The Sketchbook Of Washington Irving -Seasonal Extracts

The Sketchbook of Washington Irving By Washington Irving 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 by,

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 the painting had been so considered time out of mind,

And that to the armour it had been found in a lumber room and elevated to its present situation by the squire,

Who had 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,

Flaggons,

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 stall beside the fireplace and twanging his instrument with a vast deal more power than melody.

Never did Christmas bore 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 Durer'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 more 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 had 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 squires,

Being,

As he said,

A braced bridge 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 apre defero,

Reddens laudes domino,

The boar's head in hand bring I,

With garlands gay and rosemary.

I pray you all,

Sing merry,

Leaky,

Hester's inconvivio.

Caput apre defero,

Reddens laudes domino.

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 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 old custom,

Said the squire,

Not merely because it's stately and pleasing in itself,

But because it was 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 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 to him who was silently engaged in the discussion of a huge plateful of turkey.

The table was literally loaded with good cheer and presented in 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 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 false spirit of them,

And seemed very 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 Wasail 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 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 set it brimming round the board,

For everyone to follow his example according to the primitive style.

He pronounced it the ancient fountain of good feeling where all hearts meet together.

There was much laughing and rallying as the honest emblem of Christmas joviality circulated,

And was kissed rather coyly by the ladies.