Dragons and children at Christmas? It’s bound to get interesting.
December 24, 1824 Pemberley, Derbyshire, England
Darcy led the family downstairs into the cellar where Pemberley was waiting. In the last year the little firedrake had become too large to fit through the doors in the house, much to the family’s dismay. It had been then he discovered that like Longbourn, Pemberley had a dragon tunnel running between the cellars and the dragon lair. Old Pemberley had liked his privacy—probably why Father had never mentioned the tunnel to Darcy.
Little Pemberley was, however, overjoyed, promptly moving into the cellar with her now sizable dog, Puppy, and one of his progenies, Little Puppy. The only regret had been the length of time it had taken to make the discovery in the first place as the cellar was far mor comfortable for her than the shed that had been built for her and her pets near the kitchen door behind the house.
The candles Darcy and Elizabeth carried lit the dark, narrow stairs with a sweet, warm glow as the children’s little shadows dance their way down. All cobwebs and dust were kept swept away by the young maids, who also decorated the cellar with sweet-smelling evergreens and red bows for the festive season. The greens had been their idea, but Mrs. Reynolds had been the one to approve it. The dear old housekeeper had quite the soft-spot for young Pemberley.
April, her blue feather-scales glimmering in the flickering light, zipped back and forth between them, twittering happily, reminding them all not to step on tatzelwurm May’s tail. Not that the fairy dragon’s reminder was necessary, May had become quite adept at avoiding the footfall of little feet.
“When are you going to tell us about the treat?” Anne asked as she held Frances’ hand, helping her four-year-old sister down the stairs.
“Soon, my dear, soon it will be time.” Darcy smiled. The two girls looked just like their mother, with dark intelligent eyes and ready smiles.
“What do all these pillows have to do with it?” Bennet struggled to look over the three large pillows he carried.
“They are so big? Why do we need them in the cellar?” At six years old, George insisted he be allowed to help carry pillows, too. So Elizabeth found a small one, just the right size for his pudgy little arms.
“You will see soon my dear. Just a little more patience.” Elizabeth chuckled softly, as she adjusted the portfolio under her arm. “See how patiently Pemberley is waiting for us?”
The candlelight flowed out to include the young red firedrake waiting at the base of the stairs, her head now as high as Darcy’s. “You here! You here! Come, I make ready!” She hopped from left feet to right as Puppy and Little Puppy dashed back and forth from stairs to dragon. “Mrs. Reynolds put candles on walls.”
Candle niches, fashioned after the ones in Chudleigh’s London lair had been added to the cellar after the walls had been whitewashed, eliciting much talk within the household, especially the minor dragons who were excited to have Pemberley living in the house proper once again. They had not approved of her moving to the shed when the downstairs room she had been using became too small for her.
“Your father and I will light the candles. Anne, you and Bennet arrange the pillows and the chairs near Pemberley’s nest. Elizabeth patted George’s back and sent him off in the right direction.
George was such a funny little fellow, with the studious intensity of his maternal grandfather, and a streak of mischief reminiscent of Cousin Richard. He scurried off, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. Bennet placed the pillows near the tidy nest of sweet-smelling hay, while Anne fetched the chairs from the far corner of the cellar. She was every inch her mother’s daughter, with all that that entailed.
“Everything is ready! Come sit!” Bennet clapped as though that would move his siblings to comply with his request. He rather liked believing himself in charge of everything, which someday he might be, but not at the tender age of eight.
Pemberley climbed into her nest, still a little ungainly and waddling just the tiniest bit. It would not be long before she lost her babyishness and gained true draconic grace. She turned around twice, compacting the hay just right and settled down, wings tucked over the back, chin resting on the edge of the hay. Puppy and Little Puppy bounded into the hay beside her, pressing up against her, while April settled near Pemberley’s head.
The children settled into the pillows. May pressed herself into the small space between Anne and Frances. Though a companion to all the children, May’s preference for Anne was clear. They had been Friends since May hatched and Anne was not yet walking.
Darcy settled into one of the plain wooden chairs, facing his family. Bathed in the warm glow of the candles against the pale walls, his heart swelled with feelings that were difficult to name: warmth, gratitude, love, contentment. Whatever it might be called, it was good.
“Your Aunt Jane sent us a package from New York recently,” Elizabeth patted the leather portfolio on her lap.”
“Did she send a present?” George asked.
“She did. She sent a Christmas story for your father to read to you.” Elizabeth drew out a folded page and handed it to Darcy.
“A new story!” Anne clapped. “Does it have dragons? All good stories have dragons!”
Darcy held his breath not to chuckle.
“No, this one does not have dragons,” Elizabeth said with a soft sigh, “but trust me, it is a good story nonetheless.”
“It would be better with dragons,” Anne muttered looking at May.
“Mrrrow.”
“I am sure it is a good story, nevertheless.” April twittered and flapped as if to scold the children into happiness.
“I like stories.” Frances drew her knees up and leaned against Anne, squashing a very patient May between them.
“Then I am sure you will like this one.” Darcy unfolded the paper, squinting at it.
“It is from the Sentinel, a paper in New York, from 1823—”
“That means it was published last year,” Bennet declared.
“Why did Aunt Jane wait a whole year to send it to us?” George asked.
“I am sure she had other things to do. Aunt Jane is a busy woman with so many children in the house and Uncle Bingley’s business as well.” Of course Anne would have a ready answer.
Darcy cleared his throat. “It reads an Account of a Visit from St. Nicholas.”
“Who St. Nicholas?” Pemberley asked.
“St. Nicholas, his day is December 6, you know. He is the saint of children and sailors, though I can hardly understand what one has to do with the other.” Anne glanced at Elizabeth who just shook her head.
“Grandmama Bennet sent us sweets on St. Nicholas day! And a tin soldier! I like St. Nicholas Day!” George clapped softly, bouncing as he did so.
“I do to!” Frances nodded vigorously. She had the most pronounced sweet tooth in the family.
“If there are no further comments, I shall begin.”
The children sat up a little straighter and nodded.
“’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.”
“Why would you stockings by the chimney, Papa? Were they wet?” Bennet asked.
“Why would St. Nicholas be coming? He is dead, is he not? That is why we celebrate him as a saint. Saints used to be alive, but are not now, otherwise they would not be a saint. You have to be dead to be saintly.” Anne crossed her arms over her chest, a familiar determined look in her eye.
“This is a pretend story, Anne. It does not have to be real, like the fairy stories we read together.” Elizabeth had that ‘trying to be reasonable’ voice that she often used with children and recalcitrant Dragon Keepers.
“I do not know why the stockings were hung there, I suppose it is an American thing, Darcy said.
“I think it very strange.” Bennet looked at George as he spoke.
“Where was I? Ah yes … 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.”
“Mama does not wear a kerchief at night, she wears a cap. I think those Americans are very odd indeed,” Anne muttered just loud enough to be heard and earn a sharp look from Elizabeth.
“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 younger children gasped, eyes wide. Pemberley pressed her neck out over the edge of the nest, her eyes wide as the children’s. April held very still, in a way unusual for fairy dragons, almost as though holding her breath.
“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 …”
“What, Papa! What? What appeared?” George demanded.
“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.”
“You mean St. Nicholas?” Anne asked.
“Why did you call him Nick, Papa? Is that not disrespectful to nickname a saint?” Naturally Bennet would see it that way.”
“Why was it a miniature sleigh? Are dead saints very small?” George screwed his face up, thinking very hard.
“What is a reindeer?” Frances asked. “Are they like the deer we have in the forest?”
“They are special deer that live in cold places.” Elizabeth nodded at the children and turned her gaze on Darcy.
“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!’”
“Top of wall? Reindeer jump very good.” The tip of Pemberley’s tail flicked with interest as her wings rustled. “Deer in forest jump too, but I not think that good.”
He must not laugh at the sincerity of the young dragon. She was at that age where her feelings were tender but her sensibility was limited. “As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane—and before you ask, a hurricane is a kind of very big storm with a lot of wind— the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So up to the house-top the coursers they flew—”
“Flew? Reindeer flew?” Anne jumped to her feet.
“Deer not fly.” Pemberley extended her wings slightly. “They no have wings.”
“I do not think deer, even reindeer can fly. Especially not with a sleigh behind them.” A crease formed between Bennet’s brows.
“I think they were dragons, not deer,” George whispered.
“Yes!” Anne clapped and bounced on her toes. “That is the only thing that makes sense!”
“Drakes sometime pull carts. Welles pulls the farm cart around the estate, but he does not like to go into the village with it.” Bennet looked to Anne for agreement.
“Yes, yes, that makes far more sense. Perhaps St. Nicholas heard dragons.”
“Of course he heard dragons.” Frances clambered to her feet, which led Bennet and George to do the same. She leaned against the nest and laid her tiny hand on Pemberley’s neck. “Important people like saints must hear dragons.”
“I bet the reindeer are dragons who persuade people that they are reindeer.”
“Yes, yes!” Frances jumped up and down. May sprang from the floor to the edge of the nest to avoid little feet. “That is what dragons do, they persuade.”
“Of course they would have to if they were going to pull a sleigh, just like Welles does when someone visits the estate who does not hear dragon. That is why he does not like to go into the village—he finds all that persuasion disagreeable,” Bennet said.
Anne sighed and looked at her mother. “But it still does not make sense.”
“What does not make sense?” Elizabeth’s ever patient voice, again.
“Well, perhaps I am wrong, Papa would you read a little more?”
“I will if you all sit back down.” He waited until they settled back on the pillows, although May stayed on the nest. “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.”
“No, no! That cannot be. I was right—how can he allow the dragons to do that?” Anne was on her feet again, fists balled. “That is just so wrong.”
“What is?” Elizabeth sighed again; she was getting close to exasperation.
“The moon is bright and the dragons are flying! Worse they are landing on a roof and are quite noisy about it!”
“She is right.” Bennet stood shoulder to shoulder to Anne. “The Blue Order rules are clear, dragons must not allow themselves to be seen. If they are persuading people they are deer and deer cannot fly, then they should not be flying when they might be seen. Those are the rules, right?”
“Those rules.” Pemberley sat back on her haunches and spread her wings. “Yes, those deer-dragons are very wrong. What they are doing very dangerous.”
“Then why write a story about it?” Frances asked.
“Won’t a story make more people want to do it? They should be good examples in the story.” George insisted with his entire body.
Anne gasped and pressed her hand to her mouth. “Oh! I understand! I understand! It all makes sense now.”
“How!” her siblings clamored.
“Think about it Bennet, I am sure you will see.” She crossed her arms over her chest, just like her mother did when trying to make a point.”
Bennet’s eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped. “Of course! It is so clear!”
“Tell us!” Frances tugged his coattails.
“I think the writer—what is his name, Papa?” Anne asked.
“Clement Clarke Moore.”
“Mr. Moore must be a Dragon Keeper, or at least a dragon Friend to these flying dragons.”
“And he was the one who let them, or at least saw them, flying when they should not have been,” Bennet cut in.
“He must have known it was wrong and dangerous. He is either a very bad Keeper or Friend, or the dragons do not listen to him and did it on their own, very unwisely.”
“It bad not to listen to Keeper.” Pemberley nodded as only a very long necked creature could nod. “I always listen to Keeper and her.”
Perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration, but all in all, Pemberley was a very good little dragon.
“But these dragons did not listen, or were not stopped. It is hard to know which.” Anne glanced at Pemberley. “And after they flew in the moonlight, there was a very big problem. They had been seen.”
“And maybe the local fairy dragons or cockatrice or tatzelwurms were not very persuasive—” Bennet said.
“Or maybe they did not like the unwise dragons very much are were stubborn about helping. That could have been the problem too. But since the persuasion was not happening, or not working or something like that, then the Keeper or Friend, whichever he was—”
“He had to be a Keeper.” George thrust his jaw forward. “There are no small dragon who fly that do not persuade people they are birds and everyone knows birds fly.”
“But then what sort of dragon—” Bennet turned to his brother.
“Firedrakes are too big as a rule. What do you think, Pemberley?” Anne scratched under Pemberley’s chin.
“Wyverns, it must have been wyverns. Or maybe just one. Or could be two.”
“Wyverns, yes! You must be right. So then, the wyvern or wyverns Keeper knew there would be trouble. So—”
“So he made up the story and got it printed in the paper!” Bennet’s smile was truly triumphant. “He was very clever and made a warm-blooded sort of persuasion to go along with the dragon persuasion and cover up for what the dragons did.”
“It is the only think that makes sense, right Mama?” Anne cocked her head exactly like Elizabeth did.
Elizabeth pinched her temples with thumb and forefinger, shaking her head, her shoulders shuddering just a mite. “Of course dear, it does make sense. Under those circumstances, a Keeper would have to do whatever he or she thought possible to protect the dragons.”
“You see, I am right!” Anne liked very much to be right. She helped her siblings settle back onto their pillows. “What happened then Papa?”
Indeed, what happened? The real question was what would his very clever children make of the rest of the story? A home invader who brought gifts? No that was certainly too much, at least for tonight! “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.’”
“See! He realized it was dangerous and got the dragons to go back to their lairs! I knew it!” Anne grinned.
“I like the dragon story, Papa!” Frances sidled up to him. “Will you read it to us again, next Christmas eve?”
“I want to know more about the sleigh pulling wyvern and their Keeper!” George was suddenly at his other knee.
“That would be an excellent story.” Anne laid her hand on her sister’s shoulder.
“I would be,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps we will tell it next year. Or if you want, you children might write it and read it for next year.”
“Yes!” George pumped his little fists at his side. “We could write a play and perform it, like a theatrical for Christmas.”
“What a grand idea! May we start to work on it now? I know just where to start it!” Anne grabbed George’s hand and at Elizabeth’s nod, the children raced upstairs.
Elizabeth and Darcy looked at each other. Next Christmas was going to be very interesting.
A Visit from St. Nicholas
published 1823 by Clement Clarke Moore–1779-1863
‘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, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow
And the beard 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.”
2 comments
Thanks for another wonderful dragon tale!
Loved it. What a wonderful way to include a beloved Christmas poem into a world of dragons, intelligent children, and rules.