第12章 THE SKETCH BOOK(1)

CHRISTMAS EVE

by Washington Irving

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 eagerto arrive in time for some of the merriment and good cheer of theservants' hall. My father, you must know, is a bigoted devotee ofthe old school, and prides himself upon keeping up something of oldEnglish hospitality. He is a tolerable specimen of what you willrarely meet with nowadays in its purity, the old English countrygentleman; for our men of fortune spend so much of their time in town,and fashion is carried so much into the country, that the strongrich peculiarities of ancient rural life are almost polished away.

My father, however, from early years, took honest Peacham* for histext-book, instead of Chesterfield; he determined in his own mind,that there was no condition more truly honorable and enviable thanthat of a country gentleman on his paternal lands, and thereforepasses the whole of his time on his estate. He is a strenuous advocatefor the revival of the old rural games and holiday observances, and isdeeply read in the writers, ancient and modern, who have treated onthe subject. Indeed his favorite range of reading is among the authorswho flourished at least two centuries since; who, he insists, wroteand thought more like true Englishmen than any of their successors. Heeven regrets sometimes that he had not been born a few centuriesearlier, when England was itself, and had its peculiar manners andcustoms. As he lives at some distance from the main road, in rathera lonely part of the country, without any rival gentry near him, hehas that most enviable of all blessings to an Englishman, anopportunity of indulging the bent of his own humor withoutmolestation. Being representative of the oldest family in theneighborhood, and a great part of the peasantry being his tenants,he is much looked up to, and, in general, is known simply by theappellation of 'The Squire;' a title which has been accorded to thehead of the family since time immemorial. I think it best to giveyou these hints about my worthy old father, to prepare you for anyeccentricities that might otherwise appear absurd."* Peacham's complete Gentleman, 1622.

We had passed for some time along the wall of a park, and atlength the chaise stopped at the gate. It was in a heavy magnificentold style, of iron bars, fancifully wrought at top into flourishes andflowers. The huge square columns that supported the gate weresurmounted by the family crest. Close adjoining was the porter'slodge, sheltered under dark fir-trees, and almost buried in shrubbery.

The postboy rang a large porter's bell, which resounded throughthe still frosty air, and was answered by the distant barking of dogs,with which the mansion-house seemed garrisoned. An old womanimmediately appeared at the gate. As the moonlight fell stronglyupon her, I had a full view of a little primitive dame, dressed verymuch in the antique taste, with a neat kerchief and stomacher, and hersilver hair peeping from under a cap of snowy whiteness. She camecourtesying forth, with many expressions of simple joy at seeing heryoung master. Her husband, it seemed, was up at the house keepingChristmas eve in the servants' hall; they could not do without him, ashe was the best hand at a song and story in the household.

My friend proposed that we should alight and walk through the parkto the hall, which was at no great distance, while the chaise shouldfollow on. Our road wound through a noble avenue of trees, among thenaked branches of which the moon glittered, as she rolled throughthe deep vault of a cloudless sky. The lawn beyond was sheeted witha slight covering of snow, which here and there sparkled as themoonbeams caught a frosty crystal; and at a distance might be seen athin transparent vapor, stealing up from the low grounds andthreatening gradually to shroud the landscape.

My companion looked around him with transport:- "How often," saidhe, "have I scampered up this avenue, on returning home on schoolvacations! How often have I played under these trees when a boy! Ifeel a degree of filial reverence for them, as we look up to those whohave cherished us in childhood. My father was always scrupulous inexacting our holidays, and having us around him on family festivals.

He used to direct and superintend our games with the strictness thatsome parents do the studies of their children. He was veryparticular that we should play the old English games according totheir original form; and consulted old books for precedent andauthority for every 'merrie disport;' yet I assure you there never waspedantry so delightful. It was the policy of the good old gentleman tomake his children feel that home was the happiest place in theworld; and I value this delicious home-feeling as one of thechoicest gifts a parent could bestow."We were interrupted by the clamor of a troop of dogs of all sortsand sizes, "mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound, and curs of lowdegree," that, disturbed by the ring of the porter's bell and therattling of the chaise, 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 surroundedand almost overpowered by the caresses of the faithful animals.