LETTER I.
SIR,
NOTHING is more intolerable to an old person than innovation on old habits. The customs that prevailed in our youth become dear to us as we advance in years; and we can no more bear to see them abolished, than we can to behold the trees cut down under which we have sported in the happy days of infancy.
Even I myself, who have floated down the stream of life with the tide — who have humoured it in all its turnings — who have conformed in a great measure to all its fashions, — cannot but feel sensible of this prejudice. I often sigh when I draw a comparison between the present and the past; and though I cannot but be sensible that, in general, times are altered for the better, yet there is something even in the imperfections of the manners which prevailed in my youthful days, that is inexpressibly endearing.
There is nothing that seems more strange and preposterous to me, than the manner in which modern marriages are conducted. The parties keep the matter as secret as if there was something disgraceful in the connexion. The lady positively denies that any thing of the kind is to happen; will laugh at her intended husband, and even lay bets against the event, the very day before it is to take place. They sneak into matrimony as quietly as possible, and seem to pride themselves on the cunning and ingenuity they have displayed in their manœuvres.
How different is this from the manners of former times! I recollect when my Aunt Barbara was addressed by ‘Squire Stylish; nothing was heard of during the whole courtship, but consultations and negotiations between her friends and relatives; the matter, was considered and reconsidered, and at length the time set for a final answer. Never, Mr. Editor, shall l forget the awful solemnity of the scene. The whole family of the Oldstyles assembled in awful conclave: my aunt Barbara, dressed out as fine as hands could make her — high cushion, enormous cap, long waist, prodigious hoop, ruffles that reached to the end of her fingers, and a gown of flame-coloured brocade, figured with poppies, roses, and sunflowers. Never did she look so sublimely handsome. T he ‘Squire entered the room with a countenance suited to the solemnity of the occasion. He was arrayed in a full suit of scarlet velvet, his coat decorated with a profusion of large silk buttons, and the skirts stiffened with a yard or two of buckram: a long pig tailed wig, well powdered, adorned his head; and stockings of deep blue silk, rolled over the knees, graced his extremities; the flaps of his vest reached to his knee-buckles, and the ends of his cravat, tied with the most precise neatness, twisted through every buttonhole. Thus accoutred, he gravely walked into the room, with his ivory-headed ebony cane in one hand, and gently swaying his three-cornered beaver with the other. The gallant and fashionable appearance of t he ‘Squire, the grace fulness and dignity of his deportment, occasioned a general smile of complacency through the room; my aunt Barbara modestly veiled her countenance with her fan; but I observed her contemplating her admirer with great satisfaction through the sticks.
The business was opened with the most formal solemnity, but was not long in agitation. The Oldstyles were moderate — their articles of capitulation few: t he ‘Squire was gallant, and acceded to them all. In short, the blushing Barbara was delivered up to his embraces with due ceremony. Then, Mr. Editor — then were the happy times: such oceans of arrack — such mountains of plum-cake — such feasting and congratulating — such fiddling and dancing: — ah me! who can think of those days, and not sigh when he sees the degeneracy of the present: no eating of cake nor throwing of stockings — not a single skin filled with wine on the joyful occasion — nor a single pocket edified by it but the parson’s.
It is with the greatest pain I see those customs dying away, which served to awaken the hospitality and friendship of my ancient comrades — that strewed with flowers the path to the altar, and shed a ray of sunshine on the commencement of the matrimonial union.
The deportment of my aunt Barbara and her husband was as decorous after marriage as before; her conduct was always regulated by his — her sentiments ever accorded with his opinions; she was always eager to tie on his neckcloth of a morning — to tuck a napkin under his chin at meal times — to wrap him up warm of a winter’s day, and to spruce him up as smart as possible of a Sunday. T he ‘Squire was the most attentive and polite husband in the world; would hand his wife in and out of church with the greatest ceremony — drink her health at dinner with particular emphasis, and ask her advice on every subject — though I must confess he invariably adopted his own: — nothing was heard from both sides, but dears, sweet loves, doves, &c. T he ‘Squire could never stir out of a winter’s day, without his wife calling after him from the window to button up his waistcoat carefully. Thus, all things went on smoothly; and my relations Stylish had the name, and, as far as I know, deserved it, of being the most happy and loving couple in the world.
A modern married pair will, no doubt, laugh at all this; they are accustomed to treat one another with the utmost carelessness and neglect. No longer does the wife tuck the napkin under her husband’s chin, nor the husband attend to heaping her plate with dainties; no longer do I see those little amusing fooleries in company, where the lady would pat her husband’s cheek, and he chuck her under the chin; when dears and sweets were as plenty as cookies on a new-year s day. The wife now considers herself as totally independent — will advance her own opinions without hesitation, though directly opposite to his — will carry on accounts of her own, and will even have secrets of her own, with which she refuses to intrust him.
Who can read these facts, and not lament with me the degeneracy of the present times; — what husband is there but will look back with regret to the happy days of female subjection.
JONATHAN OLDSTYLE.
LETTER II.
SIR,
THERE is no place of public amusement of which I am so fond as the Theatre. To enjoy this with the greater relish I go but seldom; and I find there is no play, however poor or ridiculous, from which I cannot derive some entertainment.
I was very much taken with a play bill of last week, announcing, in large capitals, “The Battle of Hexham, or, Days of Old. Here, said I to myself, will be something grand — Days of old — my fancy fired at the words. I pictured to myself all the gallantry of chivalry. Here, thought I, will be a display of court manners, and true politeness; the play will, no doubt, be garnished with tilts and tournaments; and as to those banditti, whose names make such a formidable appearance on the bills, they will be hung up, every mother’s son, for the edification of the gallery. —
With such impressions I took my seat in the pit, and was so impatient that I could hardly attend to the music, though I found it very good.
The curtain rose — out walked the Queen with great majesty; she answered my ideas — she was dressed well, she looked well, and she acted well. The Queen was followed by a pretty gentleman, who, from his winking and grinning, I took to be the court fool; I soon found out my mistake. He was a courtier” high in trust,” and either general, colonel, or something of martial dignity. They talked for some time, though I could not understand the drift of their discourse, so I amused myself with eating pea-nuts.
In one of the scenes I was diverted with the stupidity of a corporal and his men, who sung a dull song, and talked a great deal about nothing: though I found by their laughing, there was a great deal of fun in the corporal’s remarks. What this scene had to do with the rest of the piece, I could not comprehend; I suspect it was a part of some other play, thrust in here by accident.
I was then introduced to a cavern, where there were several hard looking fellows, sit ting around a table carousing. They told the audience they were banditti. They then sung a gallery song, of which I could understand nothing but two lines:
The Welshman lik’d to have been chok’ by a mouse, But he pull’d him out by the tail.”
Just as they had ended this elegant song, their banquet was disturbed by the melodious sound of a horn, and in marched a portly gentleman, who, I found, was their captain. After this worthy gentleman had fumed hi
s hour out, after he had slapped his breast and drawn his sword half a dozen times, the act ended.
In the course of the play, I learnt that there had been, or was, or would be, a battle; but how, or when, or where, I could not understand. The banditti once more made their appearance, and frightened the wife of the portly gentleman, who was dressed in man s clothes, and was seeking her husband. I could not enough admire the dignity of her deportment, the sweetness of her countenance, and the unaffected gracefulness of her action; but who the captain really was, or why he ran away from his spouse, I could not understand. However, they seemed very glad to find one another again; and so at last the play ended, by the falling of the curtain. —
I wish the manager would use a drop scene at the close of the acts; we might then always ascertain the termination of the piece by the green curtain. On this occasion, I was indebted to the polite bows of the actors for this pleasing information. I cannot say that I was entirely satisfied with the play, but I promised myself ample entertainment in the afterpiece, which was called the Tripolitan Prize. Now, thought I, we shall have some sport for our money; we will, no doubt, see a few of those Tripolitan scoundrels spitted like turkeys, for our amusement. Well, sir, the curtain rose — the trees waved in front of the stage, and the sea rolled in the rear — all things looked very pleasant and smiling. Presently I heard a bustling behind the scenes — here, thought I, comes a band of fierce Tripolitans, with whiskers as long as my arm. No such thing — they were only a party of village masters and misses, taking a walk for exercise, and very pretty behaved young gentry they were, I assure you; but it was cruel in the manager to dress them in buckram, as it deprived them entirely of the use of their limbs. They arranged themselves very orderly on each side of the stage, and sung something, doubtless very affecting, for they all looked pitiful enough. By and by came up a most tremendous storm: the lightning flashed, the thunder roared, and the rain fell in torrents: however, our pretty rustics stood gaping quietly at one another, until they must have been wet to the skin. I was surprised at their torpidity, till I found they were each one afraid to move first, for fear of being laughed at for their awkwardness. How they got off I do not recollect: but I advise the manager, in a similar case, to furnish every one with a trap-door, through which to make his exit. Yet this would deprive the audience of much amusement; for nothing can be more laughable than to see a body of guards with their spears, or courtiers with their long robes, get across the stage at our theatre.
Scene passed after scene. In vain I strained my eyes to catch a glimpse of a Mahometan phiz. I once heard a great bellowing behind the scenes, and expected to see a strapping Mussulman come bouncing in; but was miserably disappointed, on distinguishing his voice, to find out by his swearing that he was only a Christian. In he came — an American navy officer. Worsted stockings — olive velvet small clothes — scarlet vest — pea-jacket, and gold-laced hat — dressed quite in character. I soon found out, by his talk, that he was an American prize-master; that, returning through the Mediterranean with his Tripolitan prize, he was driven by a storm on the coast of England. The honest gentleman seemed, from his actions, to be rather intoxicated: which I could account for in no other way than his having drank a great deal of salt water, as he swam ashore.
Several following scenes were taken up with hallooing and huzzaing, between the captain, his crew, and the gallery, with several amusing tricks of the captain and his son, a very funny, mischievous little fellow. Then came the cream of the joke: the captain wanted to put to sea, and the young fellow, who had fallen desperately in love, to stay ashore. Here was a contest between love-and honour — such piping of eyes, such blowing of noses, such slapping of pocket-holes! But old Junk was inflexible — What! an American tar desert his duty! (three cheers from the gallery,) impossible! A mericautars for ever!! True blue will never stain, &c. &c.-(a continual thundering among the gods). Here was a scene of distress — here was bathos.. The author seemed as much puzzled to know how to dispose of the young tar, as old Junk was. It would not do to leave an American seaman on foreign ground, nor would it do to separate him from his mistress.
Scene the last opened. — It seems that another Tripolitan cruiser had bore down on the prize, as she lay about a mile off shore. How a Barbary corsair had got in this part of the world — whether she had been driven there by the same storm, or whether she was cruising to pick up a few English first rates, I could not learn. However, here she was. Again were we conducted to the seashore, where we found all the village gentry, in their buckram suits, ready assembled, to be entertained with the rare show of an American and Tripolitan engaged yard-arm and yard-arm. The battle was conducted with proper decency and decorum, and the Tripolitan very politely gave in — as it would be indecent to conquer in the face of an American audience.
After the engagement the crew came ashore, joined with the captain and gallery in a few more huzzas, and the curtain fell. How old Junk, his son, and his son’s sweetheart, settled it, I could not discover.
I was somewhat puzzled to understand the meaning and necessity of this engagement between the ships, till an honest old countryman at my elbow said, he supposed that was the Battle of Hexham, as he recollected no fighting in the first piece. With this explanation I was perfectly satisfied.
My remarks upon the audience, I shall postpone to another opportunity.
JONATHAN OLDSTYLE.
LETTER III.
SIR,
MY last communication mentioned my visit to the theatre; the remarks it contained were chiefly confined to the play and the actors; I shall now extend them to the audience, who, I assure you, furnish no inconsiderable part of the entertainment.
As I entered the house some time before the curtain rose, I had sufficient leisure to make some observations. I was much amused with the waggery and humour of the gallery, which, by the way, is kept in excellent order by the constables who are stationed there. The noise in this part of the house is somewhat similar to that which prevailed in Noah’s ark; for we have an imitation of the whistles and yells of every kind of animal. This, in some measure, compensates for the want of music, as the gentlemen of our orchestra are very economic of their favours. Somehow or another, the anger of the gods seemed to be aroused all of a sudden, and they commenced a discharge of apples, nuts, and gingerbread, on the heads of the honest folks in the pit, who had no possibility of retreating from this new kind of thunderbolts. I can’t say but I was a little irritated at being saluted aside of my head, with a rotten pippin; and was going to shake my cane at them, but was prevented by a decent looking man behind me, who informed me that it was use less to threaten, or expostulate. They are only amusing themselves a little at our expense, said he; sit down quietly and bend your back to it. My kind neighbour was interrupted by a hard green apple that hit him between the shoulders-he made a wry face, but knowing it was all a joke, bore the blow like a philosopher., I soon saw the wisdom of this determination; a stray thunderbolt happened to light on the head of a little sharp faced Frenchman, dressed in a white coat and small cocked hat, who sat two or three benches ahead of me, and seemed to be an irritable little animal. Monsieur was terribly exasperated he jumped upon his seat, shook his fist at the gallery, and swore violently in bad English. This was all nuts to his merry persecutors; their attention was wholly turned on him, and he formed their target for the rest of the evening.
I found the ladies in the boxes, as usual, studious to please; their charms were set off to the greatest advantage; each box was a little battery in itself, and they all seemed eager to outdo each other in the havoc they spread around. An arch glance in one box was rivalled by a smile in another, that smile by a simper in a third, and in a fourth a most bewitching languish carried all before it.
I was surprised to see some persons reconnoitring the company through spyglasses; and was in doubt whether these machines were used to remedy deficiencies of vision, or whether this was another of the eccentricities of fashion. Jack Stylish has
since in formed me, that glasses were lately all the go; though hang it, says Jack, it is quite out at present; we used to mount our glasses in great snuff, but since so many tough jockies have followed the lead, the bucks have all cut the custom, I give you, Mr. Editor, the account in my dashing cousin’s own language. It is from a vocabulary I do not well understand.
I was considerably amused by the queries of the countryman mentioned in my last, who was now making his first visit to the theatre. He kept constantly applying to me for information, and I readily communicated, as far as my own ignorance would permit.
As this honest man was casting his eye round the house, his attention was suddenly arrested. And pray, who are these? said he, pointing to a cluster of young fellows. These, I suppose, are the critics, of whom I have heard so much. They have, no doubt, got together to communicate their remarks, and compare notes; these are the persons through whom the audience exercise their judgments, and by whom they are told when they are to applaud or to hiss. Critics! ha! ha! my dear sir, they trouble themselves as little about the elements of criticism, as they do about other departments of science and belles-lettres. These are the beaux of the present day, who meet here to lounge away an idle hour, and play off their little impertinences for the entertainment of the public. They no more regard the merits of the play, nor of the actors, than my cane. They even strive to appear inattentive; and I have seen one of them perched on the front of the box with his back to the stage, sacking the head of his stick, and staring vacantly at the audience, insensible to the most interesting specimens, of scenic representation, though the tear of sensibility was trembling in every eye around him. I have heard that some have even gone so far in search of amusement, as to propose a game of cards in the theatre, during the performance. The eyes of my neighbour sparkled at this information — his cane shook in his hand — the word puppies burst from his lips. Nay, says I, I don’t give this for absolute fact: my cousin Jack was, I believe, quizzing me (as he terms it) when he gave me the information. But you seem quite indignant, said I, to the decent looking man in my rear. It was from him the exclamation came: the honest countryman was gazing in gaping wonder on some new attraction. Believe me, said I, if you had them daily before your eyes, you would get quite used to them. Used to them, replied he; how is it possible for people of sense to relish such conduct? Bless you, my friend, people of sense have nothing to do with it; they merely endure it in silence. These young gentlemen live in an indulgent age. When I was a young man, such tricks and follies were held in proper contempt. Here I went a little too far; for, upon better recollection, I must own that a lapse of years has produced but little alteration in this department of folly and impertinence. But do the ladies admire these manners! Truly, I am not as conversant in female circles as formerly; but I should think it a poor compliment to my fair countrywomen, to suppose them pleased with the stupid stare and cant phrases with which these votaries of fashion add affected to real ignorance.
Complete Fictional Works of Washington Irving (Illustrated) Page 184