The Sketch-Book of Geoffrey Crayon

by Washington Irving

  THE CHRISTMAS DINNER.

  Lo, now is come our joyful'st feast! Let every man be jolly. Eache roome with yvie leaves is drest, And every post with holly. Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke, And Christmas blocks are burning; Their ovens they with bak't meats choke And all their spits are turning. Without the door let sorrow lie, And if, for cold, it hap to die, Wee'l bury 't in a Christmas pye, And evermore be merry. WITHERS, Juvenilia.

  I HAD finished my toilet, and was loitering with Frank Bracebridge inthe library, when we heard a distant thwacking sound, which he informedme was a signal for the serving up of the dinner. The squire kept up oldcustoms in kitchen as well as hall, and the rolling-pin, struck upon thedresser by the cook, summoned the servants to carry in the meats.

  Just in this nick the cook knock'd thrice, And all the waiters in a trice His summons did obey; Each serving-man, with dish in hand, March'd boldly up, like our train-band, Presented and away.*

  * Sir John Suckling.

  The dinner was served up in the great hall, where the squire always heldhis Christmas banquet. A blazing crackling fire of logs had been heapedon to warm the spacious apartment, and the flame went sparkling andwreathing up the wide-mouthed chimney. The great picture of the crusaderand his white horse had been profusely decorated with greens for theoccasion, and holly and ivy had like-wise been wreathed round the helmetand weapons on the opposite wall, which I understood were the arms ofthe same warrior. I must own, by the by, I had strong doubts aboutthe authenticity of the painting and armor as having belonged to thecrusader, they certainly having the stamp of more recent days; but I wastold that the painting had been so considered time out of mind; and thatas to the armor, it had been found in a lumber-room and elevated to itspresent situation by the squire, who at once determined it to be thearmor of the family hero; and as he was absolute authority on allsuch subjects in his own household, the matter had passed into currentacceptation. A sideboard was set out just under this chivalric trophy,on which was a display of plate that might have vied (at least invariety) with Belshazzar's parade of the vessels of the temple:"flagons, cans, cups, beakers, goblets, basins, and ewers," the gorgeousutensils of good companionship that had gradually accumulated throughmany generations of jovial housekeepers. Before these stood the two Yulecandles, beaming like two stars of the first magnitude; other lightswere distributed in branches, and the whole array glittered like afirmament of silver.

  We were ushered into this banqueting scene with the sound of minstrelsy,the old harper being seated on a stool beside the fireplace andtwanging, his instrument with a vast deal more power than melody. Neverdid Christmas board display a more goodly and gracious assemblage ofcountenances; those who were not handsome were at least happy, andhappiness is a rare improver of your hard-favored visage. I alwaysconsider an old English family as well worth studying as a collection ofHolbein's portraits or Albert Durer's prints. There is much antiquarianlore to be acquired, much knowledge of the physiognomies of formertimes. Perhaps it may be from having continually before their eyes thoserows of old family portraits, with which the mansions of this countryare stocked; certain it is that the quaint features of antiquity areoften most faithfully perpetuated in these ancient lines, and I havetraced an old family nose through a whole picture-gallery, legitimatelyhanded down from generation to generation almost from the time of theConquest. Something of the kind was to be observed in the worthy companyaround me. Many of their faces had evidently originated in a Gothicage, and been merely copied by succeeding generations; and there was onelittle girl in particular, of staid demeanor, with a high Roman noseand an antique vinegar aspect, who was a great favorite of the squire's,being, as he said, a Bracebridge all over, and the very counterpart ofone of his ancestors who figured in the court of Henry VIII.

  The parson said grace, which was not a short familiar one, such as iscommonly addressed to the Deity in these unceremonious days, but a long,courtly, well-worded one of the ancient school. There was now a pause,as if something was expected, when suddenly the butler entered the hallwith some degree of bustle: he was attended by a servant on each sidewith a large wax-light, and bore a silver dish on which was an enormouspig's head decorated with rosemary, with a lemon in its mouth, which wasplaced with great formality at the head of the table. The moment thispageant made its appearance the harper struck up a flourish; at theconclusion of which the young Oxonian, on receiving a hint from thesquire, gave, with an air of the most comic gravity, an old carol, thefirst verse of which was as follows

  Caput apri defero Reddens laudes Domino. The boar's head in hand bring I, With garlands gay and rosemary. I pray you all synge merily Qui estis in convivio.

  Though prepared to witness many of these little eccentricities, frombeing apprised of the peculiar hobby of mine host, yet I confess theparade with which so odd a dish was introduced somewhat perplexed me,until I gathered from the conversation of the squire and the parson thatit was meant to represent the bringing in of the boar's head, a dishformerly served up with much ceremony and the sound of minstrelsy andsong at great tables on Christmas Day. "I like the old custom," said thesquire, "not merely because it is stately and pleasing in itself,but because it was observed at the college at Oxford at which I waseducated. When I hear the old song chanted it brings to mind the timewhen I was young and gamesome, and the noble old college hall, and myfellow-students loitering about in their black gowns; many of whom, poorlads! are now in their graves."

  The parson, however, whose mind was not haunted by such associations,and who was always more taken up with the text than the sentiment,objected to the Oxonian's version of the carol, which he affirmedwas different from that sung at college. He went on, with the dryperseverance of a commentator, to give the college reading, accompaniedby sundry annotations, addressing himself at first to the company atlarge; but, finding their attention gradually diverted to other talk andother objects, he lowered his tone as his number of auditors diminished,until he concluded his remarks in an under voice to a fat-headed oldgentleman next him who was silently engaged in the discussion of a hugeplateful of turkey.*

  * The old ceremony of serving up the boar's head on Christmas Day is still observed in the hall of Queen's College, Oxford. I was favored by the parson with a copy of the carol as now sung, and as it may be acceptable to such of my readers as are curious in these grave and learned matters, I give it entire:

  The boar's head in hand bear I, Bedeck'd with bays and rosemary And I pray you, my masters, be merry Quot estis in convivio Caput apri defero, Reddens laudes domino.

  The boar's head, as I understand, Is the rarest dish in all this land, Which thus bedeck'd with a gay garland Let us servire cantico. Caput apri defero, etc.

  Our steward hath provided this In honor of the King of Bliss, Which on this day to be served is In Reginensi Atrio. Caput apri defero, etc., etc., etc.

  The table was literally loaded with good cheer, and presented anepitome of country abundance in this season of overflowing larders.A distinguished post was allotted to "ancient sirloin," as mine hosttermed it, being, as he added, "the standard of old English hospitality,and a joint of goodly presence, and full of expectation." There wereseveral dishes quaintly decorated, and which had evidently somethingtraditional in their embellishments, but about which, as I did not liketo appear overcurious, I asked no questions.

  I could not, however, but notice a pie magnificently decorated withpeacock's feathers, in imitation of the tail of that bird, whichovershadowed a considerable tract of the table. This, the squireconfessed with some little hesitation, was a pheasant pie, though apeacock pie was certainly the most authentical; but there had been sucha mortality among the peacocks this season that he could not prevailupon himself to have one
killed.*

  * The peacock was anciently in great demand for stately entertainments. Sometimes it was made into a pie, at one end of which the head appeared above the crust in all its plumage, with the beak richly gilt; at the other end the tail was displayed. Such pies were served up at the solemn banquets of chivalry, when knights-errant pledged themselves to undertake any perilous enterprise, whence came the ancient oath, used by Justice Shallow, "by cock and pie."

  The peacock was also an important dish for the Christmas feast; andMassinger, in his "City Madam," gives some idea of the extravagancewith which this, as well as other dishes, was prepared for the gorgeousrevels of the olden times:

  Men may talk of Country Christmasses, Their thirty pound butter'd eggs, their pies of carps' tongues; Their pheasants drench'd with ambergris: the carcases of three fat wethers bruised for gravy to make sauce for a single peacock!

  It would be tedious, perhaps, to my wiser readers, who may not havethat foolish fondness for odd and obsolete things to which I am alittle given, were I to mention the other makeshifts or this worthy oldhumorist, by which he was endeavoring to follow up, though at humbledistance, the quaint customs of antiquity. I was pleased, however, tosee the respect shown to his whims by his children and relatives; who,indeed, entered readily into the full spirit of them, and seemed allwell versed in their parts, having doubtless been present at many arehearsal. I was amused, too, at the air of profound gravity with whichthe butler and other servants executed the duties assigned them, howevereccentric. They had an old-fashioned look, having, for the most part,been brought up in the household and grown into keeping with theantiquated mansion and the humors of its lord, and most probably lookedupon all his whimsical regulations as the established laws of honorablehousekeeping.

  When the cloth was removed the butler brought in a huge silver vesselof rare and curious workmanship, which he placed before the squire.Its appearance was hailed with acclamation, being the Wassail Bowl, sorenowned in Christmas festivity. The contents had been prepared by thesquire himself; for it was a beverage in the skilful mixture of whichhe particularly prided himself, alleging that it was too abstruse andcomplex for the comprehension of an ordinary servant. It was a potation,indeed, that might well make the heart of a toper leap within him, beingcomposed of the richest and raciest wines, highly spiced and sweetened,with roasted apples bobbing about the surface.*

  * The Wassail Bowl was sometimes composed of ale instead of wine, with nutmeg, sugar, toast, ginger, and roasted crabs; in this way the nut-brown beverage is still prepared in some old families and round the hearths of substantial farmers at Christmas. It is also called Lamb's Wool, and is celebrated by Herrick in his "Twelfth Night":

  Next crowne the bowle full With gentle Lamb's Wool; Add sugar, nutmeg, and ginger, With store of ale too, And thus ye must doe To make the Wassaile a swinger.

  The old gentleman's whole countenance beamed with a serene look ofindwelling delight as he stirred this mighty bowl. Having raised it tohis lips, with a hearty wish of a merry Christmas to all present, hesent it brimming round the board, for every one to follow his example,according to the primitive style, pronouncing it "the ancient fountainof good feeling, where all hearts met together."*

  * "The custom of drinking out of the same cup gave place to each having his cup. When the steward came to the doore with the Wassel, he was to cry three times, Wassel, Wassel, Wassel, and then the chappell (chaplain) was to answer with a song."--Archaeologia.

  There was much laughing and rallying as the honest emblem of Christmasjoviality circulated and was kissed rather coyly by the ladies. When itreached Master Simon, he raised it in both hands, and with the air of aboon companion struck up an old Wassail Chanson:

  The brown bowle, The merry brown bowle, As it goes round-about-a, Fill Still, Let the world say what it will, And drink your fill all out-a.

  The deep canne, The merry deep canne, As thou dost freely quaff-a, Sing Fling, Be as merry as a king, And sound a lusty laugh-a.*

  * From Poor Robin's Almanack.

  Much of the conversation during dinner turned upon family topics, towhich I was a stranger. There was, however, a great deal of rallying ofMaster Simon about some gay widow with whom he was accused of havinga flirtation. This attack was commenced by the ladies, but it wascontinued throughout the dinner by the fat-headed old gentleman nextthe parson with the persevering assiduity of a slow hound, being one ofthose long-winded jokers who, though rather dull at starting game, areunrivalled for their talents in hunting it down. At every pause in thegeneral conversation he renewed his bantering in pretty much the sameterms, winking hard at me with both eyes whenever he gave Master Simonwhat he considered a home thrust. The latter, indeed, seemed fond ofbeing teased on the subject, as old bachelors are apt to be, and he tookoccasion to inform me, in an undertone, that the lady in question was aprodigiously fine woman and drove her own curricle.

  The dinner-time passed away in this flow of innocent hilarity, and,though the old hall may have resounded in its time with many a sceneof broader rout and revel, yet I doubt whether it ever witnessed morehonest and genuine enjoyment. How easy it is for one benevolent being todiffuse pleasure around him! and how truly is a kind heart a fountain ofgladness, making everything in its vicinity to freshen into smiles! Thejoyous disposition of the worthy squire was perfectly contagious; he washappy himself, and disposed to make all the world happy, and the littleeccentricities of his humor did but season, in a manner, the sweetnessof his philanthropy.

  When the ladies had retired, the conversation, as usual, became stillmore animated; many good things were broached which had been thoughtof during dinner, but which would not exactly do for a lady's ear; and,though I cannot positively affirm that there was much wit uttered, yetI have certainly heard many contests of rare wit produce much lesslaughter. Wit, after all, is a mighty tart, pungent ingredient, and muchtoo acid for some stomachs; but honest good-humor is the oil and wineof a merry meeting, and there is no jovial companionship equal to thatwhere the jokes are rather small and the laughter abundant.

  The squire told several long stories of early college pranks andadventures, in some of which the parson had been a sharer, though inlooking at the latter it required some effort of imagination to figuresuch a little dark anatomy of a man into the perpetrator of a madcapgambol. Indeed, the two college chums presented pictures of what menmay be made by their different lots in life. The squire had left theuniversity to live lustily on his paternal domains in the vigorousenjoyment of prosperity and sunshine, and had flourished on to a heartyand florid old age; whilst the poor parson, on the contrary, had driedand withered away among dusty tomes in the silence and shadows of hisstudy. Still, there seemed to be a spark of almost extinguished firefeebly glimmering in the bottom of his soul; and as the squire hintedat a sly story of the parson and a pretty milkmaid whom they once meton the banks of the Isis, the old gentleman made an "alphabet of faces,"which, as far as I could decipher his physiognomy, I verily believe wasindicative of laughter; indeed, I have rarely met with an old gentlemanthat took absolute offence at the imputed gallantries of his youth.

  I found the tide of wine and wassail fast gaining on the dry land ofsober judgment. The company grew merrier and louder as their jokes grewduller. Master Simon was in as chirping a humor as a grasshopper filledwith dew; his old songs grew of a warmer complexion, and he began totalk maudlin about the widow. He even gave a long song about the wooingof a widow which he informed me he had gathered from an excellentblack-letter work entitled Cupid's Solicitor for Love, containing storeof good advice for bachelors, and which he promised to lend me; thefirst verse was to effect.

  He that will woo a widow must not dally He must make hay while the sun doth shine; He must not stand with her, shall I, shall I, But boldly say, Widow, thou must be
mine.

  This song inspired the fat-headed old gentleman, who made severalattempts to tell a rather broad story out of Joe Miller that was pat tothe purpose; but he always stuck in the middle, everybody recollectingthe latter part excepting himself. The parson, too, began to show theeffects of good cheer, having gradually settled down into a doze and hiswig sitting most suspiciously on one side. Just at this juncture we weresummoned to the drawing room, and I suspect, at the private instigationof mine host, whose joviality seemed always tempered with a proper loveof decorum.

  After the dinner-table was removed the hall was given up to the youngermembers of the family, who, prompted to all kind of noisy mirth by theOxonian and Master Simon, made its old walls ring with their merrimentas they played at romping games. I delight in witnessing the gambols ofchildren, and particularly at this happy holiday season, and could nothelp stealing out of the drawing-room on hearing one of their peals oflaughter. I found them at the game of blindman's-buff. Master Simon, whowas the leader of their revels, and seemed on all occasions to fulfillthe office of that ancient potentate, the Lord of Misrule,* was blindedin the midst of the hall. The little beings were as busy about him asthe mock fairies about Falstaff, pinching him, plucking at the skirts ofhis coat, and tickling him with straws. One fine blue-eyed girl of aboutthirteen, with her flaxen hair all in beautiful confusion, her frolicface in a glow, her frock half torn off her shoulders, a completepicture of a romp, was the chief tormentor; and, from the slyness withwhich Master Simon avoided the smaller game and hemmed this wild littlenymph in corners, and obliged her to jump shrieking over chairs,I suspected the rogue of being not a whit more blinded than wasconvenient.

  * At Christmasse there was in the Kinges house, wheresoever hee was lodged, a lorde of misrule or mayster of merie disportes, and the like had ye in the house of every nobleman of honor, or good worshipper were he spirituall or temporall.--STOW.

  When I returned to the drawing-room I found the company seated round thefire listening to the parson, who was deeply ensconced in a high-backedoaken chair, the work of some cunning artificer of yore, which had beenbrought from the library for his particular accommodation. From thisvenerable piece of furniture, with which his shadowy figure and darkweazen face so admirably accorded, he was dealing out strange accountsof the popular superstitions and legends of the surrounding country,with which he had become acquainted in the course of his antiquarianresearches. I am half inclined to think that the old gentleman washimself somewhat tinctured with superstition, as men are very apt tobe who live a recluse and studious life in a sequestered part of thecountry and pore over black-letter tracts, so often filled with themarvelous and supernatural. He gave us several anecdotes of the fanciesof the neighboring peasantry concerning the effigy of the crusader whichlay on the tomb by the church altar. As it was the only monument ofthe kind in that part of the country, it had always been regarded withfeelings of superstition by the good wives of the village. It was saidto get up from the tomb and walk the rounds of the churchyard in stormynights, particularly when it thundered; and one old woman, whose cottagebordered on the churchyard, had seen it through the windows of thechurch, when the moon shone, slowly pacing up and down the aisles.It was the belief that some wrong had been left unredressed by thedeceased, or some treasure hidden, which kept the spirit in a state oftrouble and restlessness. Some talked of gold and jewels buried in thetomb, over which the spectre kept watch; and there was a story currentof a sexton in old times who endeavored to break his way to the coffinat night, but just as he reached it received a violent blow fromthe marble hand of the effigy, which stretched him senseless on thepavement. These tales were often laughed at by some of the sturdieramong the rustics, yet when night came on there were many of thestoutest unbelievers that were shy of venturing alone in the footpaththat led across the churchyard.

  From these and other anecdotes that followed the crusader appeared to bethe favorite hero of ghost-stories throughout the vicinity. His picture,which hung up in the hall, was thought by the servants to have somethingsupernatural about it; for they remarked that in whatever part of thehall you went the eyes of the warrior were still fixed on you. The oldporter's wife, too, at the lodge, who had been born and brought up inthe family, and was a great gossip among the maid-servants, affirmedthat in her young days she had often heard say that on Midsummer Eve,when it was well known all kinds of ghosts, goblins, and fairies becomevisible and walk abroad, the crusader used to mount his horse, come downfrom his picture, ride about the house, down the avenue, and so to thechurch to visit the tomb; on which occasion the church-door most civillyswung open of itself; not that he needed it, for he rode through closedgates, and even stone walls, and had been seen by one of the dairymaidsto pass between two bars of the great park gate, making himself as thinas a sheet of paper.

  All these superstitions I found had been very much countenanced by thesquire, who, though not superstitious himself, was very fond of seeingothers so. He listened to every goblin tale of the neighboring gossipswith infinite gravity, and held the porter's wife in high favor onaccount of her talent for the marvellous. He was himself a great readerof old legends and romances, and often lamented that he could notbelieve in them; for a superstitious person, he thought, must live in akind of fairy-land.

  Whilst we were all attention to the parson's stories, our ears weresuddenly assailed by a burst of heterogeneous sounds from the hall, inwhich were mingled something like the clang of rude minstrelsy with theuproar of many small voices and girlish laughter. The door suddenly flewopen, and a train came trooping into the room that might almosthave been mistaken for the breaking up of the court of Faery. Thatindefatigable spirit, Master Simon, in the faithful discharge of hisduties as lord of misrule, had conceived the idea of a Christmas mummeryor masking; and having called in to his assistance the Oxonian and theyoung officer, who were equally ripe for anything that should occasionromping and merriment, they had carried it into instant effect. The oldhousekeeper had been consulted; the antique clothespresses and wardrobesrummaged and made to yield up the relics of finery that had not seen thelight for several generations; the younger part of the company had beenprivately convened from the parlor and hall, and the whole had beenbedizened out into a burlesque imitation of an antique mask.*

  * Maskings or mummeries were favorite sports at Christmas in old times, and the wardrobes at halls and manor-houses were often laid under contribution to furnish dresses and fantastic disguisings. I strongly suspect Master Simon to have taken the idea of his from Ben Jonson's "Masque of Christmas."

  Master Simon led the van, as "Ancient Christmas," quaintly apparelled ina ruff, a short cloak, which had very much the aspect of one of the oldhousekeeper's petticoats, and a hat that might have served for avillage steeple, and must indubitably have figured in the days of theCovenanters. From under this his nose curved boldly forth, flushed witha frost-bitten bloom that seemed the very trophy of a December blast. Hewas accompanied by the blue-eyed romp, dished up, as "Dame Mince Pie,"in the venerable magnificence of a faded brocade, long stomacher, peakedhat, and high-heeled shoes. The young officer appeared as Robin Hood, ina sporting dress of Kendal green and a foraging cap with a gold tassel.

  The costume, to be sure, did not bear testimony to deep research, andthere was an evident eye to the picturesque, natural to a young gallantin the presence of his mistress. The fair Julia hung on his arm in apretty rustic dress as "Maid Marian." The rest of the train had beenmetamorphosed in various ways; the girls trussed up in the finery of theancient belles of the Bracebridge line, and the striplings bewhiskeredwith burnt cork, and gravely clad in broad skirts, hanging sleeves,and full-bottomed wigs, to represent the character of Roast Beef, PlumPudding, and other worthies celebrated in ancient maskings. The wholewas under the control of the Oxonian in the appropriate character ofMisrule; and I observed that he exercised rather a mischievous sway withhis wand over the smaller personages of the pageant.

/>   The irruption of this motley crew with beat of drum, according toancient custom, was the consummation of uproar and merriment. MasterSimon covered himself with glory by the stateliness with which, asAncient Christmas, he walked a minuet with the peerless though gigglingDame Mince Pie. It was followed by a dance of all the characters, whichfrom its medley of costumes seemed as though the old family portraitshad skipped down from their frames to join in the sport. Differentcenturies were figuring at cross hands and right and left; the DarkAges were cutting pirouettes and rigadoons; and the days of QueenBess jigging merrily down the middle through a line of succeedinggenerations.

  The worthy squire contemplated these fantastic sports and thisresurrection of his old wardrobe with the simple relish of childishdelight. He stood chuckling and rubbing his hands, and scarcely hearinga word the parson said, notwithstanding that the latter was discoursingmost authentically on the ancient and stately dance of the Pavon, orpeacock, from which he conceived the minuet to be derived.* For mypart, I was in a continual excitement from the varied scenes of whimand innocent gayety passing before me. It was inspiring to see wild-eyedfrolic and warm-hearted hospitality breaking out from among the chillsand glooms of winter, and old age throwing off his apathy and catchingonce more the freshness of youthful enjoyment. I felt also an interestin the scene from the consideration that these fleeting customs wereposting fast into oblivion, and that this was perhaps the only familyin England in which the whole of them was still punctiliously observed.There was a quaintness, too, mingled with all this revelry that gaveit a peculiar zest: it was suited to the time and place; and as the oldmanor-house almost reeled with mirth and wassail, it seemed echoing backthe joviality of long departed years.+

  * Sir John Hawkins, speaking of the dance called the Pavon, from pavo, a peacock, says, "It is a grave and majestic dance; the method of dancing it anciently was by gentlemen dressed with caps and swords, by those of the long robe in their gowns, by the peers in their mantles, and by the ladies in gowns with long trains, the motion whereof, in dancing, resembled that of a peacock."--History of Music.

  + At the time of the first publication of this paper the picture of an old-fashioned Christmas in the country was pronounced by some as out of date. The author had afterwards an opportunity of witnessing almost all the customs above described, existing in unexpected vigor in the skirts of Derbyshire and Yorkshire, where he passed the Christmas holidays. The reader will find some notice of them in the author's account of his sojourn at Newstead Abbey.

  But enough of Christmas and its gambols; it is time for me to pausein this garrulity. Methinks I hear the questions asked by my graverreaders, "To what purpose is all this? how is the world to be madewiser by this talk?" Alas! is there not wisdom enough extant for theinstruction of the world? And if not, are there not thousands of ablerpens laboring for its improvement? It is so much pleasanter to pleasethan to instruct--to play the companion rather than the preceptor.

  What, after all, is the mite of wisdom that I could throw into the massof knowledge! or how am I sure that my sagest deductions may be safeguides for the opinions of others? But in writing to amuse, if I failthe only evil is in my own disappointment. If, however, I can by anylucky chance, in these days of evil, rub out one wrinkle from the browof care or beguile the heavy heart of one moment of sorrow; if I can nowand then penetrate through the gathering film of misanthropy, prompt abenevolent view of human nature, and make my reader more in good-humorwith his fellow-beings and himself--surely, surely, I shall not thenhave written entirely in vain.