MERRY CHRISTMAS, PROFESSOR MOORE.

I grew up deeply grateful to Professor Clement Clark Moore. In 500 delicately crafted words he created one of my most cherished childhood memories, which begins, “Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house”. But a disparaging voice has recently been heard, claiming the professor was a fraud. Do not believe it. You can no more separate Clement from his words than you can a father from his children or an author from the world he lived in.

“...Fond parents swayed my every thought;

No blame I feared, no praise I sought,

But what their love bestowed....

The best thing that ever happened to Clement Moore was his father's massive stroke early in 1811, forcing the old man to gradually relinquish control over his 31 year old son's life. Despite having suffered a stroke myself, I feel no sympathy for the Episcopalian Bishop. Six years earlier, when called to the bedside of the dying Alexander Hamilton, Bishop Benjamin Right Moore (above) forced the great man to beg three times, before providing the comfort of absolution. Witnesses described the Bishop's behavior as “cruel and unjustifiable”. I agree. And it is unfair to demand that Clement (below) carry his father's sins.

,,,Whene’er night’s shadows called to rest,

I sought my father, to request

His benediction mild.

A mother’s love more loud would speak;

With kiss on kiss she’d print my cheek,

And bless her darling child....”

To A Lady (1804) signed - “Simplicicus”. (Clement Clarke Moore above).

The young adult Clement saved the poet, born a Jew and forced to convert to Catholicism, Lorenzo Da Ponte. Twenty years earlier Da Ponte had written the libretto for three of Mozart's operas - “The Marriage of Figaro”, “Don Giovanni” and “Così fan tutte”. In 1805, broke and desperate, Da Ponte arrived on American shores with his mistress and 4 children. Clement hired him as an Italian teacher, and even secured him a position as a Professor of Italian Literature at Columbia – at once the first Catholic and the first Jewish faculty member.

The dreams of Hope that round us play,

And lead along our early youth,

How soon, alas! they fade away

Before the sober rays of Truth...

In 1812 the 35 year old Clement fell in the love with the slight and strong 19 year old Catharine Elizabeth Taylor. They were married on 27 November of 1813.

And yet there are some joys in life

That Fancy’s pencil never drew;

For Fancy’s self, my own dear wife,

Ne’er dreamt the bliss I owe to you.

In preparation for the wedding, his parents had finally transferred control of the Moore family estates in Manhattan, Brooklyn and New Jersey to Clement. And a third floor was added to Chelsea, the mansion on a hill two miles north of Greenwich village. And in early 1815, a daughter, Margaret Elliot, was born to the happy couple.

...When cruel Palsy’s withering blow

Had left my father weak, forlorn,

He yet could weep for joy, to know

I had a wish’d-for infant born.

And, as he lay in death’s embrace,

You saw when last on earth he smil’d;

You saw the ray that lit his face

When he beheld our darling child.”

From a Husband to a Wife.  (Clement Clarke Moore 1816)

To my ear this dutiful verse rings hollow with convention. But the sanctimonious domineering hypocrite Bishop Moore died in late February of 1816.  His home schooling had trained Clement, like the father, for the clergy. But Clement rejected that career.  That same year, Clement and Catherine had a second daughter, Charity Elizabeth Moore, and in 1818, a son, Benjamin Moore. It was his children who changed Clement.

On a warm sunny day, in the midst of July,

A lazy young pig lay stretched out in his sty,
Like some of his betters, most solemnly thinking
That the best things on earth are good eating and drinking....

As they grew, the children found, as love does, the chinks and cracks in their father's armor. And unlike his own father, Clement found the courage to tentatively lower his defenses and embrace the assault.

...When, at last, he thought fit to arouse from his bath,

A conceited young rooster came just in his path:
A precious smart prig, full in vanity drest,
Who thought, of all creatures, himself far the best.

More children followed, as the man who was an only child built the large family he had always wanted, with his beloved Caroline. There was Mary “Lil Sis” Clarke Moore, born in 1819.

'Hey day! little grunter, why where in the world

Are you going so perfum'd, pomatum'd, and curl'd?
Such delicate odors my senses assail,
And I see such a sly looking twist in your tail,
That you, sure are intent on some elegant sporting;
Hurra! I believe, on my life, you are courting;

Clement Moore Jr. was born in 1821 with a birth impairment, perhaps cerebral palsy. Rather than isolate the child in an institution, Clement and Margaret kept the boy by their loving side for the rest of their lives.

'Well, said, master Dunghill,' cried Pig in a rage,

'You're doubtless, the prettiest beau of the age,
With those sweet modest eyes staring out of your head,
And those lumps of raw flesh, all so bloody and red.
Mighty graceful you look with those beautiful legs,
Like a squash or a pumpkin on two wooden pegs...

Like his father before him, Clement home schooled his children. But they were not forced to memorize Hebrew and Latin, as he had been. Instead the elder Clement set problems before them, such as the task to decide which life was to be preferred, that of a rooster or a pig. A fourth daughter, named Emily Moore, was born in 1822.

Hereupon, a debate, like a whirlwind arose,

Which seem'd fast approaching to bitings and blows;
'Mid squeaking and grunting, Pig's arguments flowing;
And Chick venting fury 'twixt screaming and crowing.
At length, to decide the affair, 'twas agreed
That to counselor Owl they should straightway proceed...

Catharine Van Cortalandt Moore was born in 1825.

...It seem'd to the judge a strange cause to be put on,

To tell which was better, a fop or a glutton;
Yet, like a good lawyer, he kept a calm face,
And proceeded, by rule, to examine the case;
With both his round eyes gave a deep-meaning wink,
And, extending one talon, he set him to think.

And finally there was Maria Thersea Barrington Moore, who was born in 1826.

“...Were each on the table serv'd up, and well dress'd,

I could easily tell which I fancied the best;
But while both here before me, so lively I see,
This cause is, in truth, too important for me;
Without trouble, however, among human kind,
Many dealers in questions like this you may find.
Yet, one sober truth, ere we part, I would teach --
That the life you each lead is best fitted for each.

Nine children in all, each an individual personality to be discovered, enjoyed and entertained. You can never lie to your children without lying to yourself'.

Thus ended the strife, as does many a fight;

Each thought his foe wrong, and his own notions right.
Pig turn'd, with a grunt, to his mire anew,
And He-biddy, laughing, cried -- cock-a-doodle-doo.

The Rooster and the Pig, Clement Clarke Moore

There is no question Clement Moore wrote the Rooster and the Pig.  But did it precede or follow 1823's  “A visit from St. Nicholas”?   Moore did not initially claim authorship of either, but that was not unusual for the man. And neither did Major John Livingston, the nominated challenger. However, no friends of Livingston ever claimed he wrote the greatest Christmas poem ever written. It would be a generation removed from that Knickerbocker Christmas before there was any attempt to reassign authorship to Livingston. Whereas, there was a chorus naming Clement Moore as the author, beginning almost on Boxing Day, 1823. And with what you now know of the oft demeaned Clement Clarke Moore, can there still be doubt?  He is the hero of everyone who loves Christmas.

'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 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."

- 30 -

TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS

 

I have two favorite Christmas carols; the haunting Carol of the Bells, composed in 1904 by Ukrainian Mykola Leontovych, and the seemingly nonsensical Twelve Days of Christmas, which is old enough that we have no idea who composed it. In fact, the Twelve Days of Christmas might even predate Christianity in France, where the song originated. 

And that makes this English carol more interesting - to me, anyway – because it speaks to the evolution of the holiday. Remember, it wasn't until 137 years after the death of Jesus, give or take a couple of years, that the Bishop of Rome ordered a “Christesmaesse” - Christ's Mass -  to celebrate Jesus' birth on the 25th of December - the winter solstice, after which the hours of day light get 60 seconds longer each day.   

You see, the twelve disciples did not celebrate Christmas, partly because they were Jewish, but mostly because until fairly recently anything from 60 to 80% of infants died within hours of their birth.

Nobody celebrated their birth day, not even Pope Julius I (above), who around 345 A.D. picked December 25^th as Jesus' birth day.  For all humans, even for the Messiah, life did not officially begin until their epiphany, (meaning the public display of the new child), which was not done until you were pretty sure the child was going to live at least for a year or so. And Jesus' epiphany is celebrated in the Catholic church 12 days after Christmas. Or, maybe Jesus was actually born on 6 December - 12 days before 25 December - which is Saint Nicholas day.... If you think about it too much, this holiday can become very confusing.  So let's stick to the song.

This English Christmas Carol began as a  midwinter festival “memories and forfeits game”, a sort of musical chairs in a world without very many chairs. 

We know the game began in France because the Red-legged (or French) partridge (above), widespread in medieval Europe, commonly perches in trees, unlike the the English (or grey) partridges which, while common today, were not introduced to England until the 18^th century, and they prefer nesting on ledges or cliffs. And in all three medieval French versions of the song that we know of, and all surviving English versions, “a partridge in a pear tree” is the first and final present always received by the lead singer. So it all started in France with Red-legged partridges.

In the game the leader sings a verse, and each participant repeats what they have just heard, and everybody then takes a drink of wine or mead. Then the leader sings another verse, adding an item, the players repeat, and then everybody drinks again. The rounds we have inherited begin “On the first day of Christmas, my true love gives to me, a partridge in a pear tree.  On second day of Christmas, my true love gives to me, two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree.”

The game continues (with variations) to three French Hens, four colly birds, five gold rings, six geese a-laying, seven swans a-swimming, eight maids a-milking, nine ladies dancing, ten lords a-leaping, eleven pipers pipping, and twelve drummers drumming. A player who forgets an item is eliminated and forced to offer a kiss to the leader, or eat a less than appealing food item. The game would continue until all 12 verses were done, or all the players but one had been eliminated because they were too drunk to remember their own names, let alone how many maids were milking. Sound familiar?  How many bottles of beer do you have on your wall?

And yes, the line is “four colly birds”, as in a colliery, meaning a coal pit or a mine. The birds referred to were as black as coal – the common European black bird. When this song was translated into English, crows and ravens were large enough to only be referred to as fowl.

But the 4 ½ ounce Turdus merula (the black thrush) (above), was small enough to be called a bird . In the winter black birds were easy to attract with seed and easy to catch with a net, and they were a common part of the diet. Peasants sang about “four and twenty black birds baked in a pie”, and they meant these cute little guys. It is a reminder that there are huge chunks of our culture based on now forgotten starvation times repeatedly suffered in each life time. And “break fasts,” like the midwinter festival, were fond memories, which Christianity adopted and adapted to.

In fact, birds play a major role in this song, as if the leader was scanning the banquet table for the next noun to use in the next verse. The partridge is followed by turtle doves, French hens, the Colly birds, geese and swans. The five gold rings seem out of place unless they refer to the ring-necked pheasant, the male of which (above) has a golden brown plumage and a white ring around his neck. There would have been such a bird on any well stocked pheasants midwinter festival table, along with the other bird protein

There would also have been cheese (made from milk), and about the room, men and women dancing - but not in pairs, that would not become common until the 10^th century. And of course there would be musicians accompanying the song-game with the world's oldest instruments, a flute (or a pipe) and a drum. Music was as vital a part of pagan religious and social celebrations, as they are of Christian services.

And that brings up the recent myth that this game was used to preserve Catholicism in a hostile Protestant England. That might be true, except there is not even of hint of that story until 1979. However, the success of this myth across the Internet since then, does offer an insight into the methodology Christianity used to snatch Christmas from the happy pagans getting drunk at their winter solstice break fast. 

I am not suggesting a conspiracy, but rather a well meaning application of religiously influenced logic. That is also probably how Mithra over came Apollo, and how Jupiter conquered Zeus. It would be wise for all born again Christian evangelicals to remember that religious practices never really die, they just become adopted and adapted.  That has nothing to do with the validity of any belief. It just means humans have always wanted to believe.

The same can be said about a certain odd mathematical aspect of the carol. If you add up all the gifts – 1 partridge, 2 turtle doves and 1 partridge, 3 French hens, 2 turtle doves and 1 partridge, etc., etc. – they add up to 364 gifts in total. It seems there ought to be some connection between the gifts and the length of the year. The only problem is a year is 365 ¼ days long, not 364, and that time length has been well known since, well, since forever. And while it seems the number of gifts, like some sort of Christmas carol kabbalah, ought to mean something, it really doesn't. And that seems to me to be the difference between religion and science. In religion the possibility of meaning is the meaning, while in science the possibility is theory and subject to testing. Religion gave us the pyramids and Michelangelo's "David". Science gave us a modern infant mortality rate in industrial nations of less then 1% and thus, birthdays.

Which brings us to the Christmas Price Index, created in 1984 by the chief economist for PNC Financial Services Group, of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, as “a humorous commodity price index to measure the changing cost of goods over time” using the gifts in The Twelve Days of Christmas. Each year in late November, PNC analysts consult with the Cincinnati Zoo and Botanical Garden and the National Aviary in Philadelphia to price most of the birds in the song. However, for some reason, rather than a European black bird, PNC uses the price of a canary at Petco. Gordon Jewelers, a division of Zale Corporation out of Irving, Texas, prices five gold rings for the Index, even tho, as I said earlier, the gift probably refereed to was the ring-necked pheasants. The maids-a-milking are assumed to be earning federal minimum wage, and the Philadelphia Dance Company and their Ballet Company provide the cost of leaping and dancing ladies and lords. The Pennsylvania Musicians Union provides the cost of the drummers and pipers, and the fruit tree was by tradition priced by Waterloo Gardens, an upscale Philadelphia plant nursery catering to the local top 1% of green thumbs.

In 2020, the partridge and the pair tree together cost $210.18 - unchanged since last year.  The price of the turtle doves rose by 50% to $450.00.  The trio of French Hens cost  $210,00, an increase of 15%, after 3 years unchanged. The 4 Colling birds (actually Petco canaries) also remained steady at $599.96.  The five gold rings gained 14.5 % over last year, now priced at $945.00.   The price for 6 geese a-laying - at  $575 - was up almost 36%, while  the 7 swans - at $13,125 - ,was unchanged for the second year in a row. The 8 maids a milking -  at just  $58.00  -  has remained flat for the past 8 years - (which says something very depressing about women and the minimum wage). However, for the first time in the history of the PNC list, the price of 9 maids dancing, ten lords a leaping and the musicians for wind instruments and the percussionists are not available because of the Covid-19 lockdown.  The 2020 total cost for the 12 days of Christmas was $16,168.14,, down 58.5%, because Covid-19.

PNC admits they use the index to “engage clients”, which means they are trying to entertain bankers, a profession not known for their humor or their humility. But, PNC also admits this annual nonsense economic measure has become “one of PNC’s most popular and anticipated economic reports.” I suspect that is in large part because it is “filler” used by media types to add a Christmas hint to their newscasts.  However, there may be hidden a more significant meaning, if  you care to look.  In June of 2012, after 70 years in business, the “nationally renowned Waterloo Gardens” went bankrupt. It seems after the "Great Recession",  even the 1% were tightening their belts, which means their gardeners were beginning to starve. And that was in 2012, before the minimum wage was stuck for another 7 years.

In any case, please have a Merry, merry, happy Capitalist Christmas. If you can afford it this year.

  - 30 -