Title: The Christmas dinner - from "The sketch book"
Author: Irving, Washington
Language: English
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                         THE CHRISTMAS DINNER

                        FROM “THE SKETCH BOOK”
                             BY WASHINGTON
                                IRVING

                       [Illustration: colophon]

                               NEW YORK
                          WILLIAM EDWIN RUDGE
                                 1923


          _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,_
              _We’ll bury’t in a Christmas pye,_
              _And evermore be merry._
                       WITHERS’ “JUVENILLA.”



[Illustration: The Christmas Dinner]

_FROM “THE SKETCH BOOK”_


The dinner was served up in the great hall, where the squire always held
his Christmas banquet. A blazing, crackling fire of logs had been heaped
on to warm the spacious apartment, and the flame went sparkling and
wreathing up the wide-mouthed chimney. The great picture of the crusader
and his white horse had been profusely decorated with greens for the
occasion; and holly and ivy had likewise been wreathed round the helmet
and weapons on the opposite wall, which I understood were the arms of
the same warrior. I must own, by-the-bye, I had strong doubts about the
authenticity of the painting and armour as having belonged to the
crusader, they certainly having the stamp of more recent days; but I was
told that the painting had been so considered time out of mind; and
that, as to the armour, it had been found in a lumber-room, and elevated
to its present situation by the squire, who at once determined it to be
the armour of the family hero; and as he was absolute authority on all
such subjects in his own household, the matter had passed into current
acceptation. A sideboard was set out just under this chivalric trophy,
on which was a display of plate that might have vied (at least in
variety) with Belshazzar’s parade of the vessels of the
temple:--“flagons, cans, cups, beakers, goblets, basins, and ewers”; the
gorgeous utensils of good companionship that had gradually accumulated
through many generations of jovial housekeepers. Before these stood the
two Yule candles, beaming like two stars of the first magnitude; other
lights were distributed in branches, and the whole array glittered like
a firmament 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, and
twanging his instrument with a vast deal more power than melody. Never
did Christmas board display a more goodly and gracious assemblage of
countenances; those who were not handsome were, at least, happy; and
happiness is a rare improver of your hard-favoured visage. I always
consider an old English family as well worth studying as a collection of
Holbein’s portraits or Albert Dürer’s prints. There is much antiquarian
lore to be acquired; much knowledge of the physiognomies of former
times. Perhaps it may be from having continually before their eyes those
rows of old family portraits with which the mansions of this country
are stocked; certain it is, that the quaint features of antiquity are
often most faithfully perpetuated in these ancient lines; and I have
traced an old family nose through a whole picture-gallery, legitimately
handed down from generation to generation, almost from the time of the
Conquest. Something of the kind was to be observed in the worthy company
around me. Many of their faces had evidently originated in a gothic age,
and been merely copied by succeeding generations; and there was one
little girl in particular, of staid demeanour, with a high Roman nose,
and an antique vinegar aspect, who was a great favourite of the
squire’s, being, as he said, a Bracebridge all over, and the very
counterpart of one of his ancestors who figured in the court of Henry
VIII.

The parson said grace, which was not a short, familiar one, such as is
commonly 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 hall with some degree of bustle: he was attended by a servant on
each side with a large wax-light, and bore a silver dish, on which was
an enormous pig’s head, decorated with rosemary, with a lemon in its
mouth, which was placed with great formality at the head of the table.
The moment this pageant made its appearance, the harper struck up a
flourish; at the conclusion of which the young Oxonian, on receiving a
hint from the squire, gave, with an air of the most comic gravity, an
old carol, the first 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, from
being apprised of the peculiar hobby of mine host; yet, I confess, the
parade with which so odd a dish was introduced somewhat perplexed me,
until I gathered from the conversation of the squire and the parson,
that it was meant to represent the bringing in of the boar’s head; a
dish formerly served up with much ceremony and the sound of minstrelsy
and song, at great tables, on Christmas day. “I like the old custom,”
said the squire, “not merely because it is stately and pleasing in
itself, but because it was observed at the college at Oxford at which I
was educated. When I hear the old song chanted, it brings to mind the
time when I was young and gamesome--and the noble old college hall--and
my fellow-students loitering about in their black gowns; many of whom,
poor lads, 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 affirmed, was
different from that sung at college. He went on, with the dry
perseverance of a commentator, to give the college reading, accompanied
by sundry annotations; addressing himself at first to the company at
large; but finding their attention gradually diverted to other talk and
other objects, he lowered his tone as his number of auditors diminished,
until he concluded his remarks in an under voice to a fat-headed old
gentleman next him, who was silently engaged in the discussion of a huge
plateful of turkey.

The table was literally loaded with good cheer, and presented an epitome
of country abundance, in this season of overflowing larders. A
distinguished post was allotted to “ancient sirloin,” as mine host
termed it; being, as he added, “the standard of old English
hospitality, and a joint of goodly presence, and full of expectation.”
There were several dishes quaintly decorated, and which had evidently
something traditional in their embellishments; but about which, as I did
not like to appear over-curious, I asked no questions.

I could not, however, but notice a pie, magnificently decorated with
peacock’s feathers, in imitation of the tail of that bird, which
overshadowed a considerable tract of the table. This, the squire
confessed, with some little hesitation, was a pheasant pie, though a
peacock pie was certainly the most authentical; but there had been such
a mortality among the peacocks this season, that he could not prevail
upon himself to have one killed.

It would be tedious, perhaps, to my wiser readers, who may not have that
foolish fondness for odd and obsolete things, to which I am a little
given, were I to mention the other makeshifts of this worthy old
humorist, by which he was endeavouring to follow up, though at humble
distance, the quaint customs of antiquity. I was pleased, however, to
see the respect shown to his whims by his children and relatives; who,
indeed, entered readily into the full spirit of them, and seemed all
well versed in their parts; having doubtless been present at many a
rehearsal. I was amused, too, at the air of profound gravity with which
the butler and other servants executed the duties assigned them, however
eccentric. They had an old-fashioned look; having, for the most part,
been brought up in the household, and grown into keeping with the
antiquated mansion, and the humours of its lord; and most probably
looked upon all his whimsical regulations as the established laws of
honourable housekeeping.

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

The old gentleman’s whole countenance beamed with a serene look of
indwelling delight, as he stirred this mighty bowl. Having raised it to
his lips, with a hearty wish of a merry Christmas to all present, he
sent it brimming round the board, for every one to follow his example,
according to the primitive style; pronouncing it “the ancient fountain
of good-feeling, where all hearts met together.”

There was much laughing and rallying as the honest emblem of Christmas
joviality circulated, and was kissed rather coyly by the ladies. When it
reached Master Simon, he raised it in both hands, and with the air of a
boon 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.

Much of the conversation during dinner turned upon family topics, to
which I was a stranger. There was, however, a great deal of rallying of
Master Simon about some gay widow, with whom he was accused of having a
flirtation. This attack was commenced by the ladies; but it was
continued throughout the dinner by the fat-headed old gentleman next the
parson, with the persevering assiduity of a slow hound; being one of
those long-winded jokers, who, though rather dull at starting game, are
unrivalled for their talent in hunting it down. At every pause in the
general conversation, he renewed his bantering in pretty much the same
terms; winking hard at me with both eyes, whenever he gave Master Simon
what he considered a home thrust. The latter, indeed, seemed fond of
being teased on the subject, as old bachelors are apt to be; and he took
occasion to inform me, in an under tone, that the lady in question was
a prodigiously 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 scene of
broader rout and revel, yet I doubt whether it ever witnessed more
honest and genuine enjoyment. How easy it is for one benevolent being to
diffuse pleasure around him; and how truly is a kind heart a fountain of
gladness, making everything in its vicinity to freshen into smiles! The
joyous disposition of the worthy squire was perfectly contagious; he was
happy himself, and disposed to make all the world happy; and the little
eccentricities of his humour did but season, in a manner, the sweetness
of his philanthropy.

When the ladies had retired, the conversation, as usual, became still
more animated; many good things were broached which had been thought of
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, yet I
have certainly heard many contests of rare wit produce much less
laughter. Wit, after all, is a mighty, tart, pungent, ingredient, and
much too acid for some stomachs; but honest good humour is the oil and
wine of a merry meeting, and there is no jovial companionship equal to
that where the jokes are rather small, and the laughter abundant.

The squire told several long stories of early college pranks and
adventures, in some of which the parson had been a sharer; though in
looking at the latter, it required some effort of imagination to figure
such a little dark anatomy of a man into the perpetrator of a madcap
gambol. Indeed, the two college chums presented pictures of what men may
be made by their different lots in life. The squire had left the
university to live lustily on his parental domains, in the vigorous
enjoyment of prosperity and sunshine, and had flourished on to a hearty
and florid old age; whilst the poor parson, on the contrary, had dried
and withered away, among dusty tomes, in the silence and shadows of his
study. Still there seemed to be a spark of almost extinguished fire,
feebly glimmering in the bottom of his soul; and as the squire hinted at
a sly story of the parson and a pretty milkmaid, whom they once met on
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 was
indicative of laughter; indeed, I have rarely met with an old gentleman
that took absolute offence at the imputed gallantries of his youth.

I found the tide of wine and wassail fast gaining on the dry land of
sober judgment. The company grew merrier and louder as their jokes grew
duller. Master Simon was in as chirping a humour as a grasshopper
filled with dew; his old songs grew of a warmer complexion, and he began
to talk maudlin about the widow. He even gave a long song about the
wooing of a widow, which he informed me he had gathered from an
excellent black-letter work, entitled _Cupid’s Solicitor for Love_,
containing store of good advice for bachelors, and which he promised to
lend me; the first verse was to this 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 several
attempts to tell a rather broad story out of Joe Miller, that was pat to
the purpose; but he always stuck in the middle, everybody recollecting
the latter part excepting himself. The parson, too, began to show the
effects of good cheer, having gradually settled down into a doze, and
his wig sitting most suspiciously on one side. Just at this juncture we
were summoned to the drawing-room, and I suspect, at the private
instigation of mine host, whose joviality seemed always tempered with a
proper love of decorum.

After the dinner-table was removed, the hall was given up to the younger
members of the family, who, prompted to all kind of noisy mirth by the
Oxonian and Master Simon, made its old walls ring with their merriment,
as they played at romping games. I delight in witnessing the gambols of
children, and particularly at this happy holiday season, and could not
help stealing out of the drawing-room on hearing one of their peals of
laughter. I found them at the game of blind-man’s-buff. Master Simon,
who was the leader of their revels, and seemed on all occasions to
fulfil the office of that ancient potentate, the Lord of Misrule, was
blinded in the midst of the hall. The little beings were as busy about
him as the mock fairies about Falstaff; pinching him, plucking at the
skirts of his coat, and tickling him with straws. One fine blue-eyed
girl of about thirteen, with her flaxen hair all in beautiful confusion,
her frolic face in a glow, her frock half torn off her shoulders, a
complete picture of a romp, was the chief tormentor; and, from the
slyness with which Master Simon avoided the smaller game, and hemmed
this wild little nymph in corners, and obliged her to jump shrieking
over chairs, I suspected the rogue of being not a whit more blinded than
was convenient.

When I returned to the drawing-room, I found the company seated round
the fire listening to the parson, who was deeply ensconced in a
high-backed oaken chair, the work of some cunning artificer of yore,
which had been brought from the library for his particular
accommodation. From this venerable piece of furniture, with which his
shadowy figure and dark weazen face so admirably accorded, he was
dealing out strange accounts of the popular superstitions and legends of
the surrounding country, with which he had become acquainted in the
course of his antiquarian researches. I am half inclined to think that
the old gentleman was himself somewhat tinctured with superstition, as
men are very apt to be who live a recluse and studious life in a
sequestered part of the country, and pore over black-letter tracts, so
often filled with the marvellous and supernatural. He gave us several
anecdotes of the fancies of the neighbouring peasantry, concerning the
effigy of the crusader, which lay on the tomb by the church altar. As it
was the only monument of the kind in that part of the country it had
always been regarded with feelings of superstition by the good wives of
the village. It was said to get up from the tomb and walk the rounds of
the churchyard in stormy nights, particularly when it thundered; and one
old woman, whose cottage bordered on the churchyard, had seen it through
the windows of the church, when the moon shone, slowly pacing up and
down the aisles. It was the belief that some wrong had been left
unredressed by the deceased, or some treasure hidden, which kept the
spirit in a state of trouble and restlessness. Some talked of gold and
jewels buried in the tomb, over which the spectre kept watch; and there
was a story current of a sexton in old times who endeavoured to break
his way to the coffin at night, but, just as he reached it, received a
violent blow from the marble hand of the effigy, which stretched him
senseless on the pavement. These tales were often laughed at by some of
the sturdier among the rustics, yet when night came on, there were many
of the stoutest unbelievers that were shy of venturing alone in the
footpath that led across the churchyard.

From these and other anecdotes that followed, the crusader appeared to
be the favourite hero of ghost stories throughout the vicinity. His
picture which hung up in the hall, was thought by the servants to have
something supernatural about it; for they remarked that, in whatever
part of the hall you went, the eyes of the warrior were still fixed on
you. The old porter’s wife, too, at the lodge, who had been born and
brought up in the family, and was a great gossip among the
maid-servants, affirmed that 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 become visible and walk abroad, the crusader used
to mount his horse, come down from his picture, ride about the house,
down the avenue, and so to the church to visit the tomb; on which
occasion the church door most civilly swung open of itself; not that he
needed it; for he rode through closed gates and even stone walls, and
had been seen by one of the dairymaids to pass between two bars of the
great park gate, making himself as thin as a sheet of paper.

All these superstitions I found had been very much countenanced by the
squire, who, though not superstitious himself, was very fond of seeing
others so. He listened to every goblin tale of the neighbouring gossips
with infinite gravity, and held the porter’s wife in high favour on
account of her talent for the marvellous. He was himself a great reader
of old legends and romances, and often lamented that he could not
believe in them; for a superstitious person, he thought, must live in a
kind of fairy land.

Whilst we were all attention to the parson’s stories, our ears were
suddenly assailed by a burst of heterogeneous sounds from the hall, in
which were mingled something like the clang of rude minstrelsy, with the
uproar of many small voices and girlish laughter. The door suddenly flew
open, and a train came trooping into the room, that might almost have
been mistaken for the breaking-up of the court of Fairy. That
indefatigable spirit, Master Simon, in the faithful discharge of his
duties as Lord of Misrule, had conceived the idea of a Christmas mummery
or masking; and having called in to his assistance the Oxonian and the
young officer, who were equally ripe for anything that should occasion
romping and merriment, they had carried it into instant effect. The old
housekeeper had been consulted; the antique clothes-presses and
wardrobes rummaged, and made to yield up the relics of finery that had
not seen the light for several generations; the younger part of the
company had been privately convened from the parlour and hall, and the
whole had been bedizened out, into a burlesque imitation of an antique
mask.

Master Simon led the van, as “Ancient Christmas,” quaintly apparelled in
a ruff, a short cloak, which had very much the aspect of one of the old
housekeeper’s petticoats, and a hat that might have served for a village
steeple, and must indubitably have figured in the days of the
Covenanters. From under this his nose curved boldly forth, flushed with
a frostbitten bloom, that seemed the very trophy of a December blast. He
was accompanied by the blue-eyed romp, dished up as “Dame Mince Pie,” in
the venerable magnificence of a faded brocade, long stomacher, peaked
hat, and high-heeled shoes. The young officer appeared as Robin Hood, in
a 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, and
there was an evident eye to the picturesque, natural to a young gallant
in the presence of his mistress. The fair Julia hung on his arm in a
pretty rustic dress, as “Maid Marian.” The rest of the train had been
metamorphosed in various ways; the girls trussed up in the finery of the
ancient belles of the Bracebridge line, and the striplings bewhiskered
with burnt cork, and gravely clad in broad skirts, hanging sleeves, and
full-bottomed wigs, to represent the character of Roast Beef, Plum
Pudding, and other worthies celebrated in ancient maskings. The whole
was under the control of the Oxonian, in the appropriate character of
Misrule; and I observed that he exercised rather a mischievous sway with
his wand over the smaller personages of the pageant.

The irruption of this motley crew, with beat of drum, according to
ancient custom, was the consummation of uproar and merriment. Master
Simon covered himself with glory by the stateliness with which, as
Ancient Christmas, he walked a minuet with the peerless, though
giggling, Dame Mince Pie. It was followed by a dance of all the
characters, which, from its medley of costumes, seemed as though the old
family portraits had skipped down from their frames to join in the
sport. Different centuries were figuring at cross hands and right and
left; the dark ages were cutting pirouettes and rigadoons; and the days
of Queen Bess jiggling merrily down the middle, through a line of
succeeding generations.

The worthy squire contemplated these fantastic sports, and this
resurrection of his old wardrobe, with the simple relish of childish
delight. He stood chuckling and rubbing his hands, and scarcely hearing
a word the parson said, notwithstanding that the latter was discoursing
most authentically on the ancient and stately dance at the Paon, or
peacock, from which he conceived the minuet to be derived. For my part I
was in a continual excitement, from the varied scenes of whim and
innocent gaiety passing before me. It was inspiring to me to see
wild-eyed frolic and warm-hearted hospitality breaking out from among
the chills and glooms of winter, and old age throwing off his apathy,
and catching once more the freshness of youthful enjoyment. I felt also
an interest in the scene, from the consideration that these fleeting
customs were posting fast into oblivion, and that this was, perhaps, the
only family in England in which the whole of them were still
punctiliously observed. There was a quaintness, too, mingled with all
this revelry, that gave it a peculiar zest: it was suited to the time
and place; and as the old manor-house almost reeled with mirth and
wassail, it seemed echoing back the joviality of long departed years.

But enough of Christmas and its gambols; it is time for me to pause in
this garrulity. Methinks I hear the questions asked by my grave readers,
“To what purpose is all this--how is the world to be made wiser by this
talk?” Alas! is there not wisdom enough extant for the instruction of
the world? And if not, are there not thousands of abler pens labouring
for its improvement!--It is so much pleasanter to please than to
instruct--to play the companion rather than the preceptor.

What, after all, is the mite of wisdom that I could throw into the mass
of knowledge; or how am I sure that my sagest deductions may be safe
guides for the opinion of others? But in writing to amuse, if I fail,
the only evil is in my own disappointment. If, however, I can by any
lucky chance, in these days of evil, rub out one wrinkle from the brow
of care, or beguile the heavy heart of one moment of sorrow; if I can
now and then penetrate through the gathering film of misanthropy, prompt
a benevolent view of human nature, and make my reader more in good
humour with his fellow-beings and himself, surely, surely, I shall not
then have written entirely in vain.



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