________________________________________________
_
Christmas Eve
Saint Francis and Saint Benedight
Blesse this house from wicked wight;
From the night-mare and the goblin,
That is hight good fellow Robin;
Keep it from all evil spirits,
Fairies, weezels, rats, and ferrets:
From curfew time
To the next prime.
CARTWRIGHT.
IT was a brilliant moonlight night, but extremely cold; our
chaise whirled rapidly over the frozen ground; the postboy
smacked his whip incessantly, and a part of the time his horses
were on a gallop. "He knows where he is going," said my
companion, laughing, "and is eager to arrive in time for some of
the merriment and good cheer of the servants' hall. My father,
you must know, is a bigoted devotee of the old school, and prides
himself upon keeping up something of old English hospitality. He
is a tolerable specimen of what you will rarely meet with
nowadays in its purity, the old English country gentleman; for
our men of fortune spend so much of their time in town, and
fashion is carried so much into the country, that the strong rich
peculiarities of ancient rural life are almost polished away. My
father, however, from early years, took honest Peacham* for his
textbook, instead of Chesterfield; he determined in his own mind
that there was no condition more truly honorable and enviable
than that of a country gentleman on his paternal lands, and
therefore passes the whole of his time on his estate. He is a
strenuous advocate for the revival of the old rural games and
holiday observances, and is deeply read in the writers, ancient
and modern, who have treated on the subject. Indeed, his favorite
range of reading is among the authors who flourished at least two
centuries since, who, he insists, wrote and thought more like
true Englishmen than any of their successors. He even regrets
sometimes that he had not been born a few centuries earlier, when
England was itself and had its peculiar manners and customs. As
he lives at some distance from the main road, in rather a lonely
part of the country, without any rival gentry near him, he has
that most enviable of all blessings to an Englishman--an
opportunity of indulging the bent of his own humor without
molestation. Being representative of the oldest family in the
neighborhood, and a great part of the peasantry being his
tenants, he is much looked up to, and in general is known simply
by the appellation of `The Squire'--a title which has been
accorded to the head of the family since time immemorial. I think
it best to give you these hints about my worthy old father, to
prepare you for any eccentricities that might otherwise appear
absurd."
* Peacham's Complete Gentleman, 1622.
We had passed for some time along the wall of a park, and at
length the chaise stopped at the gate. It was in a heavy,
magnificent old style, of iron bars fancifully wrought at top
into flourishes and flowers. The huge square columns that
supported the gate were surmounted by the family crest. Close
adjoining was the porter's lodge, sheltered under dark fir trees
and almost buried in shrubbery.
The postboy rang a large porter's bell, which resounded though
the still frosty air, and was answered by the distant barking of
dogs, with which the mansion-house seemed garrisoned. An old
woman immediately appeared at the gate. As the moonlight fell
strongly upon her, I had a full view of a little primitive dame,
dressed very much in the antique taste, with a neat kerchief and
stomacher, and her silver hair peeping from under a cap of snowy
whiteness. She came curtseying forth, with many expressions of
simple joy at seeing her young master. Her husband, it seemed,
was up at the house keeping Christmas Eve in the servants' hall;
they could not do without him, as he was the best hand at a song
and story in the household.
My friend proposed that we should alight and walk through the
park to the hall, which was at no great distance, while the
chaise should follow on. Our road wound through a noble avenue of
trees, among the naked branches of which the moon glittered as
she rolled through the deep vault of a cloudless sky. The lawn
beyond was sheeted with a slight covering of snow, which here and
there sparkled as the moonbeams caught a frosty crystal, and at a
distance might be seen a thin transparent vapor stealing up from
the low grounds and threatening gradually to shroud the
landscape.
My companion looked around him with transport. "How often," said
he, "have I scampered up this avenue on returning home on school
vacations! How often have I played under these trees when a boy!
I feel a degree of filial reverence for them, as we look up to
those who have cherished us in childhood. My father was always
scrupulous in exacting our holidays and having us around him on
family festivals. He used to direct and superintend our games
with the strictness that some parents do the studies of their
children. He was very particular that we should play the old
English games according to their original form, and consulted old
books for precedent and authority for every `merrie disport;' yet
I assure you there never was pedantry so delightful. It was the
policy of the good old gentleman to make his children feel that
home was the happiest place in the world; and I value this
delicious home-feeling as one of the choicest gifts a parent
could bestow."
We were interrupted by the clamor of a troop of dogs of all sorts
and sizes, "mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, and curs of lower
degree," that disturbed by the ring of the porter's bell and the
rattling of the chaise, came bounding, open-mouthed, across the
lawn.
"`----The little dogs and all,
Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see, they bark at me!'"
cried Bracebridge, laughing. At the sound of his voice the bark
was changed into a yelp of delight, and in a moment he was
surrounded and almost overpowered by the caresses of the faithful
animals.
We had now come in full view of the old family mansion, partly
thrown in deep shadow and partly lit up by the cold moonshine. It
was an irregular building of some magnitude, and seemed to be of
the architecture of different periods. One wing was evidently
very ancient, with heavy stone-shafted bow windows jutting out
and overrun with ivy, from among the foliage of which the small
diamond-shaped panes of glass glittered with the moonbeams. The
rest of the house was in the French taste of Charles the Second's
time, having been repaired and altered, as my friend told me, by
one of his ancestors who returned with that monarch at the
Restoration. The grounds about the house were laid out in the old
formal manner of artificial flower-beds, clipped shrubberies,
raised terraces, and heavy stone balustrades, ornamented with
urns, a leaden statue or two, and a jet of water. The old
gentleman, I was told, was extremely careful to preserve this
obsolete finery in all its original state. He admired this
fashion in gardening; it had an air of magnificence, was courtly
and noble, and befitting good old family style. The boasted
imitation of Nature in modern gardening had sprung up with modern
republican notions, but did not suit a monarchical government; it
smacked of the leveling system. I could not help smiling at this
introduction of politics into gardening, though I expressed some
apprehension that I should find the old gentleman rather
intolerant in his creed. Frank assured me, however, that it was
almost the only instance in which he had ever heard his father
meddle with politics; and he believed that he had got this notion
from a member of Parliament who once passed a few weeks with him.
The squire was glad of any argument to defend his clipped yew
trees and formal terraces, which had been occasionally attacked
by modern landscape gardeners.
As we approached the house we heard the sound of music, and now
and then a burst of laughter from one end of the building. This,
Bracebridge said, must proceed from the servants' hall, where a
great deal of revelry was permitted, and even encouraged, by the
squire throughout the twelve days of Christmas, provided
everything was done conformably to ancient usage. Here were kept
up the old games of hoodman blind, shoe the wild mare, hot
cockles, steal the white loaf, bob apple, and snap dragon; the
Yule-clog and Christmas candle were regularly burnt, and the
mistletoe with its white berries hung up, to the imminent peril
of all the pretty housemaids.*
* The mistletoe is still hung up in farm-houses and kitchens at
Christmas, and the young men have the privilege of kissing the
girls under it, plucking each time a berry from the bush. When
the berries are all plucked the privilege ceases.
So intent were the servants upon their sports that we had to ring
repeatedly before we could make ourselves heard. On our arrival
being announced the squire came out to receive us, accompanied by
his two other sons--one a young officer in the army, home on a
leave of absence; the other an Oxonian, just from the university.
The squire was a fine healthy-looking old gentleman, with silver
hair curling lightly round an open florid countenance, in which
the physiognomist, with the advantage, like myself, of a previous
hint or two, might discover a singular mixture of whim and
benevolence.
The family meeting was warm and affectionate; as the evening was
far advanced, the squire would not permit us to change our
travelling dresses, but ushered us at once to the company, which
was assembled in a large old-fashioned hall. It was composed of
different branches of a numerous family connection, where there
were the usual proportion of old uncles and aunts, comfortable
married dames, superannuated spinsters, blooming country cousins,
half-fledged striplings, and bright-eyed boarding-school hoydens.
They were variously occupied--some at a round game of cards;
others conversing around the fireplace; at one end of the hall
was a group of the young folks, some nearly grown up, others of a
more tender and budding age, fully engrossed by a merry game; and
a profusion of wooden horses, penny trumpets, and tattered dolls
about the floor showed traces of a troop of little fairy beings
who, having frolicked through a happy day, had been carried off
to slumber through a peaceful night.
While the mutual greetings were going on between young
Bracebridge and his relatives I had time to scan the apartment. I
have called it a hall, for so it had certainly been in old times,
and the squire had evidently endeavored to restore it to
something of its primitive state. Over the heavy projecting
fireplace was suspended a picture of a warrior in armor, standing
by a white horse, and on the opposite wall hung a helmet,
buckler, and lance. At one end an enormous pair of antlers were
inserted in the wall, the branches serving as hooks on which to
suspend hats, whips, and spurs, and in the corners of the
apartment were fowling-pieces, fishing-rods, and other sporting
implements. The furniture was of the cumbrous workmanship of
former days, though some articles of modern convenience had been
added and the oaken floor had been carpeted, so that the whole
presented an odd mixture of parlor and hall.
The grate had been removed from the wide overwhelming fireplace
to make way for a fire of wood, in the midst of which was an
enormous log glowing and blazing, and sending forth a vast volume
of light and heat: this, I understood, was the Yule-clog, which
the squire was particular in having brought in and illumined on a
Christmas Eve, according to ancient custom.*
* The Yule-clog is a great log of wood, sometimes the root of a
tree, brought into the house with great ceremony on Christmas
Eve, laid in the fireplace, and lighted with the brand of last
year's clog. While it lasted there was great drinking, singing,
and telling of tales. Sometimes it was accompanied by Christmas
candles; but in the cottages the only light was from the ruddy
blaze of the great wood fire. The Yule-clog was to burn all
night; if it went out, it was considered a sign of ill luck.
Herrick mentions it in one of his songs:
Come, bring with a noise,
My metric, merrie boys,
The Christmas Log to the firing;
While my good dame, she
Bids ye all be free,
And drink to your hearts' desiring.
The Yule-clog is still burnt in many farm-houses and kitchens in
England, particularly in the north, and there are several
superstitions connected with it among the peasantry. If a
squinting person come to the house while it is burning, or a
person barefooted, it is considered an ill omen. The brand
remaining from the Yule-clog is carefully put away to light the
next year's Christmas fire.
It was really delightful to see the old squire seated in his
hereditary elbow-chair by the hospitable fireside of his
ancestors, and looking around him like the sun of a system,
beaming warmth and gladness to every heart. Even the very dog
that lay stretched at his feet, as he lazily shifted his position
and yawned would look fondly up in his master's face, wag his
tail against the floor, and stretch himself again to sleep,
confident of kindness and protection. There is an emanation from
the heart in genuine hospitality which cannot be described, but
is immediately felt and puts the stranger at once at his ease. I
had not been seated many minutes by the comfortable hearth of the
worthy old cavalier before I found myself as much at home as if I
had been one of the family.
Supper was announced shortly after our arrival. It was served up
in a spacious oaken chamber, the panels of which shone with wax,
and around which were several family portraits decorated with
holly and ivy. Besides the accustomed lights, two great wax
tapers, called Christmas candles, wreathed with greens, were
placed on a highly polished beaufet among the family plate. The
table was abundantly spread with substantial fare; but the squire
made his supper of frumenty, a dish made of wheat cakes boiled in
milk with rich spices, being a standing dish in old times for
Christmas Eve. I was happy to find my old friend, minced pie, in
the retinue of the feast and, finding him to be perfectly
orthodox, and that I need not be ashamed of my predilection, I
greeted him with all the warmth wherewith we usually greet an old
and very genteel acquaintance.
The mirth of the company was greatly promoted by the humors of an
eccentric personage whom Mr. Bracebridge always addressed with
the quaint appellation of Master Simon. He was a tight brisk
little man, with the air of an arrant old bachelor. His nose was
shaped like the bill of a parrot; his face slightly pitted with
the small-pox, with a dry perpetual bloom on it, like a
frostbitten leaf in autumn. He had an eye of great quickness and
vivacity, with a drollery and lurking waggery of expression that
was irresistible. He was evidently the wit of the family, dealing
very much in sly jokes and innuendoes with the ladies, and making
infinite merriment by harping upon old themes, which,
unfortunately, my ignorance of the family chronicles did not
permit me to enjoy. It seemed to be his great delight during
supper to keep a young girl next to him in a continual agony of
stifled laughter, in spite of her awe of the reproving looks of
her mother, who sat opposite. Indeed, he was the idol of the
younger part of the company, who laughed at everything he said or
did and at every turn of his countenance. I could not wonder at
it; for be must have been a miracle of accomplishments in their
eyes. He could imitate Punch and Judy; make an old woman of his
hand, with the assistance of a burnt cork and
pocket-handkerchief; and cut an orange into such a ludicrous
caricature that the young folks were ready to die with laughing.
I was let briefly into his history by Frank Bracebridge. He was
an old bachelor, of a small independent income, which by careful
management was sufficient for all his wants. He revolved through
the family system like a vagrant comet in its orbit, sometimes
visiting one branch, and sometimes another quite remote, as is
often the case with gentlemen of extensive connections and small
fortunes in England. He had a chirping, buoyant disposition,
always enjoying the present moment; and his frequent change of
scene and company prevented his acquiring those rusty,
unaccommodating habits with which old bachelors are so
uncharitably charged. He was a complete family chronicle, being
versed in the genealogy, history, and intermarriages of the whole
house of Bracebridge, which made him a great favorite with the
old folks; he was a beau of all the elder ladies and
superannuated spinsters, among whom he was habitually considered
rather a young fellow; and he was master of the revels among the
children, so that there was not a more popular being in the
sphere in which he moved than Mr. Simon Bracebridge. Of late
years he had resided almost entirely with the squire, to whom he
had become a factotum, and whom he particularly delighted by
jumping with his humor in respect to old times and by having a
scrap of an old song to suit every occasion. We had presently a
specimen of his last-mentioned talent, for no sooner was supper
removed and spiced wines and other beverages peculiar to the
season introduced, than Master Simon was called on for a good old
Christmas song. He bethought himself for a moment, and then, with
a sparkle of the eye and a voice that was by no means bad,
excepting that it ran occasionally into a falsetto like the notes
of a split reed, he quavered forth a quaint old ditty:
Now Christmas is come,
Let us beat up the drum,
And call all our neighbors together;
And when they appear,
Let us make them such cheer,
As will keep out the wind and the weather, &c.
The supper had disposed every one to gayety, 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."
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 couple 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 endeavoring 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-sorted matches to which antique gentlemen are
unfortunately prone.
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 favorite 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?
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 misligbt thee;
Nor snake nor slow-worm bite thee;
But 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 or might not have been intended in compliment to
the fair Julia, for so I found his partner was called; 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 amused herself with plucking to
pieces a choice bouquet of hot-house 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 my 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.
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 thought
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 neighboring 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 the quiet and moonlight. I
listened and listened--they became more and more tender and
remote, and, as they gradually died away, my head sunk upon the
pillow and I fell asleep.
Washington Irving's short story: Christmas Eve
_
Read next: Christmas Day
Read previous: The Stage-Coach
Table of content of Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your reviewYour review will be placed after the table of content of this book
