Bizarre Victorian Christmas Cards

The Christmas card, that flimsy token of obligatory cheer we now dutifully shuffle through each December, was born not as a wholesome expression of goodwill but as a Victorian experiment in peculiar, unsettling whimsy. In its infancy, it wasn’t sugarplums or snowflakes that graced these cards; no, the Victorians had a knack for the macabre. Their early designs featured dead robins, drunken anthropomorphic frogs, and children roasting chestnuts with an intensity that could only be described as menacing. Imagine receiving one of these gems in the mail, a garish tableau that seemed less like a holiday greeting and more like a passive-aggressive hex.

This curious tradition was hatched in 1843, a year that also birthed Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, proving that the Victorians were quite capable of juggling sentimentality with existential dread. Sir Henry Cole, a man with an apparent disdain for writing individual holiday letters, commissioned the first commercial Christmas card. It depicted a family toasting their glasses - a seemingly innocuous scene until you notice the child sipping wine with the zeal of a jaded sommelier. Surrounding this merry band were illustrations of charitable acts, as if to say, “Drink up, but don’t forget to feed the poor - or else.”

But the Victorians didn’t stop at mere eccentricity; they leaned into the unsettling. The cards evolved into an art form that blurred the line between festive and nightmarish, as if designed by a 19th century Tim Burton. Imagine a cherubic toddler riding a giant beetle like a festive cavalry charge or a snowman whose gaze seemed to follow you across the room. These were not the sanitized greetings of modern times but surreal, unsettling missives that might better suit a Salvador Dali fever dream. It was Christmas, sure - but not quite as we know it.

Today you better hold on to your stamps as we steer our sleigh into the wonderfully strange world of bizarre Victorian Christmas cards.

”May Christmas be Merry” indeed! This trio - holds up a tambourine in triumph. Surrounding them are dragonflies darting through a pastel-colored landscape. It’s as though we’ve stumbled into a nature documentary written by Franz Kafka and directed by Lewis Carroll. This card likely served as a bit of lighthearted absurdity - something to surprise or even amuse the recipient in a time before Christmas cards became saccharine and predictable.  

What on earth is going on here? This card titled “A Jolly Christmas” seems anything but. The moonlit figure, holding what appears to be a club, might represent a Christmas goblin or “imp,” mythical creatures who were believed to cause chaos during the holiday season. The creature’s unsettling grin and pointed ears hint at something far more mischievous - or malevolent - than your average elf. The man, who likely stands in for all of us: startled, slightly confused, and increasingly unsure if this holiday encounter is meant to be funny or a prelude to bodily harm. “Jolly”, it seems, was a flexible concept to the Victorians.

What better way to spread holiday cheer than to send someone a card depicting sentient poultry on sleds? Anthropomorphic animals were a staple of Victorian humor and artistic expression, often used to poke fun at human behavior in exaggerated, whimsical ways. Here we see two well-dressed chickens - yes, chickens - dressed in proper 19th-century winter attire, sledding down a snowy hill. The caption, “Here’s a crow for Christmas,” adds another layer of cryptic confusion to the whole affair. Are these chickens meant to be crows? Is this a poultry-based pun gone rogue?

Have “A Satisfactory Christmas” isn't exactly your average "Peace on Earth" sentiment. This seems to be a subtle jab at the absurdity of the holiday season wrapped in a bow of good cheer. Here we have Mr. Punch (an enduring figure of Victorian satire who embodied a blend of humor, rebellion, and a certain dark charm that resonated with the complexities of the era) practically tripping over himself with excitement. Why? Because someone has gifted him a Christmas pudding the size of his head!

And what does Mr. Punch say? "How fortunate!" he exclaims, voice dripping with sarcasm. Now, don't get me wrong, there's a touch of genuine appreciation there. But it's the kind of appreciation you give when your in-laws surprise you with a pair of socks that are two sizes too small. You smile and say thank you, but you're already planning the re-gifting strategy.

This is a card is definitely not for the faint of heart. It's a…thing. A sentient Christmas pudding, apparently, with a chef's hat, a jolly face, and is standing on two wine bottles like some sort of festive Frankenstein's monster. It's wielding a carving knife and fork, ready to… do what exactly? Avenge the countless times it's been devoured? Or perhaps it's inviting you to join in a truly bizarre Christmas feast? We’re pretty sure the Victorians were trying to send a message with this one, but what it was is more than a little confusing. Maybe it's a commentary on gluttony? A warning against the dangers of overindulging in holiday cheer? Or maybe they were just having a laugh at the recipient’s expense.

While this apparent uprising of sparrows seems to have all the Christmas cheer of angry villagers on the hunt for the Frankenstein monster, but no. The sparrows may be symbolizing the collective effort of spreading light, warmth, and "jollity" during the dark winter hours. Or, depending on your outlook, they’re a feathered militia cheerfully storming the barricades of seasonal gloom. Perhaps they're lighting their way to deliver Christmas cheer, or maybe they’re just over it and have decided to burn it all down, Dickens-style. In any case, we’re guessing the message is: joy requires action. Even the humblest creatures can carry a torch, rally their friends, and brighten the world. We’re sure Alfred Hitchcock would have appreciated this one.

What can this possibly mean? Perhaps it’s a morality tale cloaked in Christmas cheer: the corrupting influence of wealth and the inevitable betrayal among pondmates? Or maybe it’s a nod to Darwinian survival of the fittest - “Merry Christmas and remember: only the cunning get the cash.” Whatever it’s supposed to mean, we think we can all agree that nothing says “A Merry Christmas to You” quite like a felonious frog.

One of the first things we all think about when we think about Christmas a dead bird, right? Perhaps the message is: "Look, life is fleeting, so squeeze some joy out of this holiday season while you still can." A Victorian reminder that death, like Christmas pudding, is always lurking nearby. Or it could symbolize the sacrifice required for happiness, a sort of avian martyrdom in service of your yuletide cheer. Or maybe he’s just sleeping off the spiked Christmas punch that was put in his birdbath.

Is this a snowman slowly, and somewhat agonizingly, melting? A ghost with an umbrella? Chewbacca? The Victorian era definitely had a knack for weaving existential dread into its holiday cheer, and this card is no exception. Whatever it’s supposed to mean, at least it is wishing us a merry Christmas.

And here we have a lovely bouquet of botanicals…staring back at us. The symbolism here likely taps into the Victorian obsession with nature, beauty, and childhood innocence - a trifecta they adored, though here with a surreal twist. Flowers symbolized purity and fleeting life and pairing them with cherubic faces may have been their attempt at whimsy. And images of disembodied children always screams Merry Christmas, dont’cha think?

“A Hearty Christmas Greeting: Four Jovial Froggies A Skating Would Go; They Asked Their Mamma, But She’d Sternly Said, ‘no!’ And They All Came To Grief In A Beautiful Row. There’s A Sweet Christmas Moral For One Not Too Slow. Just So!” What else is there to say?

Who needs Santa Claus when you can have an anthropomorphic root vegetable in a top hat and monocle, wielding a heart-shaped greeting?  Perhaps this was a hint of societal parody? A root vegetable as a dapper gentleman, poking fun at social airs and class distinctions. The heart-shaped message adds the seasonal “goodwill,” though it’s hard not to feel it’s coming from a turnip on LSD that will be chasing us in our sleep.

We’re guessing that this wasn’t Christmas wishes delivered from Hogwarts. No, the image of owls wobbling atop these precarious contraptions isn’t so much about Christmas as it is about life’s absurd balancing act. The bicycles, those giant-wheeled contraptions, suggest forward motion - a literal and metaphorical rolling into the New Year. The owls? They’re likely just along for the ride, staring blankly as if to say, "Yes, this is happening, and no, we don’t know why either."

The meaning? Delightfully unhinged. It’s Victorian surrealism at its finest - a reminder that Christmas, like this card, doesn’t always need to make sense to be celebrated. (By the way, we love the kangaroo’s slippers…).

Kids watching how their Christmas goose went from happy farm animal to their dinner table. Apparently, Scrooge was working the projector.

Ok, so the umbrellas and boots maybe suggest preparedness against life’s seasonal storms - literal or metaphorical - while the frogs, beings of both land and water, embody adaptability? Or maybe it’s saying “be like the frogs” - boots polished, umbrella in hand, and ready for whatever nonsense the holidays bring? It’s more likely that someone simply thought that frogs in boots was hilarious. While we’re not quite sure what the Victorian’s had with frogs and Christmas, we do like their boots!

And finally, “A Happy Christmas to You”. From, who else - the Christmas goat of course!

The Victorians had a curious relationship with the grotesque, often blending humor and horror in ways that now feel completely unhinged. Likely meant to amuse in their sheer absurdity, these strange little missives embody a world that was equal parts sentimental and unsettling, charming and absurd. They took the Victorian obsession with juxtaposing the grotesque and the beautiful and wrapped it in a thin veneer of seasonal goodwill. In doing so, they accidentally captured something timeless: the chaos of human emotion during a time of year that insists on uniform joy. It’s hard not to admire their honesty. After all, isn’t every Christmas a little bit of a mess?

What makes these cards so striking isn’t just their eccentric imagery but their unflinching embrace of the weird and wonderful. They didn’t shy away from the darker corners of the human psyche or the downright absurdity of life itself. Instead, they amplified it, putting anthropomorphic turnips and brooding goblins front and center, as if to say, “This, too, is part of the season.” The Victorians knew that Christmas wasn’t just about warmth and light - it was also about surviving the darkness, and they celebrated that duality with all the subtlety of a frog in boots.

So here we are, more than a century later, looking back at these bizarre artifacts and wondering what, exactly, they were thinking. Ultimately, these cards, thrive in their absurdity. They’re festive, yes, but they also hint at something just a touch subversive. A visual metaphor for the season, perhaps? Christmas, after all, can feel a bit like careening downhill at high speed: merry, slightly out of control, and populated with people - or chickens, or frogs, or whatever - who look vaguely familiar but not quite right. But maybe that’s the point. Victorian Christmas cards remind us that the holidays don’t need to be perfect to be meaningful. Sometimes, they’re chaotic, surreal, and slightly unnerving. And maybe, just maybe, that’s where the real magic lies - in embracing the mess, the absurdity, and the peculiar. We wish you all a festive ride this holiday season!

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