The Christmas Dinner

by Washington Irving

　　Lo, now is come the 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'S Juvenilia.I had finished my toilet, and was loitering with Frank Bracebridgein the library, when we heard a distant thwacking sound, which heinformed me was a signal for the serving up of the dinner. TheSquire kept up old customs in kitchen as well as hall; and therolling-pin, struck upon the dresser by the cook, summoned theservants 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 alwaysheld his Christmas banquet. A blazing, crackling fire of logs hadbeen heaped on to warm the spacious apartment, and the flame wentsparkling and wreathing up the wide-mouthed chimney. The greatpicture of the crusader and his white horse had been profuselydecorated with greens for the occasion; and holly and ivy hadlikewise been wreathed around the helmet and weapons on theopposite wall, which I understood were the arms of the samewarrior. I must own, by the by, I had strong doubts about theauthenticity of painting and armour as having belonged to thecrusader, they certainly having the stamp of more recent days; butI was told that the painting had been so considered time out ofmind; and that as to the armour, it had been found in a lumberroom, and elevated to its present situation by the Squire, who atonce determined it to be the armour of the family hero; and as hewas absolute authority on all such subjects to his own household,the matter had passed into current acceptation. A sideboard wasset out just under this chivalric trophy, on which was a display ofplate that might have vied (at least in variety) with Belshazzar'sparade of the vessels of the Temple: "flagons, cans, cups, beakers,goblets, basins, and ewers;" the gorgeous utensils of goodcompanionship, that had gradually accumulated through manygenerations of jovial housekeepers. Before these stood the twoYule candles, beaming like two stars of the first magnitude: otherlights were distributed in branches, and the whole array glitteredlike a firmament of silver.

　　We were ushered into this banqueting scene with the sound ofminstrelsy, the old harper being seated on a stool beside thefireplace, and twanging his instrument with a vast deal more powerthan melody. Never did Christmas board display a more goodly andgracious assemblage of countenances; those who were not handsomewere, at least, happy; and happiness is a rare improver of yourhard-favoured visage.

　　I always consider an old English family as well worth studying as acollection of Holbein's portraits or Albert Durer's prints. Thereis much antiquarian lore to be acquired; much knowledge of thephysiognomies of former times. Perhaps it may be from havingcontinually 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 faithfullyperpetuated in these ancient lines; and I have traced an old familynose through a whole picture-gallery, legitimately handed down fromgeneration to generation, almost from the time of the Conquest.Something of the kind was to be observed in the worthy companyaround me. Many of their faces had evidently originated in aGothic age, and been merely copied by succeeding generations; andthere was one little girl, in particular, of staid demeanour, witha high Roman nose, and an antique vinegar aspect, who was a greatfavourite of the Squire's, being, as he said, a Bracebridge allover, and the very counterpart of one of his ancestors who figuredin the court of Henry VIII.

　　The parson said grace, which was not a short, familiar one, such asis 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 suddenlythe butler entered the hall with some degree of bustle; he wasattended by a servant on each side with a large wax-light, and borea silver dish, on which was an enormous pig's head, decorated withrosemary, with a lemon in its mouth, which was placed with greatformality at the head of the table. The moment this pageant madeits appearance, the harper struck up a flourish; at the conclusionof which the young Oxonian, on receiving a hint from the Squire,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,from being apprised of the peculiar hobby of mine host; yet, Iconfess, the parade with which so odd a dish was introducedsomewhat perplexed me, until I gathered from the conversation ofthe Squire and the parson that it was meant to represent thebringing in of the boar's head: a dish formerly served up with muchceremony, and the sound of minstrelsy and song, at great tables onChristmas Day. "I like the old custom," said the Squire, "notmerely because it is stately and pleasing in itself, but because itwas observed at the College of Oxford, at which I was educated.When I hear the old song chanted, it brings to mind the time when Iwas young and gamesome--and the noble old college-hall--and myfellow 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 suchassociations, and who was always more taken up with the text thanthe sentiment, objected to the Oxonian's version of the carol:which he affirmed was different from that sung at college. He wenton, with the dry perseverance of a commentator, to give the collegereading, accompanied by sundry annotations: addressing himself atfirst to the company at large; but finding their attentiongradually diverted to other talk, and other objects, he lowered histone as his number of auditors diminished, until he concluded hisremarks, in an under voice, to a fat-headed old gentleman next him,who was silently engaged in the discussion of a huge plateful ofturkey.*

　　* See Note E.

　　The table was literally loaded with good cheer, and presented anepitome of country abundance, in this season of overflowinglarders. A distinguished post was allotted to "ancient sirloin,"as mine host termed it; being, as he added, "the standard of oldEnglish hospitality, and a joint of goodly presence, and full ofexpectation."

　　There were several dishes quaintly decorated, and which hadevidently something traditionary in their embellishments; but aboutwhich, as I did not like to appear over curious, I asked noquestions. I could not, however, but notice a pie, magnificentlydecorated with peacocks' feathers, in imitation of the tail of thatbird, 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; butthere had been such a mortality among the peacocks this season,that he could not prevail upon himself to have one killed.*

　　* See Note F.

　　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 of this worthyold humourist, by which he was endeavouring to follow up, though athumble distance, the quaint customs of antiquity. I was pleased,however, to see the respect shown to his whims by his children andrelatives; who, indeed, entered readily into the full spirit ofthem, and seemed all well versed in their parts; having doubtlessbeen present at many a rehearsal. I was amused, too, at the air ofprofound gravity with which the butler and other servants executedthe duties assigned them, however eccentric. They had an old-fashioned look; having, for the most part, been brought up in thehousehold, and grown into keeping with the antiquated mansion, andthe humours of its lord; and most probably looked upon all hiswhimsical regulations as the established laws of honourablehousekeeping. When the cloth was removed, the butler brought in ahuge silver vessel of rare and curious workmanship, which he placedbefore the Squire. Its appearance was hailed with acclamation;being the Wassail Bowl, so renowned in Christmas festivity. Thecontents had been prepared by the Squire himself; for it was abeverage in the skilful mixture of which he particularly pridedhimself, alleging that it was too abstruse and complex for thecomprehension 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 andsweetened, with roasted apples bobbing about the surface.*

　　* See Note G.

　　The old gentleman's whole countenance beamed with a serene look ofindwelling delight, as he stirred this mighty bowl. Having raisedit to his lips, with a hearty wish of a merry Christmas to allpresent, he sent it brimming, around the board, for every one tofollow his example, according to the primitive style; pronouncingit "the ancient fountain of good feeling, where all hearts mettogether."*

　　* See Note H.

　　There was much laughing and rallying, as the honest emblem ofChristmas joviality circulated, and was kissed rather coyly by theladies. When it reached Master Simon he raised it in both hands,and with the air of a boon companion struck up an old Wassailchanson:

　　The browne bowle, The merry browne 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,to which I was a stranger. There was, however, a great deal ofrallying of Master Simon about some gay widow, with whom he wasaccused of having a flirtation. This attack was commenced by theladies; but it was continued throughout the dinner by the fat-headed old gentleman next the parson, with the perseveringassiduity of a slow-hound; being one of those long-winded jokers,who, though rather dull at starting game, are unrivalled for theirtalents in hunting it down. At every pause in the generalconversation, he renewed his bantering in pretty much the sameterms; winking hard at me with both eyes whenever he gave MasterSimon what he considered a home thrust. The latter, indeed, seemedfond of being teased on the subject, as old bachelors are apt tobe; and he took occasion to inform me, in an undertone, that thelady in question was a prodigiously fine woman, and drove her owncurricle.

　　The dinner-time passed away in this flow of innocent hilarity; and,though the old hall may have resounded in its time with many ascene of broader rout and revel, yet I doubt whether it everwitnessed more honest and genuine enjoyment. How easy it is forone benevolent being to diffuse pleasure around him; and how trulyis a kind heart a fountain of gladness, making everything in itsvicinity to freshen into smiles! The joyous disposition of theworthy Squire was perfectly contagious; he was happy himself, anddisposed to make all the world happy; and the little eccentricitiesof his humour did but season, in a manner, the sweetness of hisphilanthropy.

　　When the ladies had retired, the conversation, as usual, becamestill more animated; many good things were broached which had beenthought of during dinner, but which would not exactly do for alady's ear; and though I cannot positively affirm that there wasmuch wit uttered, yet I have certainly heard many contests of rarewit produce much less laughter. Wit, after all, is a mighty tart,pungent ingredient, and much too acid for some stomachs; but honestgood humour is the oil and wine of a merry meeting, and there is nojovial companionship equal to that where the jokes are rathersmall, and the laughter abundant. The Squire told several longstories of early college pranks and adventures, in some of whichthe parson had been a sharer; though in looking at the latter, itrequired some effort of imagination to figure such a little darkanatomy of a man into the perpetrator of a madcap gambol. Indeed,the two college chums presented pictures of what men may be made bytheir different lots in life. The Squire had left the universityto live lustily on his paternal domains, in the vigorous enjoymentof prosperity and sunshine, and had flourished on to a hearty andflorid old age; whilst the poor parson, on the contrary, had driedand withered away, among dusty tomes, in the silence and shadows ofhis study.

　　Still there seemed to be a spark of almost extinguished fire,feebly glimmering in the bottom of his soul; and as the Squirehinted at a sly story of the parson and a pretty milkmaid, whomthey once met on the banks of the Isis, the old gentleman made an"alphabet of faces," which, as far as I could decipher hisphysiognomy, I verily believe was indicative of laughter;--indeed,I have rarely met with an old gentleman who took absolutely offenceat the imputed gallantries of his youth.

　　I found the tide of wine and wassail fast gaining on the dry landof sober judgment. The company grew merrier and louder as theirjokes grew duller. Master Simon was in as chirping a humour as agrasshopper filled with dew; his old songs grew of a warmercomplexion, and he began to talk maudlin about the widow. He evengave a long song about the wooing of a widow, which he informed mehe had gathered from an excellent black-letter work, entitled"Cupid's Solicitor for Love," containing store of good advice forbachelors, and which he promised to lend me. The first verse wasto 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 severalattempts to tell a rather broad story out of Joe Miller, that waspat to the purpose; but he always stuck in the middle, everybodyrecollecting the latter part excepting himself. The parson, too,began to show the effects of good cheer, having gradually settleddown into a doze, and his wig sitting most suspiciously on oneside. Just at this juncture we were summoned to the drawing-room,and, I suspect, at the private instigation of mine host, whosejoviality seemed always tempered with a proper love of decorum.

　　After the dinner-table was removed, the hall was given up to theyounger members of the family, who, prompted to all kind of noisymirth by the Oxonian and Master Simon, made its old walls ring withtheir merriment, as they played at romping games. I delight inwitnessing the gambols of children, and particularly at this happyholiday-season, and could not help stealing out of the drawing-roomon hearing one of their peals of laughter. I found them at thegame of blind-man's buff. Master Simon, who was the leader oftheir revels, and seemed on all occasions to fulfil the office ofthat ancient potentate, the Lord of Misrule,* was blinded in themidst of the hall. The little beings were as busy about him as themock fairies about Falstaff; pinching him, plucking at the skirtsof his coat, and tickling him with straws. One fine blue-eyed girlof about thirteen, with her flaxen hair all in beautiful confusion,her frolic face in a glow, her frock half torn off her shoulders, acomplete picture of a romp, was the chief tormentor; and from theslyness with which Master Simon avoided the smaller game, andhemmed this wild little nymph in corners, and obliged her to jumpshrieking over chairs, I suspected the rogue of being not a whitmore blinded than was convenient.

　　* See Note I.

　　When I returned to the drawing-room, I found the company seatedaround the fire, listening to the parson, who was deeply ensconcedin a high-backed oaken chair, the work of some cunning artificer ofyore, which had been brought from the library for his particularaccommodation. From this venerable piece of furniture, with whichhis shadowy figure and dark weazen face so admirably accorded, hewas dealing forth strange accounts of popular superstitions andlegends of the surrounding country, with which he had becomeacquainted in the course of his antiquarian researches. I am halfinclined to think that the old gentleman was himself somewhattinctured with superstition, as men are very apt to be who live arecluse and studious life in a sequestered part of the country, andpore over black-letter tracts, so often filled with the marvellousand supernatural. He gave us several anecdotes of the fancies ofthe neighbouring peasantry, concerning the effigy of the crusaderwhich lay on the tomb by the church altar. As it was the onlymonument of the kind in that part of the country, it had alwaysbeen regarded with feelings of superstition by the goodwives of thevillage. It was said to get up from the tomb and walk the roundsof the churchyard in stormy nights, particularly when it thundered;and one old woman, whose cottage bordered on the churchyard, hadseen it, through the windows of the church, when the moon shone,slowly pacing up and down the aisles. It was the belief that somewrong had been left unredressed by the deceased, or some treasurehidden, which kept the spirit in a state of trouble andrestlessness. Some talked of gold and jewels buried in the tomb,over which the spectre kept watch; and there was a story current ofa sexton in old times who endeavoured to break his way to thecoffin at night; but just as he reached it, received a violent blowfrom the marble hand of the effigy, which stretched him senselesson the pavement. These tales were often laughed at by some of thesturdier among the rustics, yet when night came on, there were manyof the stoutest unbelievers that were shy of venturing alone in thefootpath that led across the churchyard. From these and otheranecdotes that followed, the crusader appeared to be the favouritehero of ghost stories throughout the vicinity. His picture, whichhung up in the hall, was thought by the servants to have somethingsupernatural about it; for they remarked that, in whatever part ofthe 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 andbrought up in the family, and was a great gossip among the maidservants, affirmed that in her young days she had often heard saythat on Midsummer eve, when it is well known all kinds of ghosts,goblins, and fairies become visible and walk abroad, the crusaderused to mount his horse, come down from his picture, ride about thehouse, down the avenue, and so to the church to visit the tomb; onwhich occasion the church door most civilly swung open of itself:not that he needed it; for he rode through closed gates and evenstone walls, and had been seen by one of the dairymaids to passbetween two bars of the great park gate, making himself as thin asa sheet of paper.

　　All these superstitions, I found, had been very much countenancedby the Squire, who, though not superstitious himself, was very fondof seeing others so. He listened to every goblin tale of theneighbouring gossips with infinite gravity, and held the porter'swife in high favour on account of her talent for the marvellous.He was himself a great reader of old legends and romances, andoften lamented that he could not believe in them; for asuperstitious person, he thought, must live in a kind of fairyland.

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

　　* See Note J.

　　Master Simon led the van, as "Ancient Christmas," quaintlyapparelled in a ruff, a short cloak, which had very much the aspectof one of the old housekeeper's petticoats, and a hat that mighthave served for a village steeple, and must indubitably havefigured in the days of the Covenanters. From under this his nosecurved boldly forth, flushed with a frost-bitten bloom, that seemedthe very trophy of a December blast. He was accompanied by theblue-eyed romp, dished up as "Dame Mince-Pie," in the venerablemagnificence of faded brocade, long stomacher, peaked hat, andhigh-heeled shoes. The young officer appeared as Robin Hood, in asporting dress of Kendal green and a foraging cap with a goldtassel. The costume, to be sure, did not bear testimony to deepresearch, and there was an evident eye to the picturesque, naturalto a young gallant in the presence of his mistress. The fair Juliahung on his arm in a pretty rustic dress, as "Maid Marian." Therest of the train had been metamorphosed in various ways; the girlstrussed up in the finery of the ancient belles of the Bracebridgeline, and the striplings bewhiskered with burnt cork, and gravelyclad in broad skirts, hanging sleeves, and full-bottomed wigs, torepresent the characters of Roast Beef, Plum Pudding, and otherworthies celebrated in ancient maskings. The whole was under thecontrol of the Oxonian, in the appropriate character of Misrule;and I observed that he exercised rather a mischievous sway with hiswand 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.Master Simon covered himself with glory by the stateliness withwhich, as Ancient Christmas, he walked a minuet with the peerless,though giggling, Dame Mince-Pie. It was followed by a dance of allthe characters, which, from its medley of costumes, seemed asthough the old family portraits had skipped down from their framesto join in the sport. Different centuries were figuring at crosshands and right and left; the dark ages were cutting pirouettes andrigadoons; and the days of Queen Bess jigging merrily down themiddle, through a line of succeeding generations.

　　The worthy Squire contemplated these fantastic sports, and thisresurrection of his old wardrobe, with the simple relish ofchildish delight. He stood chuckling and rubbing his hands, andscarcely hearing a word the parson said, notwithstanding that thelatter was discoursing most authentically on the ancient andstately dance at the Paon, or Peacock, from which he conceived theminuet to be derived.* For my part, I was in a continualexcitement, from the varied scenes of whim and innocent gaietypassing before me. It was inspiring to see wild-eyed frolic andwarm-hearted hospitality breaking out from among the chills andglooms of winter, and old age throwing off his apathy, and catchingonce more the freshness of youthful enjoyment. I felt also aninterest in the scene, from the consideration that these fleetingcustoms were posting fast into oblivion, and that this was,perhaps, the only family in England in which the whole of them werestill punctiliously observed. There was a quaintness, too, mingledwith all this revelry that gave it a peculiar zest; it was suitedto the time and place; and as the old Manor House almost reeledwith mirth and wassail, it seemed echoing back the joviality oflong-departed years.

　　* See Note K.

　　But enough of Christmas and its gambols; it is time for me to pausein this garrulity. Methinks I hear the questions asked by mygraver readers, "To what purpose is all this?--how is the world tobe made wiser by this talk?" Alas! is there not wisdom enoughextant for the instruction of the world? And if not, are there notthousands of abler pens labouring for its improvement?--It is somuch pleasanter to please than to instruct--to play the companionrather than the preceptor.

　　What, after all, is the mite of wisdom that I could throw into themass of knowledge? or how am I sure that my sagest deductions maybe safe guides for the opinions of others? But in writing toamuse, if I fail, the only evil is my own disappointment. If,however, I can by any lucky chance, in these days of evil, rub outone wrinkle from the brow of care, or beguile the heavy heart ofone moment of sorrow; if I can now and then penetrate through thegathering film of misanthropy, prompt a benevolent view of humannature, and make my reader more in good humour with his fellowbeings and himself, surely, surely, I shall not then have writtenentirely in vain.

　　THE END.