The Battle For Christmas Part 2

Plebeian St. Nicholas. This ill.u.s.tration appeared in the first book-length edition of "A Visit from St. Nicholas," published in 1848 under Moore's name and almost certainly with his approval. (Courtesy, American Antiquarian Society) (Courtesy, American Antiquarian Society)

Long and Short Pipes. This engraving, used as the frontispiece to Irving's Knickerbocker's History Knickerbocker's History, was drawn by the well-known American artist Washington Allston. The four men in front are gentlemen; three of them are smoking long pipes. The plebeian tavern-keeper standing at the far back is smoking a short pipe. (Courtesy, American Antiquarian Society) (Courtesy, American Antiquarian Society) Clearly, Irving was suggesting that short pipes were a.s.sociated with working-cla.s.s radicalism in the early nineteenth century. Not surprisingly, his suggestion seems to have been accurate. A recent paper delivered by a historical archaeologist who has been studying artifacts from the boarding houses of the cotton mills in Lowell, Ma.s.sachusetts, bears the improbable subt.i.tle "Clay Pipes and Cla.s.s Consciousness." It seems that by the early nineteenth century, gentlemen smoked long pipes (some as much as two feet in length) known as "aldermen" or "church warderis;" workers smoked short pipes (or "cuddies"). It was not from economic necessity-that is, because short pipes happened to be cheaper-that working-cla.s.s men (and women) smoked them; rather, they did so as a public gesture of cla.s.s ident.i.ty. In fact, the archaeological evidence (in the form of numerous broken-off pipe stems) suggests that workers often purchased longer pipes and then proceeded immediately, before smoking them, to break off the stems. The evidence seems compelling: Few of the broken-off stems recovered from the Lowell mills bear any telltale tooth marks.48 Workers Workers chose chose to smoke "the stump of a pipe." to smoke "the stump of a pipe."

Which finally brings this excursion into literary history back into connection with social history, and the a.n.a.lysis of genteel mythology into connection with the social changes that helped to generate it. Remember what was actually happening in the streets of early-nineteenth-century New York during the Christmas season: the presence there of marauding bands of revelers who threatened peace and property, whose revelry often turned into riot, who used this annual opportunity to reclaim for themselves (if only symbolically) the fashionable residential territory that had recently become the private preserve of the well-to-do. Remember the example of John Pintard's unsettling experience on New Year's Eve in 1821, when he was kept awake until dawn by the noise of a callithumpian band that stayed outside his door. Remember Clement Clarke Moore's own anxiety, during the same period, over the slicing up of his pastoral estate into city streets for rapid development, the result of a plebeian conspiracy of artisans and laborers. Remember that Moore wrote "A Visit from St. Nicholas" in 1822, when the streets had just been dug and the development begun.

Viewed from this angle, there is something resonant about the choices Moore made in writing his little poem. And especially about his decision to both "defrock" St. Nicholas and "decla.s.s" him, to take away his clerical authority and his patrician manner, and to represent him instead as a "plebeian." Moore's decision meant that his St. Nick resembles, after all, the kind of man who might might have come to visit a wealthy New York patrician on Christmas Eve-to startle him out of his slumber with a loud "clatter" outside his door, perhaps even to enter his house, uninvited and unannounced. have come to visit a wealthy New York patrician on Christmas Eve-to startle him out of his slumber with a loud "clatter" outside his door, perhaps even to enter his house, uninvited and unannounced.

But there was one dramatic difference: The working-cla.s.s visitor feared by the patrician would come in a different way, for a different purpose. Such a visitor would have inhabited that murky ground between old-style village wa.s.sailing and the new urban political violence. He would have been youthful and full-sized, not a tiny "old elf." He would very likely have been part of a roving gang (perhaps a callithumpian band), not a single individual. He would have come to make all the noise he could rather than to speak "not a word;" to demand demand satisfaction, not to satisfaction, not to give give it; to hara.s.s or threaten his host, not to it; to hara.s.s or threaten his host, not to rea.s.sure rea.s.sure him that he "had nothing to dread." And, if he had finally departed in a genial spirit, wishing (in familiar wa.s.sail fashion) a "happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night," it would have been because he had him that he "had nothing to dread." And, if he had finally departed in a genial spirit, wishing (in familiar wa.s.sail fashion) a "happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night," it would have been because he had received received satisfaction, not because he had satisfaction, not because he had offered offered it. it.

By contrast, the household visitor Moore portrays has come neither to threaten his genteel host nor to make any demands on his generosity. The narrator of "A Visit from St. Nicholas" is openly fearful when St. Nicholas first appears, but his fears have been a.s.suaged by the time St. Nicholas departs.

There is another real-life variation on this theme. The houses and shops of well-to-do men in large urban centers were guarded, as we have seen, by night watchmen, a kind of private police force. As it happens, these watchmen, like other menial workers of the period, took the Christmas season as a time to ask their wealthy patrons for tips. We know this because the watchmen's ritual sometimes took the form of a printed broadside (much like the carriers' addresses discussed in Chapter i). A few of these broadsides-watchman's addresses, as they were known-have survived. All of them remind their wealthy readers of the sense of security their nocturnal vigilance has managed to provide, and all go on to beg a reward for their efforts. A particularly resonant watchman's address was circulated in 1829 by the watchmen of the Philadelphia suburb of Southwark. Headed "Southwark Watchman's Address for Christmas Day," it went in part like this: ... [W]hile you're reposing in sleep's fond embrace, Upon your rich soft downy bed, The Watchman, who's one of your own fellow race, Sees clouds gathering thick o'er his head.This doth not affright him, his pathway is clear, To serve you, he's ne'er seen to stray; To shield you from danger, and guard you from fear, Propels him alone on his way....

Watchman. The watchman is guarding a fenced-in New York estate at night. This ill.u.s.tration appeared in Cries of New-York Cries of New-York, published in 1822, the same year that Clement Moore wrote "A Visit from St. Nicholas," and was the work of Alexander Anderson, the ill.u.s.trator who also executed John Pintard's 1810 St. Nicholas broadside. (Courtesy, American Antiquarian Society) (Courtesy, American Antiquarian Society) The ruffian ruffian at midnight is drove from your door, at midnight is drove from your door, By the watch that is faithful and true; And this keeps in safety your house and your store; To him, then, is grat.i.tude due.

Here the watchman has reminded his patrons that he is protecting them in their "rich soft downy bed"-protecting them, indeed, from the "ruffian" who tries to enter in the middle of the night (and in the context of the Christmas season it is surely significant that the watchman has chosen to speak of a "ruffian" and not of a thief). He shields his prosperous patrons from danger and fear, to be sure. But he also makes demands of his own, demands that take the cla.s.sic form of a wa.s.sail: Now to close, he wishes you health, to fare well; And your mite from him hope you won't spare.49 On such occasions the watchman in effect turned the tables on his ordinary role, symbolically becoming the very personage from whom he is supposed to offer protection. As with any wa.s.sail there was always a veiled edge of threat behind the good wishes-and in this instance a miserly patron would surely be risking far more than a wet newspaper!

But if "A Visit from St. Nicholas" spoke to the physical fears fears of its upper-cla.s.s readers, it also addressed their moral of its upper-cla.s.s readers, it also addressed their moral guilt guilt. What it suggested was that Santa Claus was one Christmas visitor to whom the patron owed no obligations, not even tips. This visitor asks for nothing, and by implication his host owes him nothing-an important point, if one is willing to believe that even as late as the 1820s many patrician New Yorkers still felt a strong, if inchoate, obligation to be generous to the poor during the emotionally resonant holiday season.

If Moore's upper-cla.s.s readers were to be comfortable at Christmastime, they needed to have at their disposal a cla.s.s of dependents whose palpable expressions of goodwill would a.s.sure them that they had fulfilled their obligations after all. They did this in part by subst.i.tuting their own children for the needy and homeless outside their household. In that way, as we have seen, they managed to preserve the structure structure of an older Christmas ritual, in which people occupying positions of social and economic authority offered gifts to their dependents. The children in their own households had replaced the poor outside it as the symbolic objects of charity and deference, and the grat.i.tude those children displayed at present-opening time was a re-creation of the old Christmas exchange-gifts for goodwill. The ritual of social inversion was still there, but it now remained securely within the household. of an older Christmas ritual, in which people occupying positions of social and economic authority offered gifts to their dependents. The children in their own households had replaced the poor outside it as the symbolic objects of charity and deference, and the grat.i.tude those children displayed at present-opening time was a re-creation of the old Christmas exchange-gifts for goodwill. The ritual of social inversion was still there, but it now remained securely within the household.

Still, that change could easily have been implemented without transforming St. Nicholas from a bishop and a patrician into a plebeian (indeed, it could have been achieved without introducing St. Nicholas into the picture at all). By representing him as a plebeian, Moore allowed something else to happen, and it's a fascinating transformation. Without losing his role as the bringer of gifts, St. Nicholas has taken on an additional function: that of a grateful, nonthreatening old-style dependent. In the first of these roles (as gift-bringer), St. Nicholas is purely imaginary-a fiction devised for children, a private joke among adults (more about that in a moment). In the second role (as grateful dependent), he is imaginary in a different way, and only in part-a fiction devised for adults, and hardly as a joke; and imaginary only to the degree that, say, the old Dutch yeomanry nostalgically described by Washington Irving in "Rip Van Winkle" or Knickerbockers History Knickerbockers History were imaginary, or the loyal peasants that Irving presented in his "Bracebridge Hall" stories. Like those fictional characters, Moore's St. Nicholas may not have existed; but (in this second role) he, too, was based on a real-life prototype that meant a great deal to the upper-cla.s.s New Yorkers who very much wished to believe that he did still exist. were imaginary, or the loyal peasants that Irving presented in his "Bracebridge Hall" stories. Like those fictional characters, Moore's St. Nicholas may not have existed; but (in this second role) he, too, was based on a real-life prototype that meant a great deal to the upper-cla.s.s New Yorkers who very much wished to believe that he did still exist.

In this way, Moore managed to evoke what had eluded his fellow Knickerbockers, Washington Irving and John Pintard, in their own efforts to recapture the spirit of Christmas past: that is, the integration of the social cla.s.ses in a scene of shared festivity where the poor posed no threat and gratefully accepted their place. Moore did this by replacing the cheerful poor of cherished memory not just with the children of the household but also with the magical figure of St. Nicholas himself. With this tricky maneuver Moore managed to transform what had been merely archaic and sentimental (and also patronizing to the poor) into something that can be called mythic.

In order to negotiate that transformation, to create that myth, Moore had to make the two simple yet crucial changes I have described: He had to present St. Nicholas as a figure who would evoke in his hearers and readers a working-cla.s.s image (and not a patrician one) and also as a figure who would act the patrician's part (and not the worker's). He had to present St. Nicholas in the role role of a bishop, but without a bishop's authority to stand in judgment. In short, Moore had to present St. Nicholas as both a bishop and a worker-but without either the power of the one or the animosity of the other. of a bishop, but without a bishop's authority to stand in judgment. In short, Moore had to present St. Nicholas as both a bishop and a worker-but without either the power of the one or the animosity of the other.

He had to devote fully one-third of his poem to offering the rea.s.surance that the people who received visits from this figure of the night would have "nothing to dread." St. Nicholas first offers that rea.s.surance by giving "a wink of his eye and a twist of his head." And a little later, when he has filled all the stockings and is about to depart, he turns abruptly to face the narrator-the head of the household, or, in other words, us, the reader-and places his finger "aside of his nose." This is a meaningless phrase today, but in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century the gesture seems to have represented the equivalent of a secret wink-a visual way of saying something like "Shh! I'm only kidding" or "Let's keep it between the two of us."50 In the ill.u.s.tration, the man seated on the left is making this very gesture to the man on the right, who is laughing so hard at the other man's joke that he has dropped his long pipe. In fact, the source of Santa's gesture in "A Visit from St. Nicholas" was a pa.s.sage in Irving's In the ill.u.s.tration, the man seated on the left is making this very gesture to the man on the right, who is laughing so hard at the other man's joke that he has dropped his long pipe. In fact, the source of Santa's gesture in "A Visit from St. Nicholas" was a pa.s.sage in Irving's Knickerbocker's History Knickerbocker's History, a pa.s.sage in which St. Nicholas appears in a dream to a character named Van Kortland. The dream concludes with these words: "And when St. Nicholas had smoked his pipe, he twisted it in his hat-band, and laying his finger beside his nose laying his finger beside his nose, gave the astonished Van Kortland a very significant look a very significant look, then, mounting his wagon, he returned over the tree-tops and disappeared" [italics added]. Since Moore was obviously alluding to this very pa.s.sage, St. Nicholas' gesture in his poem, too, can be understood as a signal to the narrator (and to all adult adult readers of the poem): readers of the poem): This is all a dream This is all a dream. As if to say: "We "We know I don't exist, but let's keep know I don't exist, but let's keep that that between you and me!" between you and me!"

1863 Santa. In this, the first of many pictures of Santa Claus drawn by noted American cartoonist Thomas Nast, Santa still looks rather plebeian, and he is smoking a short pipe. (Courtesy, Harvard College Library) (Courtesy, Harvard College Library)

1881 Santa. Thomas Nast drew this, his most famous Santa Claus picture, in 1881. Now Santa is holding a very long pipe, and he has grown fat and avuncular-imagine this Santa trying to fit into a chimney! This is pretty much the way Santa Claus has remained to the present day. (Courtesy, Harvard College Library) (Courtesy, Harvard College Library) BACK TO THE F FUTURE.

All a dream. For the upper-cla.s.s New Yorkers who collectively "invented" Christmas, Moore's quiet little achievement was especially resonant. It offered a Christmas scenario that took a familiar ritual (the exchange of generosity for goodwill) and transfigured it with a symbolic promise to release them from both the fear of harm and the pressure of guilt. A generation earlier, one might argue, the parents of these men were sufficiently in control of their social world not to require such a catharsis. A generation later their children were sufficiently purged of a sense of direct social obligation not to require it any longer.

By then, in any case, "A Visit from St. Nicholas" would be taking on new meanings. Santa Claus himself would lose his plebeian character as time pa.s.sed, and as the poem (and the new kind of holiday it helped create) was taken over by the middle cla.s.ses and even by the poor themselves. In the years to come, even the visual image of Santa Claus would change. Still "plebeian" in the 1840s, Santa and his "team" soon cease to be portrayed as a miniature ("eight tiny reindeer," a "miniature sleigh," and a "jolly old elf"). He becomes full-sized, even large. His beard turns into the full gray beard of the late-Victorian bourgeoisie. He appears increasingly avuncular. And, in the hands of Thomas Nast, the famous cartoonist who was responsible for much of this change, over a period of eighteen years even his pipe grows long once again. Still, for all these changes, Santa Claus recovers none of the episcopal dignity that Clement Moore took from him in 1822. Between being a jolly plebeian elf and a jolly fat uncle, the real St. Nicholas would surely have found it difficult to choose.

The versatile saint would be put to other uses, too. The late nineteenth century was a period of vexing religious doubt for many middle-cla.s.s Americans, and one characteristic solution was to think that G.o.d must exist simply because people so badly needed Him to; without G.o.d, human life would be simply unendurable. It should not be too surprising that this rather elegiac Victorian argument came to be applied to Santa Claus as well: In 1897, in reply to an inquiry posed by a young reader whose "little friends" had told her that Santa Claus did not exist, the New York Sun New York Sun printed what was destined to become a cla.s.sic editorial. "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus," the editorial began. It was written by the newspaper's religious-affairs reporter, and its language and tone selfconsciously mirror that of late-Victorian popular theology. "Virginia, your little friends are wrong," the reporter insisted, explaining that "[t]hey have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age." And he went on to stake out terrain that many of his adult readers would have found familiar from sermons they heard in church: "Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus," the reporter argued. "There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence." And he concluded: "No Santa Claus? Thank G.o.d, he lives and he lives forever." printed what was destined to become a cla.s.sic editorial. "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus," the editorial began. It was written by the newspaper's religious-affairs reporter, and its language and tone selfconsciously mirror that of late-Victorian popular theology. "Virginia, your little friends are wrong," the reporter insisted, explaining that "[t]hey have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age." And he went on to stake out terrain that many of his adult readers would have found familiar from sermons they heard in church: "Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus," the reporter argued. "There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence." And he concluded: "No Santa Claus? Thank G.o.d, he lives and he lives forever."51 CLEMENT M MOORE WROTE "A Visit from St. Nicholas" on what might be called the cusp of his life. The expansion of New York affected him in a direct way, breaking up his estate into city blocks. Before around 1820 he viewed this change as a threat, and protested it accordingly. But thereafter Moore adopted a different strategy. He stopped protesting the new conditions and began instead to protect his economic and social position by systematically controlling the development of the Chelsea district. As early as 1818, he donated an entire city block adjacent to his own house for the construction of an Episcopal theological seminary (the inst.i.tution in which he later became a professor of Hebrew and ancient languages). And he gave another large parcel for a new and very elegant Episcopal church, St. Peters. "A Visit from St. Nicholas" on what might be called the cusp of his life. The expansion of New York affected him in a direct way, breaking up his estate into city blocks. Before around 1820 he viewed this change as a threat, and protested it accordingly. But thereafter Moore adopted a different strategy. He stopped protesting the new conditions and began instead to protect his economic and social position by systematically controlling the development of the Chelsea district. As early as 1818, he donated an entire city block adjacent to his own house for the construction of an Episcopal theological seminary (the inst.i.tution in which he later became a professor of Hebrew and ancient languages). And he gave another large parcel for a new and very elegant Episcopal church, St. Peters.52 By doing this, Moore was able to protect the value of his remaining holdings in Chelsea. And during the following years he consciously controlled the development of those holdings, by leasing lots rather than selling them and by including restrictive covenants in the deeds he gave to builders. By doing this, Moore was able to protect the value of his remaining holdings in Chelsea. And during the following years he consciously controlled the development of those holdings, by leasing lots rather than selling them and by including restrictive covenants in the deeds he gave to builders.53 Under Moore's careful direction, Chelsea became for a time a fashionable district, an oasis of respectability on New York's West Side. Under Moore's careful direction, Chelsea became for a time a fashionable district, an oasis of respectability on New York's West Side.

As a great Manhattan landowner, Clement Moore played a part in the emergence of a new urban landscape, a landscape that stratified and segregated the city by wealth and cla.s.s, and in which housing itself became a commodity.54 What I have tried to suggest in this chapter is less easy to prove: that Moore helped to bring about a parallel change on the American cultural landscape, in the role for which he is best known to most Americans today-as the poet of Christmas Eve. If such a reading is correct, it was What I have tried to suggest in this chapter is less easy to prove: that Moore helped to bring about a parallel change on the American cultural landscape, in the role for which he is best known to most Americans today-as the poet of Christmas Eve. If such a reading is correct, it was that that which const.i.tuted his most important contribution to the history of American capitalism. which const.i.tuted his most important contribution to the history of American capitalism.

* A fascinating equivalent to the Knickerbockers' invention of Santa Claus (and all in the guise of continuing a venerated old tradition) is to be found in an unlikely arena: the early history of the game of baseball. The American national pastime, like the American Christmas, was invented in New York-and less than a generation later. Astonishingly, the earliest extant description of a baseball match, in a press account dating from 1845, referred to this newly devised sport as a A fascinating equivalent to the Knickerbockers' invention of Santa Claus (and all in the guise of continuing a venerated old tradition) is to be found in an unlikely arena: the early history of the game of baseball. The American national pastime, like the American Christmas, was invented in New York-and less than a generation later. Astonishingly, the earliest extant description of a baseball match, in a press account dating from 1845, referred to this newly devised sport as a "time-honored game"! "time-honored game"! But a clue that may help explain that phrase is to be found in the name of the best-known baseball club from this early period of the sport: formed in 1846, this New York team was known as the "Knickerbockers." (The account of the 1845 match, printed in the But a clue that may help explain that phrase is to be found in the name of the best-known baseball club from this early period of the sport: formed in 1846, this New York team was known as the "Knickerbockers." (The account of the 1845 match, printed in the New York Morning News New York Morning News, was unearthed only in 1990; it antedates by one year the earliest previously known report of a baseball game. The discovery was a front-page story in the New York Times New York Times, October 4, 1990.)

CHAPTER 3.

The Parlor and the Street THE B BATTLE FOR S SANTA C CLAUS.

Santa Claus and Alcohol in New York DURING THE 1822 Christmas season, the very season during which Clement Moore was writing "A Visit from St. Nicholas," a New York newspaper editor proposed that one aspect of the local holiday celebration be reformed. As we have seen from the experience of John Pintard, many respectable New York men during the 1820s spent part of their New Year's Day in paying visits to the homes of their circle of acquaintances. There they were received by the women of the household, who were expected to serve them food and drink-alcoholic drink. For example, that same season another New York newspaper published without comment a notice from an anonymous group of "unmarried gentlemen," noting their expectation that the ladies they visited would serve them "large quant.i.ties of cake and wine, rum jelly and hot punch." 1822 Christmas season, the very season during which Clement Moore was writing "A Visit from St. Nicholas," a New York newspaper editor proposed that one aspect of the local holiday celebration be reformed. As we have seen from the experience of John Pintard, many respectable New York men during the 1820s spent part of their New Year's Day in paying visits to the homes of their circle of acquaintances. There they were received by the women of the household, who were expected to serve them food and drink-alcoholic drink. For example, that same season another New York newspaper published without comment a notice from an anonymous group of "unmarried gentlemen," noting their expectation that the ladies they visited would serve them "large quant.i.ties of cake and wine, rum jelly and hot punch."1 The reforming editor, a Federalist named William Leete Stone, called for a stop to the serving of alcohol in the course of these New Year's Day visits. "A cup of good coffee" would be an "excellent subst.i.tute," he suggested, a token of hospitality that would serve to "tranquilize the excesses of the young."2 Stone's suggestion met with a barrage of public ridicule. (This was several years before the emergence of a temperance movement in the United States.) One man-he did not provide his name but identified himself as a former sheriff of the county-wrote an especially pointed rejoinder. This sheriff embroidered a lengthy account of his usual sequence of visits, visits to homes where he had always counted on being greeted with "gaiety and hospitality"-but at every stop he was now greeted only with a cup of coffee. When he declined one such offer by telling his hostess that he had "'breakfasted already,'" he was told that "'this is not intended as breakfast-Mr. Stone, of the Commercial, recommends coffee as a subst.i.tute for wine or cordial.'" And so it went throughout the morning. "Oh, sir,'" said one of his hostesses, "''tis all the rage now-wine and cordial heat the blood, while coffee warms and stimulates without producing deleterious effects.' 'So it does, ma'am, at breakfast, but at this hour I would prefer a gla.s.s of raspberry [cordial] and a cooky, vulgar as it may appear.'" Even at the house of a good friend, a house "where gaiety and hospitality were ever united," the sheriff encountered only "a neat gilt china cup, filled with coffee, presented to me by a beautiful young lady." "'Surely you will not refuse any thing I offer you,' said the lady, with a bewitching smile, and with some tenderness in it...." When he continued to protest, she added: "'But, sir, 'tis recommended in the newspapers by Mr. Stone.'..."

At last the sheriff gave up and decided instead "to visit some of the Hotels-the landlords having thrown open their doors with their usual hospitality." At one of these-"our old friend Niblo's"-there was, "as usual, good fare and a hearty welcome." Another hotelier provided "such a display of wines and delicacies [as] has never been surpa.s.sed in this city." At length the sheriff entered a third hotel, and there he encountered an unexpected guest: "[W]ho should I see seated at the table, and up to his elbows in good things, but my coffee-drinking friend Stone." The sheriff looked around the table, "and thank heaven not a cup of coffee was to be seen. Stone was so intent on eating cold round [of beef] and turkey, and washing it down with large draughts of old Madeira, that he saw n.o.body, and if it had not been cruel to have check'd this terminal gratification of his appet.i.te, I certainly should have been tempted to have gone up to him, and said, 'Stone, how are you off for coffee?'"

The sheriff took pains to show that he knew all about holiday rowdiness, too, and that it did not bother him very much. Indeed, he wrote with more affection than anger about the antics of working-cla.s.s men on New Year's Eve. Such behavior was nothing more than part of the standard "ceremonies and jolifications [sic]" [sic]" of the occasion. It was hardly surprising that those New Yorkers sometimes chose to go on "what they called a spree." Some of them "went forth with bands of music to serenade their friends, but the most mischievous amused themselves by knocking on doors, displacing signs, knocking down the watchmen, firing crackers and pistols, and snow balling the frail fair ones of the city...." About twenty of the revelers were jailed for the night, but even incarceration failed to dampen their spirits: In the jailhouse itself "[t]hey snapped their fingers, danced waltzes, whistled loud and shrill, and sang glees and catches." Nor did the magistrate who tried their case early the next morning seem troubled by their offenses, for, as the sheriff concluded, "in consideration of the day, [he] discharged them all, with suitable admonitions, and without requiring any fees [i.e., fines]." of the occasion. It was hardly surprising that those New Yorkers sometimes chose to go on "what they called a spree." Some of them "went forth with bands of music to serenade their friends, but the most mischievous amused themselves by knocking on doors, displacing signs, knocking down the watchmen, firing crackers and pistols, and snow balling the frail fair ones of the city...." About twenty of the revelers were jailed for the night, but even incarceration failed to dampen their spirits: In the jailhouse itself "[t]hey snapped their fingers, danced waltzes, whistled loud and shrill, and sang glees and catches." Nor did the magistrate who tried their case early the next morning seem troubled by their offenses, for, as the sheriff concluded, "in consideration of the day, [he] discharged them all, with suitable admonitions, and without requiring any fees [i.e., fines]."

It was an interesting account. The sheriff presented himself as a man who reached easily across cla.s.s lines and was equally at ease in the drawing room of a "splendid mansion," a boisterous public house, and even a jail. Actually, the only people who seemed to bother him were reformers (like Colonel Stone) and fashionable women. In that sense, his little story is about gender and cla.s.s. Women are the purveyors of fashion who portend the decline of real hospitality in the form of good food and drink; the sheriff must go to a "public house" (run and attended by men) in order to eat and drink properly. He takes pains to let his readers know that he is not bothered by working-cla.s.s drinking and rowdiness. The real social threat (however humorously it is posed) comes from emerging middle-cla.s.s reforms, represented by Stone's editorial appeal for coffee instead of alcohol-and it is women women who read and act on this advice, turning even the homes of old friends into cold comfort. (As the decades pa.s.sed and the temperance movement emerged and spread, other newspaper editors tried to rally women to the antidrinking cause. Almost every New Year's during the 1840s, for example, Horace Greeley used his paper, the who read and act on this advice, turning even the homes of old friends into cold comfort. (As the decades pa.s.sed and the temperance movement emerged and spread, other newspaper editors tried to rally women to the antidrinking cause. Almost every New Year's during the 1840s, for example, Horace Greeley used his paper, the New York Tribune New York Tribune, to persuade women to remove alcohol from their tables.) Resistance to the reform of the Christmas season thus came from above as well as below. Men of a similar stripe to the sheriff actually tried to claim Santa Claus himself as an ally in the cause of old-fashioned hospitality. Two years earlier, in 1820, a New York newspaper printed a poem about Santa in which the "good St. Nicholas" had "just come from Amsterdam / To give the New-years maids their cakes, / And Pinester lads their drams." The poem then proceeded to address the "lads" directly: Much to this Saint you owe For eggs, and nuts, and pies, and crulls, And whyskey's jovial flow.3 Nor was this all. On January 4, 1828 (five years after Clement Clarke Moore had written "A Visit from St. Nicholas," and during the very Christmas season in which his poem began to be widely printed in newspapers around the nation), at least two New York newspapers printed another poem, this one bearing the t.i.tle "Ode to Saint Claas, Written on New Year's Eve."4 The author of this 1828 poem signed himself "Rip Van Dam" (a sure indication that he was The author of this 1828 poem signed himself "Rip Van Dam" (a sure indication that he was not not of Dutch ancestry) and insisted, in an introductory note, that he had written his poem only because, "[s]o far as I know, nothing in the way of honourable commendation hath been sung in this city of honest Dutch Burghers, to the thrice-blessed Saint Nicholaas-the saint of all saints, and king of good fellows." That claim may have been a dig at Moore's poem, because the figure of "Saint Claas" he presented-"king of good fellows"-was a far cry from Moore's. To be sure, "Rip Van Dam's" figure is chubby and jolly, and he, too, "fills every stocking" with little treats: "Apples, and nuts, and sugar-plums, / Grateful to little urchin's gums ... new suits for girls and boys, / Pretty books and prettier toys." of Dutch ancestry) and insisted, in an introductory note, that he had written his poem only because, "[s]o far as I know, nothing in the way of honourable commendation hath been sung in this city of honest Dutch Burghers, to the thrice-blessed Saint Nicholaas-the saint of all saints, and king of good fellows." That claim may have been a dig at Moore's poem, because the figure of "Saint Claas" he presented-"king of good fellows"-was a far cry from Moore's. To be sure, "Rip Van Dam's" figure is chubby and jolly, and he, too, "fills every stocking" with little treats: "Apples, and nuts, and sugar-plums, / Grateful to little urchin's gums ... new suits for girls and boys, / Pretty books and prettier toys."

But that was not all this this St. Nicholas brought. The very next verse promised other treats of a very different order: "Mull'd cider, cherry bounce, [and] spic'd rum, / Jolly Saint, O hither come!" And the poet went on to fantasize about joining Santa in a drunken orgy: St. Nicholas brought. The very next verse promised other treats of a very different order: "Mull'd cider, cherry bounce, [and] spic'd rum, / Jolly Saint, O hither come!" And the poet went on to fantasize about joining Santa in a drunken orgy: Come then with thy merry eye, And let us bouse it [i.e., booze it] booze it] till we die! till we die!

Come and o'er my thirsty soul Floods of smoking gla.s.ses roll!

This Santa Claus was an "imp" who would "frisk about" and encourage his charges (no doubt emboldened by drink) to dance and perform "merry pranks." (Only one such "prank" is named, but it suggests what this writer had in mind: "[M]aidens" would approach their male companions to "seek" a "kiss.") This Santa Claus was no other than the Lord of Misrule, master of the Christmas carnival: A little short, thick, l.u.s.ty, "wh.o.r.eson,"* rover, rover, Rolling about the room full half seas over.5 "Rip Van Dam" himself acknowledged that this l.u.s.ty and drunken "wh.o.r.eson" of a Santa was on the way out, a figure of the past, merely a nostalgic symbol. "Fashions" were changing, he lamented: And all the good of olden times Is lost, save in old fashioned rhymes; While cold hard-hearted revelry Usurps the place of heartfelt glee....

Only a faithful few had kept to the old traditions: Though good old customs long have flown, And few thy thy honest sway will own, honest sway will own, Still will I bow the reverent knee, And shout Saint Claas, all hail to thee!

Of course, it was Clement Moore and not "Rip Van Dam" whose representation of Santa Claus carried the day. Nor, given the new patterns of holiday violence, should that be surprising. Indeed, the very day that the "Ode to St. Claas" appeared, the same newspaper carried a shocked report about an especially violent callithumpian New Year's Eve parade in which more than a thousand "persons of all ages" marched down "many of the princ.i.p.al streets of the city" committing "outrageous" acts. The mob moved from one end of the city to the other, making the most hideous noises, committing many excesses, and for several hours in succession, disturbing neighborhoods where they thought proper to become in some measure stationary, to such a degree that sleep and rest, for the sick or for the well, were entirely destroyed. No nocturnal tumult or disturbance that we have ever witnessed, was in any measure equal to this. We understand that wherever the watch offered to interfere for the purpose of preventing mischief, they were either overpowered, or intimidated by numbers, and the mob had undisputed possession of the streets until a very late hour in the night.

The newspaper demanded that the authorities take aggressive action to prevent any recurrence of such "outrages." And it a.s.serted that alcohol was the proximate cause: "Such a mult.i.tude of persons, a.s.sembled together for an unlawful purpose, when maddened with liquor, and conscious of their force, will, after a very few more experiments, be guilty of the greatest atrocities." Most important of all, the account concluded, the public should not dismiss these events by viewing them through the lens of seasonal ritual, as high jinks that had to be tolerated. "It is in vain to wink at such excesses, merely because they occur at a season of festivity. A license of this description will soon turn festivals of joy, into regular periods of fear to the inhabitants, and will end in scenes of riot, intemperance, and bloodshed." What had taken place was not a matter of letting off steam at Christmas; it was a criminal mob, and-here the editor hinted at the presence of underlying economic issues-a mob not only "stimulated by drink" but also "enkindled by resentment." Left to itself, it would soon commit "the most outrageous offenses without reflection, and without remorse."6 Remember that this report appeared in the same newspaper that simultaneously printed "Rip Van Dam's" ode to the drinking Santa Claus. But by now an alternative was beginning to emerge. The other newspaper that printed Van Dam's poem that year also began to deal with Christmas in a new way, as a family holiday. (In previous years that paper had casually printed verses about Christmas revelry.) The paper published two holiday items in its December 28, 1827, issue: an editorial that termed Christmas "a festival sacred to domestic enjoyments" and a reprint of a pa.s.sage from Washington Irvings "Bracebridge Hall" sketches that described how Christmas evoked "the pure element of domestic felicity."7 And the following year, in 1828, the same paper carried an account of the Christmas celebration in New York, an account that stressed sobriety, and a.s.sociated it with Santa Claus himself: "'Merry Christmas' was celebrated yesterday joyously and And the following year, in 1828, the same paper carried an account of the Christmas celebration in New York, an account that stressed sobriety, and a.s.sociated it with Santa Claus himself: "'Merry Christmas' was celebrated yesterday joyously and soberly soberly in our goodly Dutch city," this account began. But it continued by acknowledging that New York was "Dutch no longer" and had become a multiethnic city with "new houses and new names." Even so, the report insisted, the ancient Dutch Christmas traditions had managed to remain in place among the new immigrant groups: "[T]he olden festivities retain their hold, and the good St. Nicholas is adopted into the calendar of all the nations that congregate in this, his faithful city; and makes glad the hearts of merry urchins of the various tongues and kindreds that now call New-York- in our goodly Dutch city," this account began. But it continued by acknowledging that New York was "Dutch no longer" and had become a multiethnic city with "new houses and new names." Even so, the report insisted, the ancient Dutch Christmas traditions had managed to remain in place among the new immigrant groups: "[T]he olden festivities retain their hold, and the good St. Nicholas is adopted into the calendar of all the nations that congregate in this, his faithful city; and makes glad the hearts of merry urchins of the various tongues and kindreds that now call New-York-home."8 It is no coincidence that the previous year's callithumpian riot had been perpetrated largely by immigrants. It is no coincidence that the editor now chose to a.s.sociate the Santa Claus ritual with a "sober" Christmas, and made that ritual serve as an instrument of cultural a.s.similation for "the various tongues and kindreds that now call New-York-home." It is no coincidence that the same newspaper had previously recognized that heavy drinking was an integral part of the holiday season, and that in 1829 it would demand that alcohol be eliminated. It is no coincidence, in short, that Clement Clarke Moore's Santa Claus beat out Rip Van Dam's. It is no coincidence that the same newspaper had previously recognized that heavy drinking was an integral part of the holiday season, and that in 1829 it would demand that alcohol be eliminated. It is no coincidence, in short, that Clement Clarke Moore's Santa Claus beat out Rip Van Dam's.

This is not to say that the rowdy Christmas season simply disappeared or even diminished. A domestic Santa Claus did not obliterate other modes of celebrating the holiday (indeed, it still has not). On New Year's Eve, 183940, one ailing visitor to the city was kept awake by "revelers, making frightful noises." This visitor, Eliza Folien, reported that the lights in her sickroom "attracted the attention of some rioters in the street; they stopped under the window and screamed 'Happy New Year!' with what seemed to me the voices of fiends, the sound was so frightful."9 For that matter, a domestic Santa Claus did not wholly extinguish other versions of St. Nicholas himself. Just a week before Follen's unpleasant experience, a New York theater advertised a Christmas-night performance of a "new pantomime got up for the occasion, called 'Santiclaus, or the orgies of St. Nicholas.'" For that matter, a domestic Santa Claus did not wholly extinguish other versions of St. Nicholas himself. Just a week before Follen's unpleasant experience, a New York theater advertised a Christmas-night performance of a "new pantomime got up for the occasion, called 'Santiclaus, or the orgies of St. Nicholas.'"10 To read the city's newspapers at mid-century is to encounter upbeat editorials about Christmas shopping and the joyous expectations of children juxtaposed with unsettling reports of holiday drunkenness and rioting. A couple of examples will tell the story. On December 26, 1840, a party of German-Americans (they were "engaged in fiddling, dancing, and making night hideous with their discordant din") engaged in a serious street battle with the police in which twenty-five people were arrested. But on the same day, the paper announced that "the holidays are at hand-the merry days to which childhood and youth look forward throughout the year with such antic.i.p.ation and delight...." The "holidays," as this report defined them, were domestic and child-centered: "Santiclaus "Santiclaus is about making his annual visit to our world-renowned Dutch city." And the holidays were commercial: "[T]he display of all sorts of presents is striking," the paper boasted. "The various shops and establishments, whose special province it is to minister to the supply of Christmas wants, exhibit no lack of accustomed temptations." is about making his annual visit to our world-renowned Dutch city." And the holidays were commercial: "[T]he display of all sorts of presents is striking," the paper boasted. "The various shops and establishments, whose special province it is to minister to the supply of Christmas wants, exhibit no lack of accustomed temptations."

In 1839 the New York Herald New York Herald made it clear that this was the only decent choice: "Let all avoid taverns and grog shops for a few days at least, and spend their money at home." In that way men would be sure "to make glad upon one day, the domestic hearth, the virtuous wife, the innocent, smiling, merry-hearted children, and the blessed mother." "Christmas," the editorial concluded, "is the most hallowed season of the whole year." made it clear that this was the only decent choice: "Let all avoid taverns and grog shops for a few days at least, and spend their money at home." In that way men would be sure "to make glad upon one day, the domestic hearth, the virtuous wife, the innocent, smiling, merry-hearted children, and the blessed mother." "Christmas," the editorial concluded, "is the most hallowed season of the whole year."11 Not for everyone. In 1848 George Templeton Strong was able to note casually that Christmas was "essentially an indoor and domestic festival," but when he took an omnibus to go shopping that same day, he noted that "[t]he driver was drunk and the progress of the vehicle was like that of a hippopotamus."12 Two years later, with accounts of Santa Claus and Christmas shopping plastered lavishly throughout the pages of the Two years later, with accounts of Santa Claus and Christmas shopping plastered lavishly throughout the pages of the Tribune Tribune, gangs of youths were still roaming the streets at Christmas, making trouble wherever they went. By this time the gangs even had names, such as "[t]he Short Boys, Swill Boys, Rock Boys, Old Maid Boys, Holy Ch-s, and other bands of midnight prowlers [who] should have been in state prison long ago."13 New Year's Eve, 185152, was ushered into the city by what the New Year's Eve, 185152, was ushered into the city by what the Tribune Tribune termed "a Saturnalia of discord, by Callithumpian and Cowbellian bands, by musketry and fire-crackers, by baccha.n.a.l songs and noisy revels, which for two hours after midnight made sleep not a thing to be dreamed of." One man was arrested "for entering, uninvited, the house of Philip Herring, during his absence, and insulting his wife." And a group of about 150 men (most of them apparently Irish, and all of them drunk) invaded a fashionable Broadway restaurant and systematically destroyed the furniture, threw food and dishes around the place, and finally (before the police arrived) a.s.saulted the owner, his wife, and their staff. All in all, upwards of one hundred men were arrested that night "for entering residences in which they never were before, and where they knew not a soul, and after eating and drinking without molestation to their hearts' content, maliciously breaking decanters, dishes, scattering the provisions about the premises, and not content with that, in many instances breaking windows, doors, and behaving more like fiends than like men." termed "a Saturnalia of discord, by Callithumpian and Cowbellian bands, by musketry and fire-crackers, by baccha.n.a.l songs and noisy revels, which for two hours after midnight made sleep not a thing to be dreamed of." One man was arrested "for entering, uninvited, the house of Philip Herring, during his absence, and insulting his wife." And a group of about 150 men (most of them apparently Irish, and all of them drunk) invaded a fashionable Broadway restaurant and systematically destroyed the furniture, threw food and dishes around the place, and finally (before the police arrived) a.s.saulted the owner, his wife, and their staff. All in all, upwards of one hundred men were arrested that night "for entering residences in which they never were before, and where they knew not a soul, and after eating and drinking without molestation to their hearts' content, maliciously breaking decanters, dishes, scattering the provisions about the premises, and not content with that, in many instances breaking windows, doors, and behaving more like fiends than like men."14

Santa Claus' Quadrilles. The cover to a piece of sheet music published in New York in 1846. This Santa Claus is beardless and youthful, apparently a merry bachelor. He is playing the fiddle as he dances on a New York chimneytop. (The picture was drawn by an artist who went by the name "Spoodlyks.") (Courtesy, American Antiquarian Society) (Courtesy, American Antiquarian Society) At the heart of all this disorder, the Tribune Tribune reiterated, was the prevalence of alcohol during the Christmas season: "In the Eleventh Ward an unusual number of men were arrested for drunkenness, creating a mob, exciting a riot, insulting females, and other offenses to which men of low breeding, when intoxicated, are addicted." Such behavior was abetted by certain business establishments; local bars actually served drinks gratis on Christmas Day, in a holdover from the old English custom demanded of innkeepers (which was itself a variant of the tradition by which the gentry held "open house" for their dependents). The results, Horace Greeley reported, were obnoxious: reiterated, was the prevalence of alcohol during the Christmas season: "In the Eleventh Ward an unusual number of men were arrested for drunkenness, creating a mob, exciting a riot, insulting females, and other offenses to which men of low breeding, when intoxicated, are addicted." Such behavior was abetted by certain business establishments; local bars actually served drinks gratis on Christmas Day, in a holdover from the old English custom demanded of innkeepers (which was itself a variant of the tradition by which the gentry held "open house" for their dependents). The results, Horace Greeley reported, were obnoxious: The first flash of morning discovered the liquor shops in full operation, with wa.s.sail bowls of smoking punch, and "medicine" of all sorts, free as water. This dangerous and wicked temptation was the means of setting a great many young men and boys many young men and boys in a state of crazy intoxication long before noon. As early as 10 o'clock we saw, in Broadway, between the Park and Broome-st., about a dozen parties of boys, each numbering from four to ten persons, nearly every one grossly drunk, and four fellows, in as many parties, entirely helpless, and being dragged along by neck and heels by their hardly less drunk companions. in a state of crazy intoxication long before noon. As early as 10 o'clock we saw, in Broadway, between the Park and Broome-st., about a dozen parties of boys, each numbering from four to ten persons, nearly every one grossly drunk, and four fellows, in as many parties, entirely helpless, and being dragged along by neck and heels by their hardly less drunk companions.15 What had changed, then, was not that the rowdier ways of celebrating Christmas had disappeared, or even that they had diminished, but that a new kind of holiday celebration, domestic and child-centered, had been fashioned and was now being claimed as the "real" Christmas.16 The rest of it-public drunkenness and threats or acts of violence, "rough music"-had been redefined as The rest of it-public drunkenness and threats or acts of violence, "rough music"-had been redefined as crime crime, "making night hideous." In part, this was accomplished through inst.i.tutional means (in 1828 New York introduced a professional police force to replace the private "watch" that had failed to control the previous year's callithumpian riot). And in part it was accomplished through the manipulation of language itself. Henceforth, newspaper stories about Santa Claus would appear under the heading "Christmas," while stories about callithumpian activities would be relegated to the police column. In the terminology of a later age, those activities would be marginalized marginalized.

Belsnickles and Burlesquers in Philadelphia Santa Claus came to Pennsylvania, too, in the 1820s. But there he encountered a rival figure, a somewhat scarier personage a.s.sociated with the Germanic culture that pervaded much of the state. That figure, whose features are already familiar to us, was commonly known as the Belsnickle. (The term is a variant of the German phrase Pelz-nickle Pelz-nickle-that is, "St. Nicholas in Fur.") I do not know when or how the term was first used (it may not have come into usage until the 1820s, when Santa Claus himself was emerging). But it was almost certainly based on an older German figure, commonly known as Knecht Ruprecht (that is, "Rupert the Servant"). The British writer Samuel Taylor Coleridge encountered Knecht Ruprecht during a 1798 visit to Ratzeburg, a village in the northern part of Germany. Knecht Ruprecht was a man outfitted in "high buskins, a white robe, a mask, and an enormous flax wig"-in other words, he was burlesquing the dress of a gentleman. On Christmas night this figure goes round to every house and says, that Jesus Christ his master sent him thither-the parents and elder children receive him with great pomp of reverence, while the little ones are most terribly frightened-He then enquires for the children, and according to the character which he hears from the parent, he gives them the intended present as if they came out of heaven from Jesus Christ.-Or, if they should have been bad children, he gives the parents a rod, and in the name of his master recommends them to use it frequently.17 In contrast to Santa Claus, who was never actually seen, the roles of both Knecht Ruprecht and the Belsnickle were performed by real people-generally men of the lower orders, who went around town in disguise. (The disguises varied, but they were always ornate and often involved wearing a wig.) What Coleridge encountered resembles only the most carefully regulated form this practice took in Pennsylvania. Here the Belsnickle would offer small gifts (usually of food) to good children and intimidate ill-behaved children by threatening to hit them (or actually doing so) with a rod or a whip as they reached for the gifts he had brought. A Philadelphia newspaper reported one such appearance in 1827-by which time the Belsnickle was already being compared to Santa Claus. It is interesting to note that this Belsnickle was made up in blackface: Mr. Bellschniggle is a visible personage.... He is the precursor of the jolly old elf "Christkindle," or "St. Nicholas," and makes his personal appearance, dressed in skins or old clothes, his face black, a bell, a whip, and a pocket full of cakes or nuts; and either the cakes or the whip are bestowed upon those around, as may seem meet to his sable majesty.18 In this form the Belsnickle, although an intruder, would serve to reinforce the authority of the householders he visited. (Indeed, at least one father a.s.sumed the role himself.19) But it is clear that Belsnickling, like most rituals, was profoundly malleable. The Belsnickle might snap his whip at a child who had behaved well, or a whole group of Belsnickles might visit a house together. Often the Belsnickle frightened the parents as well as the children.20 In fact, Belsnickles frequently struck those they visited as unsavory (perhaps because they were frequently played by men of the lower orders). James L. Morris, a shopkeeper from Morgantown, Pennsylvania, described them in his diary in 1831 as "horrid frightful looking objects." In 1842 Morris recorded his impressions at greater length: Christmas Eve-a few "belsnickels" or "kriskinckles" were prowling about this evening frightening the women and children, with their uncouth appearance-made up of cast-off garments made particolored with patches, a false face, a s.h.a.ggy head of tow, or rather wig, falling profusely over the shoulders and finished out by a most patriarchal beard of whatsoever foreign [material] that could possibly be pressed into such service.21 Belsnickles could wreak mischief, as they did in Potts town, Pennsylvania, in 1826, where for several nights running one or more of them left a "wreck of lumber that is strewed through our streets and blockading the doors generally every morning": a complete bridge built across the street, princ.i.p.ally composed of old barrels, hogsheads, grocery boxes, wheelbarrows, harrows, plows, wagon and cart wheels. It is reported that he nearly demolished a poor woman's house in one of the back streets a few nights ago....

Despite the damage this Belsnickle did, the phrasing of this report suggests that he was seen as a mere prankster: He performs these tricks incog incog, or otherwise he would be arrested long since by the public authorities, who are on the alert; but it will take a swift foot and a strong arm to apprehend him while he is in full power of his bellsnickelship, as he then can evade mortal ken....22 Like wa.s.sailers and mummers, Belsnickles often took on the role of beggars, visiting houses (and shops) to demand demand rather than offer gifts. This may very well have been the reason that four or five of them visited James L. Morris's store in 1842 and once again in 1844, when Morris noted that "[s]ome 4 or five hideous and frightful looking mortals came into the store dressed out in fantastic rags and horrid faces." These Belsnickles were probably coming for gifts. In 1851 several "processions" of them in Norristown, "arrayed in all their fantastic costumes, ... paid their annual visit to the shopkeepers and citizens, soliciting the 'good things' and rendering an equivalent in caricaturing the sable sons of our soil" (in other words, they too were performing in blackface). They were still begging in the 1870s. This was the case in Lancaster, for instance, where "[t]he old custom of playing 'Bellsnickle' was renewed in our midst, and we heard perhaps half a dozen parties, dressed in hideous disguise, going about on Christmas eve from house to house, and entering without so much as 'by your leave';" or in Carlisle, where in the same year "[t]here were numbers of bell-snickles going from house to house in quest of cakes, wine, apples, or whatever else the good housewife might place at their disposal, large boys and small boys...." (In the latter instance they were dressed in women's clothes, "burlesquing the ruling fashions among the ladies.") rather than offer gifts. This may very well have been the reason that four or five of them visited James L. Morris's store in 1842 and once again in 1844, when Morris noted that "[s]ome 4 or five hideous and frightful looking mortals came into the store dressed out in fantastic rags and horrid faces." These Belsnickles were probably coming for gifts. In 1851 several "processions" of them in Norristown, "arrayed in all their fantastic costumes, ... paid their annual visit to the shopkeepers and citizens, soliciting the 'good things' and rendering an equivalent in caricaturing the sable sons of our soil" (in other words, they too were performing in blackface). They were still begging in the 1870s. This was the case in Lancaster, for instance, where "[t]he old custom of playing 'Bellsnickle' was renewed in our midst, and we heard perhaps half a dozen parties, dressed in hideous disguise, going about on Christmas eve from house to house, and entering without so much as 'by your leave';" or in Carlisle, where in the same year "[t]here were numbers of bell-snickles going from house to house in quest of cakes, wine, apples, or whatever else the good housewife might place at their disposal, large boys and small boys...." (In the latter instance they were dressed in women's clothes, "burlesquing the ruling fashions among the ladies.")23 The examples above make it clear that youths and boys were playing the Belsnickle role themselves, thus reverting to the "original" structure of the ritual. In Reading, in 1851, "juvenile harlequins were running from house to house, scattering nuts, confections, consternation, and amus.e.m.e.nt in their way." Or in Norristown, where in 1853 "[s]illy children parade[d] the streets dressed in hideous masks." Or in Easton, in 1858, where "[t]he 'bell-snickels' were ... a most attractive feature on the streets ... as there seemed to be a general feeling among the juveniles ... to partic.i.p.ate...."24 But these youthful Belsnickles were frequently a source of annoyance rather than amus.e.m.e.nt, as in Pottstown, where the local newspaper was not amused in 1873: But these youthful Belsnickles were frequently a source of annoyance rather than amus.e.m.e.nt, as in Pottstown, where the local newspaper was not amused in 1873: Pottstown was full of "bell-snickles" on Christmas Eve, young chaps with their faces blacked, with masks, and dressed in all kinds of outlandish styles. These fellows, with their ugly mugs, visited the hotels, stores, shops, and in many instances private dwellings, and went through their monkeyish grimaces, and annoyed people with their horrible attempts at singing, making themselves odious throughout the town generally. This "bell-snickle" business, which is becoming more of a rough and rowdyish observance of the Christmas season each year, might as well be omitted altogether.25 A malleable ritual, as I have said. But there is a pattern behind it all. Whether the part was played by a grown man or a child, and whether he acted as the donor of gifts or as a beggar, the Belsnickle always used his costume and his manner as a means of intimidating those he visited, a way of taking on an air of mock authority over the rest of the community. Young people had traditionally been just another part of the lower orders, so that it was socially natural for them to step outside the constraints of their normal roles by imitating what other plebeians were doing. And it was a thin line-and probably more of a terminological distinction than a historical one-that divided a Belsnickle from a mummer, a callithumpian, or simply a hoodlum. (On the other side of the cultural ledger, Belsnickles were frequently referred to as "Christkindle," "Kriss Kringle," or even "Santa Claus.") The particular term may have been a matter of local or even personal preference. But whatever he was called then, or termed now, the Belsnickle remained a Lord of Misrule.

There seem to be virtually no records of Belsnickles in Philadelphia itself. But this too may be partly a matter of terminology, since the city (in contrast to much of the Pennsylvania backcountry) was not dominated by German-Americans. And in Philadelphia, as in New York, the disorder that was a.s.sociated with figures of misrule took on a tone of greater menace.

Susan G. Davis, who examined this aspect of Christmas in Philadelphia in an important 1984 article, observes that people arrested there for disorderly behavior at Christmas "were uniformly young and male," and she attributes this to "the breakdown of the apprenticeship system and the decline of craft skills"-the general economic problem besetting youths and young men in a period of ra