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Tuesday, August 18, 2020

Old Belsnickle in Baltimore

As indicated by the added subtitle in this 1841 reprinting of "A Visit from St. Nicholas," German immigrants in Baltimore would have recognized the fur-clad elf in Clement C. Moore's classic Christmas poem as an Americanized Pelznickel aka Belsnickle, the furry Nicholas. As explained by Phyllis Siefker in Santa Claus, Last of the Wild Men (McFarland, 1997 and 2006):
"Santa's forefather was the very unsaintlike  Furry Nicholas, a major player in winter festivals that have been transplanted from Europe to the rugged backwoods of Pennsylvania."
And Maryland, as shown by the expanded title for the poem as reprinted in the Baltimore Clipper on Christmas Day 1841: "A Visit from Saint Nicholas, or Old Belsnickle."

More recently, Tom A. Jerman in Santa Claus Worldwide (McFarland, 2020) describes Pelznickel as "one of the faux Nicholases created following the Reformation." As furry Nicholas displaced the banned Catholic saint, Pelznickel and similar figures
"assumed the role of a secular gift-giver and disciplinarian whereas the virtuous saint performed only good works and required a satanic assistant to do his dirty work."(Jerman, Santa Claus Worldwide, pages 29-30). 
Baltimore Clipper (Baltimore, Maryland) December 25, 1841
via GenealogyBank

A VISIT FROM SAINT NICHOLAS,

OR
OLD BELSNICKLE.


'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 through 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 call'd them by name:
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! Now, Prancer! Now, Vixen!
On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Donder and Blixen--
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all!"
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the 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 look'd like a pedlar just opening his pack.
His eyes, how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face, and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laugh'd, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump; a right jolly old elf:
And I laugh'd, 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 fill'd all the stockings; then turn'd 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!"

-- Baltimore Clipper, December 25, 1841 

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