided analysis indicated that ‘A Visit from St. Nicholas’ showed more similarities to Livingston’s poetry than to Moore’s.” One would hope that Britannica would have a definitive answer, but it would appear that the debate still rages on. Mental Floss puts together an interesting article outlining both sides and the New York State Library has some interesting facts as well. If you’d like to hear the Livingston angle from the Vassar professor in a bit more detail, you can check it out here.

Sadly, I can’t put forth any answers for you here, but I did manage to solve one mystery:  even though authorship isn’t 100% certain, the poem is now in the public domain, so I am able to reproduce it here for you. Till next week, dear readers, have a safe and happy Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa and anything else you may celebrate this time of year! Enjoy!

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!”