Old Christmas From the Sketch Book of Washington Irving
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Washington Irving >> Old Christmas From the Sketch Book of Washington Irving
Now Christmas is come,
Let us beat up the drum,
And call all our neighbours together;
And when they appear,
Let us make them such cheer,
As will keep out the wind and the weather, etc.
The supper had disposed every one to gaiety, and an old harper was
summoned from the servants' hall, where he had been strumming all the
evening, and to all appearance comforting himself with some of the
Squire's home-brewed. He was a kind of hanger-on, I was told, of the
establishment, and though ostensibly a resident of the village, was
oftener to be found in the Squire's kitchen than his own home, the old
gentleman being fond of the sound of "harp in hall."
[Illustration]
The dance, like most dances after supper, was a merry one; some of the
older folks joined in it, and the Squire himself figured down several
couples with a partner with whom he affirmed he had danced at every
Christmas for nearly half-a-century. Master Simon, who seemed to be a
kind of connecting link between the old times and the new, and to be
withal a little antiquated in the taste of his accomplishments,
evidently piqued himself on his dancing, and was endeavouring to gain
credit by the heel and toe, rigadoon, and other graces of the ancient
school; but he had unluckily assorted himself with a little romping
girl from boarding-school, who, by her wild vivacity, kept him
continually on the stretch, and defeated all his sober attempts at
elegance;--such are the ill-assorted matches to which antique gentlemen
are unfortunately prone!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
The young Oxonian, on the contrary, had led out one of his maiden aunts,
on whom the rogue played a thousand little knaveries with impunity; he
was full of practical jokes, and his delight was to tease his aunts and
cousins; yet, like all madcap youngsters, he was a universal favourite
among the women. The most interesting couple in the dance was the young
officer and a ward of the Squire's, a beautiful blushing girl of
seventeen. From several shy glances which I had noticed in the course of
the evening, I suspected there was a little kindness growing up between
them; and, indeed, the young soldier was just the hero to captivate a
romantic girl. He was tall, slender, and handsome, and, like most young
British officers of late years, had picked up various small
accomplishments on the Continent--he could talk French and Italian--draw
landscapes, sing very tolerably--dance divinely; but, above all, he had
been wounded at Waterloo:--what girl of seventeen, well read in poetry
and romance, could resist such a mirror of chivalry and perfection!
[Illustration]
The moment the dance was over, he caught up a guitar, and lolling
against the old marble fireplace, in an attitude which I am half
inclined to suspect was studied, began the little French air of the
Troubadour. The Squire, however, exclaimed against having anything on
Christmas eve but good old English; upon which the young minstrel,
casting up his eye for a moment, as if in an effort of memory, struck
into another strain, and, with a charming air of gallantry, gave
Herrick's "Night-Piece to Julia:"--
Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
The shooting stars attend thee,
And the elves also,
Whose little eyes glow
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.
No Will-o'-the-Wisp mislight thee;
Nor snake or glow-worm bite thee;
But on, on thy way,
Not making a stay,
Since ghost there is none to affright thee.
Then let not the dark thee cumber;
What though the moon does slumber,
The stars of the night
Will lend thee their light,
Like tapers clear without number.
Then, Julia, let me woo thee,
Thus, thus to come unto me;
And when I shall meet
Thy silvery feet,
My soul I'll pour into thee.
The song might have been intended in compliment to the fair Julia, for
so I found his partner was called, or it might not; she, however, was
certainly unconscious of any such application, for she never looked at
the singer, but kept her eyes cast upon the floor. Her face was
suffused, it is true, with a beautiful blush, and there was a gentle
heaving of the bosom, but all that was doubtless caused by the exercise
of the dance; indeed, so great was her indifference, that she was
amusing herself with plucking to pieces a choice bouquet of hothouse
flowers, and by the time the song was concluded, the nosegay lay in
ruins on the floor.
The party now broke up for the night with the kind-hearted old custom of
shaking hands. As I passed through the hall, on the way to my chamber,
the dying embers of the _Yule-clog_ still sent forth a dusky glow; and
had it not been the season when "no spirit dares stir abroad," I should
have been half tempted to steal from my room at midnight, and peep
whether the fairies might not be at their revels about the hearth.
[Illustration: "Indeed, so great was her indifference, that she was
amusing herself with plucking to pieces a choice bouquet of hot-house
flowers."--PAGE 72.]
My chamber was in the old part of the mansion, the ponderous furniture
of which might have been fabricated in the days of the giants. The room
was panelled with cornices of heavy carved-work, in which flowers and
grotesque faces were strangely intermingled; and a row of black-looking
portraits stared mournfully at me from the walls. The bed was of rich
though faded damask, with a lofty tester, and stood in a niche opposite
a bow-window. I had scarcely got into bed when a strain of music seemed
to break forth in the air just below the window. I listened, and found
it proceeded from a band, which I concluded to be the waits from some
neighbouring village. They went round the house, playing under the
windows. I drew aside the curtains, to hear them more distinctly. The
moonbeams fell through the upper part of the casement, partially
lighting up the antiquated apartment. The sounds, as they receded,
became more soft and aerial, and seemed to accord with quiet and
moonlight. I listened and listened--they became more and more tender
and remote, and, as they gradually died away, my head sank upon the
pillow and I fell asleep.
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[B] Peacham's Complete Gentleman, 1622.
[C] See Note A.
[D] See Note B.
[Illustration: Christmas Day]
[Illustration]
Dark and dull night, flie hence away,
And give the honour to this day
That sees December turn'd to May.
* * * * *
Why does the chilling winter's morne
Smile like a field beset with corn?
Or smell like to a meade new-shorne,
Thus on the sudden?--Come and see
The cause why things thus fragrant be.
HERRICK.
[Illustration]
CHRISTMAS DAY
[Illustration: W]
When I awoke the next morning, it seemed as if all the events of the
preceding evening had been a dream, and nothing but the identity of the
ancient chamber convinced me of their reality. While I lay musing on my
pillow, I heard the sound of little feet pattering outside of the door,
and a whispering consultation. Presently a choir of small voices chanted
forth an old Christmas carol, the burden of which was,
Rejoice, our Saviour he was born
On Christmas Day in the morning.
[Illustration]
I rose softly, slipped on my clothes, opened the door suddenly, and
beheld one of the most beautiful little fairy groups that a painter
could imagine. It consisted of a boy and two girls, the eldest not more
than six, and lovely as seraphs. They were going the rounds of the
house, and singing at every chamber-door; but my sudden appearance
frightened them into mute bashfulness. They remained for a moment
playing on their lips with their fingers, and now and then stealing a
shy glance, from under their eyebrows, until, as if by one impulse, they
scampered away, and as they turned an angle of the gallery, I heard them
laughing in triumph at their escape.
[Illustration]
Everything conspired to produce kind and happy feelings in this
stronghold of old-fashioned hospitality. The window of my chamber looked
out upon what in summer would have been a beautiful landscape. There was
a sloping lawn, a fine stream winding at the foot of it, and a tract of
park beyond, with noble clumps of trees, and herds of deer. At a
distance was a neat hamlet, with the smoke from the cottage chimneys
hanging over it; and a church with its dark spire in strong relief
against the clear cold sky. The house was surrounded with evergreens,
according to the English custom, which would have given almost an
appearance of summer; but the morning was extremely frosty; the light
vapour of the preceding evening had been precipitated by the cold, and
covered all the trees and every blade of grass with its fine
crystallisations. The rays of a bright morning sun had a dazzling effect
among the glittering foliage. A robin, perched upon the top of a
mountain-ash that hung its clusters of red berries just before my
window, was basking himself in the sunshine, and piping a few querulous
notes; and a peacock was displaying all the glories of his train, and
strutting with the pride and gravity of a Spanish grandee on the
terrace-walk below.
[Illustration]
I had scarcely dressed myself, when a servant appeared to invite me to
family prayers. He showed me the way to a small chapel in the old wing
of the house, where I found the principal part of the family already
assembled in a kind of gallery, furnished with cushions, hassocks, and
large prayer-books; the servants were seated on benches below. The old
gentleman read prayers from a desk in front of the gallery, and Master
Simon acted as clerk, and made the responses; and I must do him the
justice to say that he acquitted himself with great gravity and decorum.
The service was followed by a Christmas carol, which Mr. Bracebridge
himself had constructed from a poem of his favourite author, Herrick;
and it had been adapted to an old church melody by Master Simon. As
there were several good voices among the household, the effect was
extremely pleasing; but I was particularly gratified by the exaltation
of heart, and sudden sally of grateful feeling, with which the worthy
Squire delivered one stanza: his eyes glistening, and his voice rambling
out of all the bounds of time and tune:
"'Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth
With guiltlesse mirth,
And giv'st me wassaile bowles to drink,
Spiced to the brink:
Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand
That soiles my land;
And giv'st me for my bushell sowne,
Twice ten for one."
I afterwards understood that early morning service was read on every
Sunday and saint's day throughout the year, either by Mr. Bracebridge or
by some member of the family. It was once almost universally the case at
the seats of the nobility and gentry of England, and it is much to be
regretted that the custom is fallen into neglect; for the dullest
observer must be sensible of the order and serenity prevalent in those
households, where the occasional exercise of a beautiful form of worship
in the morning gives, as it were, the key-note to every temper for the
day, and attunes every spirit to harmony.
Our breakfast consisted of what the Squire denominated true old English
fare. He indulged in some bitter lamentations over modern breakfasts of
tea-and-toast, which he censured as among the causes of modern
effeminacy and weak nerves, and the decline of old English heartiness;
and though he admitted them to his table to suit the palates of his
guests, yet there was a brave display of cold meats, wine and ale, on
the sideboard.
[Illustration]
After breakfast I walked about the grounds with Frank Bracebridge and
Master Simon, or Mr. Simon, as he was called by everybody but the
Squire. We were escorted by a number of gentlemen-like dogs, that seemed
loungers about the establishment; from the frisking spaniel to the
steady old stag-hound; the last of which was of a race that had been in
the family time out of mind: they were all obedient to a dog-whistle
which hung to Master Simon's button-hole, and in the midst of their
gambols would glance an eye occasionally upon a small switch he carried
in his hand.
[Illustration]
The old mansion had a still more venerable look in the yellow sunshine
than by pale moonlight; and I could not but feel the force of the
Squire's idea, that the formal terraces, heavily moulded balustrades,
and clipped yew-trees, carried with them an air of proud aristocracy.
There appeared to be an unusual number of peacocks about the place, and
I was making some remarks upon what I termed a flock of them, that were
basking under a sunny wall, when I was gently corrected in my
phraseology by Master Simon, who told me that, according to the most
ancient and approved treatise on hunting, I must say a _muster_ of
peacocks. "In the same way," added he, with a slight air of pedantry,
"we say a flight of doves or swallows, a bevy of quails, a herd of deer,
of wrens, or cranes, a skulk of foxes, or a building of rooks." He went
on to inform me that, according to Sir Anthony Fitzherbert, we ought to
ascribe to this bird "both understanding and glory; for being praised,
he will presently set up his tail chiefly against the sun, to the
intent you may the better behold the beauty thereof. But at the fall of
the leaf, when his tail falleth, he will mourn and hide himself in
corners, till his tail come again as it was."
I could not help smiling at this display of small erudition on so
whimsical a subject; but I found that the peacocks were birds of some
consequence at the hall, for Frank Bracebridge informed me that they
were great favourites with his father, who was extremely careful to keep
up the breed; partly because they belonged to chivalry, and were in
great request at the stately banquets of the olden time; and partly
because they had a pomp and magnificence about them, highly becoming an
old family mansion. Nothing, he was accustomed to say, had an air of
greater state and dignity than a peacock perched upon an antique stone
balustrade.
[Illustration]
Master Simon had now to hurry off, having an appointment at the parish
church with the village choristers, who were to perform some music of
his selection. There was something extremely agreeable in the cheerful
flow of animal spirits of the little man; and I confess I had been
somewhat surprised at his apt quotations from authors who certainly were
not in the range of every-day reading. I mentioned this last
circumstance to Frank Bracebridge, who told me with a smile that Master
Simon's whole stock of erudition was confined to some half-a-dozen old
authors, which the Squire had put into his hands, and which he read over
and over, whenever he had a studious fit; as he sometimes had on a rainy
day, or a long winter evening. Sir Anthony Fitzherbert's Book of
Husbandry; Markham's Country Contentments; the Tretyse of Hunting, by
Sir Thomas Cockayne, Knight; Izaak Walton's Angler, and two or three
more such ancient worthies of the pen, were his standard authorities;
and, like all men who know but a few books, he looked up to them with a
kind of idolatry, and quoted them on all occasions. As to his songs,
they were chiefly picked out of old books in the Squire's library, and
adapted to tunes that were popular among the choice spirits of the last
century. His practical application of scraps of literature, however, had
caused him to be looked upon as a prodigy of book-knowledge by all the
grooms, huntsmen, and small sportsmen of the neighbourhood.
While we were talking we heard the distant toll of the village bell, and
I was told that the Squire was a little particular in having his
household at church on a Christmas morning; considering it a day of
pouring out of thanks and rejoicing; for, as old Tusser observed,
"At Christmas be merry, _and thankful withal_,
And feast thy poor neighbours, the great and the small."
"If you are disposed to go to church," said Frank Bracebridge, "I can
promise you a specimen of my cousin Simon's musical achievements. As the
church is destitute of an organ, he has formed a band from the village
amateurs, and established a musical club for their improvement; he has
also sorted a choir, as he sorted my father's pack of hounds, according
to the directions of Jervaise Markham, in his Country Contentments; for
the bass he has sought out all the 'deep, solemn mouths,' and for the
tenor the 'loud ringing mouths,' among the country bumpkins; and for
'sweet mouths,' he has culled with curious taste among the prettiest
lasses in the neighbourhood; though these last, he affirms, are the most
difficult to keep in tune; your pretty female singer being exceedingly
wayward and capricious, and very liable to accident."
[Illustration]
As the morning, though frosty, was remarkably fine and clear, the most
of the family walked to the church, which was a very old building of
gray stone, and stood near a village, about half-a-mile from the park
gate. Adjoining it was a low snug parsonage, which seemed coeval with
the church. The front of it was perfectly matted with a yew-tree that
had been trained against its walls, through the dense foliage of which
apertures had been formed to admit light into the small antique
lattices. As we passed this sheltered nest, the parson issued forth and
preceded us.
I had expected to see a sleek well-conditioned pastor, such as is often
found in a snug living in the vicinity of a rich patron's table; but I
was disappointed. The parson was a little, meagre, black-looking man,
with a grizzled wig that was too wide, and stood off from each ear; so
that his head seemed to have shrunk away within it, like a dried filbert
in its shell. He wore a rusty coat, with great skirts, and pockets that
would have held the church Bible and prayer-book; and his small legs
seemed still smaller, from being planted in large shoes, decorated with
enormous buckles.
[Illustration]
I was informed by Frank Bracebridge that the parson had been a chum of
his father's at Oxford, and had received this living shortly after the
latter had come to his estate. He was a complete black-letter hunter,
and would scarcely read a work printed in the Roman character. The
editions of Caxton and Wynkin de Worde were his delight; and he was
indefatigable in his researches after such old English writers as have
fallen into oblivion from their worthlessness. In deference, perhaps, to
the notions of Mr. Bracebridge, he had made diligent investigations into
the festive rights and holiday customs of former times; and had been as
zealous in the inquiry, as if he had been a boon companion; but it was
merely with that plodding spirit with which men of adust temperament
follow up any track of study, merely because it is denominated learning;
indifferent to its intrinsic nature, whether it be the illustration of
the wisdom, or of the ribaldry and obscenity of antiquity. He had poured
over these old volumes so intensely, that they seemed to have been
reflected into his countenance indeed; which, if the face be an index
of the mind, might be compared to a title-page of black-letter.
[Illustration: "On reaching the church-porch, we found the parson
rebuking the gray-headed sexton for having used mistletoe."--PAGE 95.]
On reaching the church-porch, we found the parson rebuking the
gray-headed sexton for having used mistletoe among the greens with which
the church was decorated. It was, he observed, an unholy plant, profaned
by having been used by the Druids in their mystic ceremonies; and though
it might be innocently employed in the festive ornamenting of halls and
kitchens, yet it had been deemed by the Fathers of the Church as
unhallowed, and totally unfit for sacred purposes. So tenacious was he
on this point, that the poor sexton was obliged to strip down a great
part of the humble trophies of his taste, before the parson would
consent to enter upon the service of the day.
The interior of the church was venerable but simple; on the walls were
several mural monuments of the Bracebridges, and just beside the altar
was a tomb of ancient workmanship, on which lay the effigy of a warrior
in armour, with his legs crossed, a sign of his having been a crusader.
I was told it was one of the family who had signalised himself in the
Holy Land, and the same whose picture hung over the fireplace in the
hall.
[Illustration]
During service, Master Simon stood up in the pew, and repeated the
responses very audibly; evincing that kind of ceremonious devotion
punctually observed by a gentleman of the old school, and a man of old
family connections. I observed, too, that he turned over the leaves of a
folio prayer-book with something of a flourish; possibly to show off an
enormous seal-ring which enriched one of his fingers, and which had
the look of a family relic. But he was evidently most solicitous about
the musical part of the service, keeping his eye fixed intently on the
choir, and beating time with much gesticulation and emphasis.
[Illustration: "The orchestra was in a small gallery, and presented a
most whimsical grouping of heads."--PAGE 97.]
[Illustration]
The orchestra was in a small gallery, and presented a most whimsical
grouping of heads, piled one above the other, among which I
particularly noticed that of the village tailor, a pale fellow with a
retreating forehead and chin, who played on the clarionet, and seemed to
have blown his face to a point; and there was another, a short pursy
man, stooping and labouring at a bass viol, so as to show nothing but
the top of a round bald head, like the egg of an ostrich. There were two
or three pretty faces among the female singers, to which the keen air
of a frosty morning had given a bright rosy tint; but the gentlemen
choristers had evidently been chosen, like old Cremona fiddles, more for
tone than looks; and as several had to sing from the same book, there
were clusterings of odd physiognomies, not unlike those groups of
cherubs we sometimes see on country tombstones.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
The usual services of the choir were managed tolerably well, the vocal
parts generally lagging a little behind the instrumental, and some
loitering fiddler now and then making up for lost time by travelling
over a passage with prodigious celerity, and clearing more bars than the
keenest fox-hunter, to be in at the death. But the great trial was an
anthem that had been prepared and arranged by Master Simon, and on which
he had founded great expectation. Unluckily there was a blunder at the
very outset; the musicians became flurried; Master Simon was in a fever,
everything went on lamely and irregularly until they came to a chorus
beginning "Now let us sing with one accord," which seemed to be a signal
for parting company: all became discord and confusion; each shifted for
himself, and got to the end as well, or rather as soon, as he could,
excepting one old chorister in a pair of horn spectacles bestriding and
pinching a long sonorous nose; who, happening to stand a little apart,
and being wrapped up in his own melody, kept on a quavering course,
wriggling his head, ogling his book, and winding all up by a nasal solo
of at least three bars' duration.
[Illustration]
The parson gave us a most erudite sermon on the rites and ceremonies of
Christmas, and the propriety of observing it not merely as a day of
thanksgiving, but of rejoicing; supporting the correctness of his
opinions by the earliest usages of the Church, and enforcing them by the
authorities of Theophilus of Cesarea, St. Cyprian, St. Chrysostom, St.
Augustine, and a cloud more of Saints and Fathers, from whom he made
copious quotations. I was a little at a loss to perceive the necessity
of such a mighty array of forces to maintain a point which no one
present seemed inclined to dispute; but I soon found that the good man
had a legion of ideal adversaries to contend with; having in the course
of his researches on the subject of Christmas, got completely embroiled
in the sectarian controversies of the Revolution, when the Puritans made
such a fierce assault upon the ceremonies of the Church, and poor old
Christmas was driven out of the land by proclamation of parliament.[E]
The worthy parson lived but with times past, and knew but a little of
the present.
Shut up among worm-eaten tomes in the retirement of his antiquated
little study, the pages of old times were to him as the gazettes of the
day; while the era of the Revolution was mere modern history. He forgot
that nearly two centuries had elapsed since the fiery persecution of
poor mince-pie throughout the land; when plum-porridge was denounced as
"mere popery," and roast beef as antichristian; and that Christmas had
been brought in again triumphantly with the merry court of King Charles
at the Restoration. He kindled into warmth with the ardour of his
contest, and the host of imaginary foes with whom he had to combat; had
a stubborn conflict with old Prynne and two or three other forgotten
champions of the Roundheads, on the subject of Christmas festivity; and
concluded by urging his hearers, in the most solemn and affecting
manner, to stand to the traditionary customs of their fathers, and feast
and make merry on this joyful anniversary of the Church.