The Sketch-Book of Geoffrey Crayon

by Washington Irving

  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 chaisewhirled rapidly over the frozen ground; the postboy smacked his whipincessantly, and a part of the time his horses were on a gallop. "Heknows where he is going," said my companion, laughing, "and is eager toarrive 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 nowadaysin its purity, the old English country gentleman; for our men of fortunespend so much of their time in town, and fashion is carried so much intothe country, that the strong rich peculiarities of ancient rural lifeare almost polished away. My father, however, from early years, tookhonest Peacham* for his textbook, instead of Chesterfield; he determinedin his own mind that there was no condition more truly honorable andenviable than that of a country gentleman on his paternal lands, andtherefore passes the whole of his time on his estate. He is a strenuousadvocate for the revival of the old rural games and holiday observances,and is deeply read in the writers, ancient and modern, who have treatedon the subject. Indeed, his favorite range of reading is among theauthors who flourished at least two centuries since, who, he insists,wrote and thought more like true Englishmen than any of theirsuccessors. He even regrets sometimes that he had not been born a fewcenturies earlier, when England was itself and had its peculiar mannersand customs. As he lives at some distance from the main road, in rathera lonely part of the country, without any rival gentry near him, he hasthat most enviable of all blessings to an Englishman--an opportunityof indulging the bent of his own humor without molestation. Beingrepresentative of the oldest family in the neighborhood, and a greatpart of the peasantry being his tenants, he is much looked up to, andin general is known simply by the appellation of 'The Squire'--a titlewhich 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, toprepare 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 thechaise 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 thefamily crest. Close adjoining was the porter's lodge, sheltered underdark fir trees and almost buried in shrubbery.

  The postboy rang a large porter's bell, which resounded though the stillfrosty air, and was answered by the distant barking of dogs, with whichthe mansion-house seemed garrisoned. An old woman immediately appearedat the gate. As the moonlight fell strongly upon her, I had a full viewof a little primitive dame, dressed very much in the antique taste, witha neat kerchief and stomacher, and her silver hair peeping from under acap of snowy whiteness. She came curtseying forth, with many expressionsof simple joy at seeing her young master. Her husband, it seemed, was upat the house keeping Christmas Eve in the servants' hall; they couldnot do without him, as he was the best hand at a song and story in thehousehold.

  My friend proposed that we should alight and walk through the park tothe hall, which was at no great distance, while the chaise should followon. Our road wound through a noble avenue of trees, among the nakedbranches of which the moon glittered as she rolled through the deepvault of a cloudless sky. The lawn beyond was sheeted with a slightcovering of snow, which here and there sparkled as the moonbeams caughta frosty crystal, and at a distance might be seen a thin transparentvapor stealing up from the low grounds and threatening gradually toshroud 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 offilial reverence for them, as we look up to those who have cherished usin childhood. My father was always scrupulous in exacting our holidaysand having us around him on family festivals. He used to direct andsuperintend our games with the strictness that some parents do thestudies of their children. He was very particular that we should playthe old English games according to their original form, and consultedold books for precedent and authority for every 'merrie disport;' yet Iassure you there never was pedantry so delightful. It was the policyof the good old gentleman to make his children feel that home was thehappiest place in the world; and I value this delicious home-feeling asone of the choicest gifts a parent could bestow."

  We were interrupted by the clamor of a troop of dogs of all sorts andsizes, "mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, and curs of lower degree,"that disturbed by the ring of the porter's bell and the rattling of thechaise, 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 waschanged into a yelp of delight, and in a moment he was surrounded andalmost overpowered by the caresses of the faithful animals.

  We had now come in full view of the old family mansion, partly thrown indeep shadow and partly lit up by the cold moonshine. It was an irregularbuilding of some magnitude, and seemed to be of the architecture ofdifferent periods. One wing was evidently very ancient, with heavystone-shafted bow windows jutting out and overrun with ivy, from amongthe foliage of which the small diamond-shaped panes of glass glitteredwith the moonbeams. The rest of the house was in the French taste ofCharles the Second's time, having been repaired and altered, as myfriend told me, by one of his ancestors who returned with that monarchat the Restoration. The grounds about the house were laid out in theold formal manner of artificial flower-beds, clipped shrubberies, raisedterraces, and heavy stone balustrades, ornamented with urns, a leadenstatue or two, and a jet of water. The old gentleman, I was told, wasextremely careful to preserve this obsolete finery in all itsoriginal state. He admired this fashion in gardening; it had an airof magnificence, was courtly and noble, and befitting good old familystyle. The boasted imitation of Nature in modern gardening had sprungup with modern republican notions, but did not suit a monarchicalgovernment; it smacked of the leveling system. I could not help smilingat this introduction of politics into gardening, though I expressed someapprehension that I should find the old gentleman rather intolerantin his creed. Frank assured me, however, that it was almost the onlyinstance in which he had ever heard his father meddle with politics; andhe believed that he had got this notion from a member of Parliament whoonce passed a few weeks with him. The squire was glad of any argumentto defend his clipped yew trees and formal terraces, which had beenoccasionally attacked by modern landscape gardeners.

  As we approached the house we heard the sound of music, and now andthen a burst of laughter from one end of the building. This, Bracebridgesaid, must proceed from the servants' hall, where a great deal ofrevelry was permitted, and even encouraged, by the squire throughout thetwelve days of Christmas, provided everything was done conformably toancient usage. Here were kept up the old games of hoodman blind, shoethe wild mare, hot cockles, steal the white loaf, bob apple, and snapdragon; the Yule-clog and Christmas candle were regularly burnt, and themistletoe with its white berries hung up, to the imminent peril of allthe 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 ringrepeatedly before we could make ourselves heard. O
n our arrival beingannounced the squire came out to receive us, accompanied by his twoother 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 finehealthy-looking old gentleman, with silver hair curling lightly round anopen florid countenance, in which the physiognomist, with the advantage,like myself, of a previous hint or two, might discover a singularmixture of whim and benevolence.

  The family meeting was warm and affectionate; as the evening was faradvanced, the squire would not permit us to change our travellingdresses, but ushered us at once to the company, which was assembled ina large old-fashioned hall. It was composed of different branches of anumerous family connection, where there were the usual proportion of olduncles and aunts, comfortable married dames, superannuated spinsters,blooming country cousins, half-fledged striplings, and bright-eyedboarding-school hoydens. They were variously occupied--some at a roundgame of cards; others conversing around the fireplace; at one end of thehall was a group of the young folks, some nearly grown up, others ofa more tender and budding age, fully engrossed by a merry game; and aprofusion of wooden horses, penny trumpets, and tattered dolls aboutthe floor showed traces of a troop of little fairy beings who, havingfrolicked through a happy day, had been carried off to slumber through apeaceful night.

  While the mutual greetings were going on between young Bracebridge andhis 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 evidentlyendeavored to restore it to something of its primitive state. Overthe heavy projecting fireplace was suspended a picture of a warriorin armor, standing by a white horse, and on the opposite wall hung ahelmet, buckler, and lance. At one end an enormous pair of antlers wereinserted in the wall, the branches serving as hooks on which to suspendhats, whips, and spurs, and in the corners of the apartment werefowling-pieces, fishing-rods, and other sporting implements. Thefurniture was of the cumbrous workmanship of former days, though somearticles of modern convenience had been added and the oaken floor hadbeen carpeted, so that the whole presented an odd mixture of parlor andhall.

  The grate had been removed from the wide overwhelming fireplace tomake way for a fire of wood, in the midst of which was an enormous logglowing and blazing, and sending forth a vast volume of light and heat:this, I understood, was the Yule-clog, which the squire was particularin having brought in and illumined on a Christmas Eve, according toancient 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 inEngland, particularly in the north, and there are several superstitionsconnected with it among the peasantry. If a squinting person come to thehouse while it is burning, or a person barefooted, it is considered anill omen. The brand remaining from the Yule-clog is carefully put awayto light the next year's Christmas fire.

  It was really delightful to see the old squire seated in his hereditaryelbow-chair by the hospitable fireside of his ancestors, and lookingaround him like the sun of a system, beaming warmth and gladness toevery heart. Even the very dog that lay stretched at his feet, as helazily shifted his position and yawned would look fondly up in hismaster's face, wag his tail against the floor, and stretch himself againto sleep, confident of kindness and protection. There is an emanationfrom the heart in genuine hospitality which cannot be described, but isimmediately felt and puts the stranger at once at his ease. I had notbeen seated many minutes by the comfortable hearth of the worthy oldcavalier before I found myself as much at home as if I had been one ofthe family.

  Supper was announced shortly after our arrival. It was served up in aspacious oaken chamber, the panels of which shone with wax, and aroundwhich were several family portraits decorated with holly and ivy.Besides the accustomed lights, two great wax tapers, called Christmascandles, wreathed with greens, were placed on a highly polished beaufetamong the family plate. The table was abundantly spread with substantialfare; but the squire made his supper of frumenty, a dish made of wheatcakes boiled in milk with rich spices, being a standing dish in oldtimes 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 withall the warmth wherewith we usually greet an old and very genteelacquaintance.

  The mirth of the company was greatly promoted by the humors of aneccentric personage whom Mr. Bracebridge always addressed with thequaint appellation of Master Simon. He was a tight brisk little man,with the air of an arrant old bachelor. His nose was shaped like thebill of a parrot; his face slightly pitted with the small-pox, with adry perpetual bloom on it, like a frostbitten leaf in autumn. He had aneye of great quickness and vivacity, with a drollery and lurking waggeryof expression that was irresistible. He was evidently the wit of thefamily, 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 permitme to enjoy. It seemed to be his great delight during supper to keepa young girl next to him in a continual agony of stifled laughter, inspite 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 laughedat everything he said or did and at every turn of his countenance.I could not wonder at it; for he must have been a miracle ofaccomplishments in their eyes. He could imitate Punch and Judy; makean old woman of his hand, with the assistance of a burnt cork andpocket-handkerchief; and cut an orange into such a ludicrous caricaturethat the young folks were ready to die with laughing.

  I was let briefly into his history by Frank Bracebridge. He was an oldbachelor, of a small independent income, which by careful management wassufficient for all his wants. He revolved through the family systemlike a vagrant comet in its orbit, sometimes visiting one branch, andsometimes another quite remote, as is often the case with gentlemen ofextensive connections and small fortunes in England. He had a chirping,buoyant disposition, always enjoying the present moment; and hisfrequent change of scene and company prevented his acquiring thoserusty, unaccommodating habits with which old bachelors are souncharitably charged. He was a complete family chronicle, being versedin the genealogy, history, and intermarriages of the whole house ofBracebridge, which made him a great favorite with the old folks; he wasa beau of all the elder ladies and superannuated spinsters, among whomhe was habitually considered rather a young fellow; and he was masterof the revels among the children, so that there was not a more popularbeing in the sphere in which he moved than Mr. Simon Bracebridge. Oflate years he had resided almost entirely with the squire, to whom hehad become a factotum, and whom he particularly delighted by jumpingwith his humor in respect to old times and by having a scrap of anold song to suit every occasion. We had presently a specimen of hislast-mentioned talent, for no sooner was supper removed and spiced winesand other beverages peculiar to the season introduced, than Master Simonwas called on for a good old Christmas song. He bethought himself for amoment, and then, with a sparkle of the eye and a voice that was by nomeans bad, excepting that it ran occasionally into a falsetto like thenotes 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 neig
hbors 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 wassummoned from the servants' hall, where he had been strumming all theevening, and to all appearance comforting himself with some of thesquire's home-brewed. He was a kind of hanger-on, I was told, of theestablishment, and, though ostensibly a resident of the village, wasoftener to be found in the squire's kitchen than his own home, the oldgentleman being fond of the sound of "harp in hall."

  The dance, like most dances after supper, was a merry one: some of theolder folks joined in it, and the squire himself figured down severalcouple with a partner with whom he affirmed he had danced at everyChristmas for nearly half a century. Master Simon, who seemed to be akind of connecting link between the old times and the new, and tobe withal a little antiquated in the taste of his accomplishments,evidently piqued himself on his dancing, and was endeavoring to gaincredit by the heel and toe, rigadoon, and other graces of the ancientschool; but he had unluckily assorted himself with a little romping girlfrom boarding-school, who by her wild vivacity kept him continually onthe stretch and defeated all his sober attempts at elegance: such arethe ill-sorted matches to which antique gentlemen are unfortunatelyprone.

  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: hewas full of practical jokes, and his delight was to tease his aunts andcousins, yet, like all madcap youngsters, he was a universal favoriteamong the women. The most interesting couple in the dance was theyoung officer and a ward of the squire's, a beautiful blushing girl ofseventeen. From several shy glances which I had noticed in the course ofthe evening I suspected there was a little kindness growing up betweenthem; and indeed the young soldier was just the hero to captivate aromantic girl. He was tall, slender, and handsome, and, like mostyoung British officers of late years, had picked up various smallaccomplishments on the Continent: he could talk French and Italian, drawlandscapes, sing very tolerably, dance divinely, but, above all, he hadbeen wounded at Waterloo. What girl of seventeen, well read in poetryand romance, could resist such a mirror of chivalry and perfection?

  The moment the dance was over he caught up a guitar, and, lollingagainst the old marble fireplace in an attitude which I am half inclinedto suspect was studied, began the little French air of the Troubadour.The squire, however, exclaimed against having anything on Christmas Evebut good old English; upon which the young minstrel, casting up his eyefor 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 toJulia:"

  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 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 thefair Julia, for so I found his partner was called; she, however, wascertainly unconscious of any such application, for she never lookedat the singer, but kept her eyes cast upon the floor. Her face wassuffused, it is true, with a beautiful blush, and there was a gentleheaving of the bosom, but all that was doubtless caused by the exerciseof the dance; indeed, so great was her indifference that she amusedherself 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 thefloor.

  The party now broke up for the night with the kind-hearted old custom ofshaking hands. As I passed through the hall on my way to my chamber, thedying embers of the Yule-clog still sent forth a dusky glow, and had itnot been the season when "no spirit dares stir abroad," I should havebeen half tempted to steal from my room at midnight and peep whether thefairies might not be at their revels about the hearth.

  My chamber was in the old part of the mansion, the ponderous furnitureof which might have been fabricated in the days of the giants. The roomwas panelled, with cornices of heavy carved work, in which flowers andgrotesque faces were strangely intermingled, and a row of black-lookingportraits stared mournfully at me from the walls. The bed was of richthough faded damask, with a lofty tester, and stood in a niche oppositea bow window. I had scarcely got into bed when a strain of music seemedto break forth in the air just below the window. I listened, and foundit proceeded from a band which I concluded to be the Waits from someneighboring village. They went round the house, playing under thewindows. I drew aside the curtains to hear them more distinctly.The moonbeams fell through the upper part of the casement; partiallylighting up the antiquated apartment. The sounds, as they receded,became more soft and aerial, and seemed to accord with the quiet andmoonlight. I listened and listened--they became more and more tender andremote, and, as they gradually died away, my head sunk upon the pillowand I fell asleep.