Part 21
A worse custom still, however, was that of presenting gifts to the Chancellor by suitors in his court, for the purpose of influencing his judgments. The abuses of the New-Year's-gift practice have, however, been cleared away, and have left it what it now is,--a beautiful form for the interchanges of affection and the expression of friendship.
In Paris, where this day is called the "Jour d'Etrennes," the practice is of still more universal observance than with us, and the streets are brilliant with the displays made in every window of the articles which are to furnish these tokens of kindness, and with the gay equipages and well-dressed pedestrians passing in all directions, to be the bearers of them, and offer the compliments which are appropriate to the season. The thousand bells of the city are pealing from its hundred belfries, filling the air with an indescribable sense of festival, and would alone set the whole capital in motion if they were a people that ever sat still. This singing of a thousand bells is likewise a striking feature of the day in London; and no one who has not heard the mingling voices of these high choristers in a metropolis, can form any notion of the wild and stirring effects produced by the racing and crossing and mingling of their myriad notes. It is as if the glad voices of the earth had a chorus of echoes in the sky; as if the spirit of its rejoicing were caught up by "airy tongues," and flung in a cloud of incense-like music to the gates of heaven.
We need scarcely mention that most of the other forms in which the mirth of the season exhibits itself, are in demand for this occasion; and that among the merry evenings of the Christmas-tide, not the least merry is that which closes New Year's Day. To the youngsters of society, that day and eve have probably been the most trying of all; and the strong excitements of a happy spirit drive the weary head to an earlier pillow than the young heart of this season at all approves. But his is the weariness that the sweet sleep of youth so surely recruits; and to-morrow shall see him early afoot, once more engaged in those winter amusements which are to form his resource till the novelties of Twelfth-day arrive.
"There will come an eve to a longer day, That will find thee tired--but not of play; And thou wilt lean as thou leanest now, With drooping limbs and an aching brow; And wish the shadows would faster creep, And long to go to thy quiet sleep!-- Well were it then if thine aching brow Were as free from sin and shame as now!"
TWELFTH DAY AND TWELFTH NIGHT.
6TH JANUARY.
TWELFTH-DAY (so called from its being the twelfth after Christmas Day) is that on which the festival of the Epiphany is held. This feast of the Christian Church was instituted, according to Picart, in the fourth century, to commemorate the manifestation of our Saviour to the Gentiles; and the name Epiphany (Επιφανεια), which signifies an appearance from above, was given to it in allusion to the star described in Holy writ, as the guide of the Magi or Wise Men to the cradle of the Blessed Infant. "In Italy," says Mr. Leigh Hunt, "the word has been corrupted into Beffania or Beffana, as in England it used to be called Piffany; and Beffana in some parts of that country has come to mean an old fairy or Mother Bunch, whose figure is carried about the streets, and who rewards or punishes children at night, by putting sweetmeats or stones and dirt into a stocking hung up for the purpose, near the bed's head. The word 'Beffa,' taken from this, familiarly means a trick or mockery put upon any one; to such base uses may come the most splendid terms!" But what is quite as extraordinary as that the primitive signification of a word not familiarly understood should, amid the revolutions of centuries, be lost in a different or distorted into an inferior meaning, is the preservation in popular rites of trivial details, which, as we have before stated, conclusively identify many of the practices of our modern Christian festivals as echoes of ancient pagan observances. Of this, Twelfth-day presents a remarkable instance.
The more we examine the Saturnalia of the Romans and compare those revels with the proceedings of our Twelfth-night, the more satisfied do we feel of the correctness of Selden's view. "Christmas," he says, in his "Table Talk," "succeeds the Saturnalia; the same time, the same number of holy-days. Then the master waited upon the servants, like the Lord of Misrule." There is here a general likeness to the season of which we treat; but, as Mr. Brand further states, the Greeks and Romans at this period also "drew lots for kingdoms, and like kings exercised their temporary authority;" and Mr. Fosbroke mentions that "the king of Saturnalia was elected by beans," which identifies our Twelfth-night characters, as well as our mode of selecting them, with those of the ancients. Through so many centuries has chance decided who should wear a crown! By the French Twelfth-day was distinguished as "La Fête des Rois," a name of course obnoxious to the revolutionary fraternity of 1792, who caused such feast to be declared anti-civic, and replaced it by "La Fête des Sans-Culottes."
However, before entering upon the important discussion of the "absolute monarchy" of "the king of cakes and characters," in which, without any reference to profane ceremonies, there was sufficient found to offend puritanical ideas, we must be allowed to mention some customs observed on the vigil or eve of the feast of the Epiphany. Amongst these was the practice of wassailing the trees to ensure their future fruitfulness, mentioned by Herrick:--
"Wassail the trees, that they may beare You many a plum, and many a peare; For more or lesse fruits they will bring, As you do give them wassailing."
The merry bowl which, notwithstanding that it had been so often drained, was still kept brimming throughout all the Christmas holidays, was now when they were drawing to a close actually flowing over; and the warm heart and jovial spirit of the season, not content with pledging all those who could drink in return, proceeded to an excess of boon-companionship, and after quaffing a wassail-draft to the health and abundant bearing of some favorite fruit-tree, poured what remained in the cup upon the root, as a libation to its strength and vitality. Here, also, we cannot fail to recognize the rites of classical times lurking in the superstitions used in the cider districts of England. A pleasant custom of this kind is mentioned in the Gentleman's Magazine for 1791, as existing in certain parts of Devonshire. It is there stated that "the farmer, attended by his workmen with a large pitcher of cider, goes to the orchard on this evening; and there, encircling one of the best bearing trees, they drink the following toast three times:--
"Here's to thee, old apple-tree! Whence thou mayst bud, and whence thou mayst blow! And whence thou mayst bear apples enow! Hats full! caps full! Bushel, bushel-sacks full! And my pockets full too!--Huzza!"
This done they return to the house, the doors of which they are sure to find bolted by the females, who, be the weather what it may, are inexorable to all entreatries to open them till some one has guessed at what is on the spit, which is generally some nice little thing difficult to be hit on, and is the reward of him who first names it. The doors are then thrown open; and the lucky clodpole receives the titbit as a recompense. Some, it is added, "are so superstitious as to believe that if they neglect this custom the trees will bear no apples that year."
"Health to thee, good apple-tree! Well to bear, pockets full, hats full, Pecks full, bushel-bags full,"--
is another version of the address used on these occasions, preserved by Brand. We find recorded in one quarter or another a variety of analogous and other customs observed in different parts of England on this vigil; but our diminishing space will not permit us to enter upon a description of them.
To illustrate "Twelfth-night," our artist has made two studies of the scenes it presents in London,--abroad and at home; and these involve our consideration of the subject, accordingly.
During the entire twelve months there is no such illumination of pastry-cooks' shops, as on Twelfth-night. Each sends forth a blaze of light; and is filled with glorious cakes, "decorated," to use the words of Mr. Hone, "with all imaginable images of thing animate and inanimate. Stars, castles, kings, cottages, dragons, trees, fish, palaces, cats, dogs, churches, lions, milkmaids, knights, serpents, and innumerable other forms, in snow-white confectionery, painted with variegated colors." "This 'paradise of dainty devices,'" he continues, "is crowded by successive, and successful, desirers of the seasonable delicacies; while alternate tappings of hammers and peals of laughter, from the throng surrounding the house, excite smiles from the inmates." This last observation requires explanation, for our country readers.
Let all idle gazers, then, in the streets of London beware of Twelfth-night! There is then that spirit of mischievous fun abroad, which, carried on without the superintending power of a Lord of Misrule, exhibits itself in transfixing the coat-skirts of the unconscious stranger to the frame of the door or window, at which he may have paused to stare and wonder. Once fairly caught, lucky is the wight who can disengage himself, without finding that, in the interim, his other skirt has been pinned to the pelisse or gown of some alarmed damsel, whose dress is perhaps dragged, at the same moment, in opposite directions, so that he can neither stand still nor move, without aiding the work of destruction. These practical facetiæ are the performances of that class of nondescript lads, "perplexers of Lord Mayors and irritators of the police," whose character Mr. Leigh Hunt has as truly drawn as our artist has depicted their persons: "those equivocal animal-spirits of the streets, who come whistling along, you know not whether thief or errand-boy, sometimes with a bundle and sometimes not, in corduroys, a jacket, and a cap or bit of hat, with hair sticking through a hole in it. His vivacity gets him into scrapes in the street; and he is not ultra-studious of civility in his answers. If the man he runs against is not very big, he gives him abuse for abuse, at once; if otherwise, he gets at a convenient distance, and then halloos out, 'Eh, stupid!' or 'Can't you see before you?' or 'Go and get your face washed!' This last is a favorite saying of his, out of an instinct referable to his own visage. He sings 'Hokee-Pokee,' and 'A shiny Night,' varied, occasionally, with an uproarious 'Rise, gentle Moon,' or 'Coming through the Rye.' On winter evenings, you may hear him indulging himself, as he goes along, in a singular undulation of yowl, a sort of gargle, as if a wolf was practising the rudiments of a shake. This he delights to do, more particularly in a crowded thoroughfare, as though determined that his noise should triumph over every other and show how jolly he is, and how independent of the ties to good behavior. If the street is a quiet one, and he has a stick in his hand (perhaps a hoop-stick), he accompanies the howl with a run upon the gamut of the iron rails. He is the nightingale of mud and cold. If he gets on in life, he will be a pot-boy. At present, as we said before, we hardly know what he is; but his mother thinks herself lucky if he is not transported."
Of Twelfth-night, at home, when "the whole island keeps court,--nay all Christendom,"--when "all the world are kings and queens, and everybody is somebody else," a huge cake, the idol of young hearts, is the presiding genius of the evening. The account given by Nutt, the editor of the "Cook and Confectioner's Dictionary," of the twelfth-cakes and dishes in vogue a hundred years ago, proves the nursery rhymes of--
"Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pye,"
who
"When the pye was opened all began to sing,"
to be no such nonsense as was generally supposed. He tells us of two great pies, made of coarse paste and bran, into one of which, after it was baked, live frogs were introduced, and into the other, live birds; which, upon some curious persons lifting up the covers, would jump and fly about the room, causing "a surprising and diverting hurly-burly among the guests." What feeble imitations are the castles, ships, and animals that now adorn our Twelfth-night cakes, to the performances of Nutt! How much, every way, inferior are the specimens of art produced, even by the renowned author of the "Italian Confectioner," the illustrious Jarrin! On the battlements of the castles of former days were planted "kexes," or pop-guns, charged with gunpowder, to be fired upon a pastry ship, with "masts," ropes, we doubt not of spun sugar, "sails, flags, and streamers." Nor was the naval power of England lost sight of; for the "kexes" of this delicious ship were, also, charged with gunpowder, and, when she was fired upon from the castle, her guns were able to return the salute. Then, to take off the smell of the powder, there were eggshells, filled with rose-water, for the spectators to break, "and throw at one another." Nor must a stag of pastry filled with claret be forgotten; which, when wounded, poured forth its blood, free and sparkling as a ruby, for those whose nerves were delicate and needed the refreshment of a glass of wine. Such were the "subtilties," as these jugglings in confectionery are called, which we now behold represented by the painted figures, "so bad to eat, but so fine to look at," that adorn our twelfth-cakes.
"How to eat twelfth-cake," says Hone, "requires no recipe; but how to provide it, and draw the characters, on the authority of Rachel Revel's 'Winter Evening Pastimes,' may be acceptable. First, buy your cake. Then, before your visitors arrive, buy your characters,--each of which should have a pleasant verse beneath. Next, look at your invitation list, and count the number of ladies you expect, and afterwards the number of gentlemen. Then, take as many female characters as you have invited ladies, fold them up exactly of the same size, and number each on the back, taking care to make the king No. 1, and the queen No. 2. Then prepare and number the gentlemen's characters. Cause tea and coffee to be handed to your visitors, as they drop in. When all are assembled, and tea over, put as many ladies' characters in a reticule as there are ladies present; next, put the gentlemen's characters in a hat. Then call on a gentleman to carry the reticule to the ladies as they sit; from which each lady is to draw one ticket, and to preserve it unopened. Select a lady to bear the hat to the gentlemen for the same purpose. There will be one ticket left in the reticule, and another in the hat,--which the lady and gentleman who carried each is to interchange, as having fallen to each. Next, arrange your visitors, according to their numbers; the king No. 1, the queen No. 2, and so on. The king is then to recite the verse on his ticket, then the queen the verse on hers; and so the characters are to proceed, in numerical order. This done, let the cake and refreshments go round; and hey! for merriment!"
As _our_ contribution towards the merriment of this evening, we cannot do better than present our readers with a copy of the following letter, respecting the manufacture of Twelfth-night characters,--which document was handed to us by the artist to whom it was addressed.--
"SIR,--As I am given to understand that you are an artist of celebrity, I will thank you to make me a hundred and forty-four different characters, for Twelfth-night, the entire cost not to exceed two shillings and sixpence each, say three plates at two pounds ten shillings a plate, including the poetry, which you can, I am told, get plenty of poets to write for nothing, though I should not mind standing a trifle,--say twopence more, if the verses gave satisfaction. You will please do your best for me, and, trusting to your speedy attention to this order, I remain your well-wisher and obedient servant, who will furnish the coppers."
Though we publish this letter, that is no reason why we should publish the writer's name. It is evident he was a young hand in the trade, and desirous to rival the graphic and literary talent displayed in Langley's and Fairburn's characters,--of which we have preserved specimens in our portfolio. Mr. Sandys speaks rather disparagingly of the merit of these productions, and this, considering that gentleman's antiquarian zeal, we must confess, surprises us. In the copy of Langley's characters which we possess, the same love of alliteration, upon which we have already commented as encouraged in the Court of Misrule, is observable. We have, for instance, "Bill Bobstay," "Prudence Pumpkin," "Percival Palette," "Judy Juniper," "Peter Puncheon," "Simon Salamander," "Countess Clackett," "Leander Lackbrain," "Nelly Nester," "Felicia Frill," etc.
Where the monarch of the evening and his queen are not determined by this kind of pictorial lottery, a bean and a pea are put into the cake; and whoever finds them in the pieces taken, he and she become the king and queen of the evening. Other matters, such as a small coin, a ring, etc., are often introduced into Twelfth-night cakes, and give to the finders characters to be supported for the evening. In some countries, says Sandys, a coin was put "instead of the bean, and portions of the cake assigned to the Virgin Mary and the Three Kings, which were given to the poor; and if the bean should happen to be in any of these portions, the king was then chosen by pulling straws."
The three kings mentioned in the above extract are those worthies commonly known by the title of the Three Kings of Colen (Cologne), identified by old legends with the Wise Men of the East, who did homage to our Saviour on the day of which the Epiphany is the anniversary celebration. They are stated to have been Arabians; and are distinguished in the traditionary tales of the Early Church by the names of Melchior, Balthazar, and Gasper. Their bodies are said to have been finally deposited at Cologne, after several removals; and the practice of electing a king on the evening of the Epiphany has been, by some, thought to have a reference to their supposed regal characters. We imagine, however, it will be sufficiently evident to our readers, after what we have formerly said, that it is not necessary for us to seek further than we have already done for the origin of the Twelfth-night king.
SAINT DISTAFF'S DAY.
7TH JANUARY.
CONCLUSION.
THE day which precedes this is, as we have already informed our readers, the last of the twelve days which constitute what is emphatically the Christmas season; and with the revelries of Twelfth-night the general holiday is in strictness considered to be at an end. As however we found it necessary to approach the throng of its celebrations with some degree of preparation,--to pass through some of its lighted antechambers, before we ventured to trust our eyes amid the blaze of the temple itself,--so also we dare not step at once from its thousand lights into the common air of the every-day world without a previous subjecting of our imaginations to the diminished glare of the outer chambers which lie on this other side. And this it is the more incumbent on us to do, because the revellers whose proceedings it is our business to describe take the same course in returning to the business of life.
It is not, as we have said, to be expected that after the full chorus of increased mirth which hath swelled up anew for the last of these celebrations, the ear should all at once accustom itself to a sudden and utter silence,--should endure the abrupt absence of all festival sound; nor can all the laughing spirits of the season who were engaged in added numbers for the revelries of last night, be got quietly laid at rest in the course of a single day. One or other of them is accordingly found lurking about the corners of our chambers after the ceremonies for which they were called up are over, encouraged to the neglect of the order for their dismissal by the young hearts, who have formed a merry alliance with the imps which they are by no means willing to terminate thus suddenly. And sooth to say, those youngsters are often able to engage heads who are older, and we suppose should know better, in the conspiracies which are day by day formed for the detention of some one or more of these members of the train of Momus.
Even in rural districts, where the necessary preparations in aid of the returning season are by this time expected to call men abroad to the labors of the field, our benevolent ancestors admitted the claim for a gradual subsiding of the Christmas mirth in favor of the children of toil. Their devices for letting themselves gently down were recognized; and a sort of compromise was sanctioned between the spirit of the past holiday and the sense of an important coming duty to be performed. The genius of mirth met the genius of toil on neutral ground for a single day; and the two touched hands in recognition of the rightful dominion of each other, ere they severally set forth in their own separate directions.
Thus, on the day which followed Twelfth-night, the implements of labor were prepared and the team was even yoked for a space; but the business of turning the soil was not required to be laboriously engaged in until the Monday which followed, and which therefore bore (and bears) the title of Plough Monday. After a few hours of morning labor, a sort of half-holiday was the concluding privilege of this privileged season; and the husbandman laid aside his plough, and the maiden her distaff, to engage in certain revels which were peculiar to the day and to the country districts. From the partial resumption of the spinning labors of the women on this morning, the festival in question takes its name; and it is (or was) sometimes called also "Rockday," in honor of the rock, which is another name for the distaff. It is described as being "a distaff held in the hand, from whence wool is spun by twirling a ball below."
Of the sports by which this day was enlivened we doubt if there are any remains. These seem to have consisted in the burning, by the men who had returned from the field, of the flax and tow belonging to the women, as a sort of assertion of the supremacy of the spirit of fun over his laborious rival for this one day more, and a challenge into his court; and this challenge was answered by the maidens, and the mischief retorted, by sluicing the clowns with pails of water. It was, in fact, a merry contest between these two elements of water and of fire; and may be looked upon as typical of that more matter-of-fact extinction which was about to be finally given to the lights of the season when the sports of this day should be concluded. Of these merry proceedings our artist has given a very lively representation; and Herrick's poem on the subject, which we must quote from the "Hesperides," includes all that is known of the ancient observances of St. Distaff's day.
"Partly work and partly play, You must on S. Distaff's day; From the plough soone free your teame, Then come home and fother them, If the maides a spinning goe, Burne the flax, and fire the tow;
. . . . . . .