THE Anglo-Norman kings introduced increased splendour at this festival,
as they did on all other occasions; the king wearing his crown and
robes of state, and the prelates and nobles attending, with great pomp
and ceremony, to partake of the feast provided by their monarch, and
to receive from him presents, as marks of his royal favour; returning,
probably, more than an equivalent. William the Conqueror, was crowned
on Christmas day, 1066.
“On Christmas day in solemne sort,
Then was he crowned here,
By Albert, Archbishop of Yorke,
With many a noble peere.”
There was some disturbance during the ceremony, owing to the turbulence
or misconception of his Norman followers, who, as well as their master,
were disposed to rule with a rod of iron. William gave a striking
proof of how little his nature was capable of understanding “good will
towards men,” when he kept his Christmas at York, in 1069, with the
usual festivities, and afterwards gave directions to devastate the
country between York and Durham; thus consigning 100,000 people to
death, by cold, hunger, fire, and sword. Well, perhaps some of us are
William the Conquerors in heart; what else is a bully at school, or a
bully in society, or, yet more, a bully in domestic life? Who can count
the misery caused by one selfish, one imperious tyrant, whose victims
dare not, or will not, complain; the crouching child, the trembling,
submissive, broken-hearted, yet even still the loving wife? Oh!
woman,—woman, how few amongst us are able to appreciate you! We see
you fair and accomplished; we find you loving and affectionate; we know
you virtuous and faithful; but, can we estimate your truthfulness, your
negation of self, your purity of thought? Partakers of our joys, but
partners indeed in our sorrows; how many a weary heart of man, crushed
by the pressure of worldly cares and trials, have you not saved, and
brought to the contemplation of better things! “She openeth her mouth
with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness.”
It would be easy to give a list of the different places where our
monarchs kept their Christmasses, from the time of the Conquest, in
nearly, if not quite, an unbroken series; but as this would be scarcely
as amusing as a few pages in a well conducted dictionary, it will no
doubt be considered to have been wisely omitted. It may be stated, in
general terms, that the earlier kings occasionally passed Christmas
in Normandy, and that some of the principal towns favoured, besides
London and Westminster, appear to have been, Windsor, York, Winchester,
Norwich, Worcester, Gloucester, Oxford, Eltham, and Canterbury; and
in the time of the Tudors, Greenwich. Some examples of marked or
distinguished Christmasses will be given in the following pages.
In 1085, William, who was fond of magnificence, kept his Christmas with
great state at Gloucester, which was a favourite place with him and
his son William. He was either in a particular good humour, or wished
to perform what he might think an act of grace, and compensate the
severity with which he treated his conquered, or rather semi-conquered
new subjects, by showing favour to his own countrymen;—a sort of
liberal disposition of public gifts to family friends, that may be
seen occasionally even in modern times—so he gave bishoprics to three
of his chaplains, namely, that of London to Maurice, of Thetford
to William, and of Chester to Robert. There is a somewhat strange
regulation among the constitutions of Archbishop Lanfranc for the
government of the monks of his cathedral, which contain numerous
injunctions respecting washing and combing, and other matters that
would now surprise even a well-regulated boys’ school. On Christmas Eve
they are directed to comb their heads before they washed their hands,
while at other times they were to wash first, and comb afterwards. We
do not see the philosophy of this curious distinction.
William Rufus, the weak and profligate successor of the Conqueror, kept
the Christmas in state, like his father, and Henry the First followed
their example; even in 1105, which was “annus valde calamitosus,”
wherein he raised many tributes, he still kept his Christmas in state,
at Windsor. In 1116, he kept it at St. Albans, when the celebrated
monastery there was consecrated. In the Christmas 1126-7, which was
held at Windsor, anticipating the struggle for the crown that would
take place after his death, he assembled all the principal clergy and
nobles (David, king of Scots, being also present), and caused them to
swear that they would maintain England and Normandy for his daughter,
the Empress Matilda, after his death. In these early times, however, a
few oaths, more or less, were of little consequence; the “time whereof
the memory of man runneth not to the contrary” was of very short
date; a week sometimes making a man to forget utterly what he might
previously have sworn to; and the vicar of Bray would have been by no
means a reprehensible character.
King Stephen, after his accession, wore his crown and robes of state
like the former kings, and kept his Christmas at London; but about
the fifth year of his reign, the internal wars and tumults became and
continued of such magnitude, that during the remainder of this troubled
reign, the celebration of festivals was laid aside.
Henry the Second renewed the celebration of Christmas with great
splendour, and with plays and masques; and the lord of Misrule
appears to have been known at this time, if not at a much earlier
date. In 1171, he celebrated the feast at Dublin, in a large wooden
house erected for the purpose, and entertained several of the Irish
chieftains, as well as the principal men of his own court and army;
the Irish were much surprised at the great plenty and variety
of provisions, and were especially amused at the English eating
cranes; however, after a very short hesitation they joined readily
in the feasting themselves, and history does not say that any ill
effects followed. Cranes continued to be favourites at Christmas and
aristocratic feasts for some time; at the celebrated and often quoted
enthronisation banquet of Archbishop Nevil, in the time of Edward the
Fourth, there were no less than 204 of these birds. There were some
strange dishes, however, in vogue in the time of Henry the Second,
as far as the names, whatever the actual merits of the compounds
might have been. Dillegrout, karumpie, and maupigyrnun, may have far
surpassed some of our grand sounding modern dishes, where the reality
sadly disappoints the ear. This dillegrout also was rather an important
dish, as the tenant of the manor of Addington, in Surrey, held it by
service of making a mess of dillegrout on the day of the coronation.
Fancy the anxiety on this ceremony, not only for the excellence of the
dish, but that it shall not be proclaimed a failure, and thus risk the
possession of the manor, and some more favoured tenant being put in
possession, on the tenure of providing a plum-pudding every Christmas,
or something similar, like the celebrated King George’s pudding, still
tendered to visitors at the Isle of Portland. This dillegrout, too,
required some little skill to make it well, being compounded of almond
milk, the brawn of capons, sugar and spices, chicken parboiled and
chopped, and was called, also, ‘le mess de gyron,’ or, if there was fat
with it, it was termed maupigyrnun.
At Christmas, 1176, Roderick, king of Connaught, kept court with Henry
at Windsor, and in 1183, Henry kept the feast at Caen, in Normandy, and
there wished his son Henry (who died not long afterwards) to receive
homage from his brothers; but the impetuous Richard would not consent,
the “merry” Christmas was, therefore, sadly interrupted, and fresh
family feuds arose; they had previously been but too frequent, Henry’s
life having been much embittered by the conduct of his sons.
When Richard himself came to the throne, he gave a splendid
entertainment during Christmas, 1190, at Sicily, when on his way to the
Crusades, inviting every one in the united English and French armies
of the degree of a gentleman, and giving each a suitable present,
according to his rank. Notwithstanding, however, the romance of Richard
Cœur de Lion affirms that—
“Christmas is a time full honest,
Kyng Richard it honoured with gret feste;”
and an antiquary of course ought to consider these romances of equal
authenticity with the old chronicles; yet one cannot help thinking that
during Richard’s short reign, his captivity and his absence from his
kingdom must have interfered with his Christmas celebrations; in fact,
he, of the lion-heart, seems to have been more ornamental than useful
in the pages of history.
John celebrated the feast pretty regularly, but seems occasionally
to have selected a city or town for the purpose, where some great
personage was allowed to provide for the entertainment; as, for
instance, the celebrated Hubert de Burgh, at Canterbury, in 1203. In
1213, he kept his Christmas at Windsor with great festivity, and gave
many presents. He was accustomed to make a present to his chancellor,
every Christmas, of two marks of gold, according to ancient custom,
no doubt by way of New Year’s gift, and gave him half that value at
Easter and Whitsuntide. In 1214, he was keeping his Christmas at
Worcester, when he was informed of the resolution of the barons to
withdraw their allegiance, unless their claims were attended to. This
information being ill-suited for the festivities then in progress,
the king departed suddenly and shut himself up in the Temple; but the
barons went to him on the Epiphany of 1215 with their demands, to
which he promised a satisfactory answer at the ensuing Easter. The
dissensions between himself and his barons, ending in Magna Charta,
are well-known matters of history. In the following year the chief
barons of the realm were under sentence of excommunication, and the
city of London was under an interdict; but the citizens disregarded
this, kept open their churches, rang their bells, enjoyed their turtle
and whitebait (whatever the turtle and whitebait of that time might
have been), drank their hippocras, ale, mead, and claret or clarré,
and celebrated their Christmas with unusual festivity. The English had
long been celebrated for their pre-eminence in drinking; as Iago says,
“your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander, are nothing
to your English.” They probably inherited the talent from the Saxons,
for their kings had their wine, mead, cyder, ale, pigment, and morat,
to which their Norman successors added claret or clarré, garhiofilac,
and hippocras. Morat was made from honey and mulberries; claret,
pigment, hippocras, and garhiofilac (so called from the girofle or
cloves contained in it), were different preparations of wine mixed with
honey and spices, no doubt very palatable; and hippocras particularly
was indispensable at all the great feasts. Garhiofilac was probably
made of white wine, and claret of red wine, as there is an order of
Henry the Third in existence, directing the keepers of his wines at
York, to deliver to Robert de Monte Pessulano two tuns of white wine
to make garhiofilac, and one tun of red wine to make claret for him at
the ensuing Christmas, as he used to do in former years. These sheriffs
were very useful persons in those times, and performed many offices for
our olden monarchs that would somewhat surprise a modern high sheriff
to perform now, when he is only called upon to attend to the higher
duties of his office, and becomes officially one of the first men in
his county. Henry the Third, in his twenty-sixth year, directed the
sheriff of Gloucester, to cause twenty salmons to be bought for the
king, and put into pies against Christmas; and the sheriff of Sussex to
buy ten brawns with the heads, ten peacocks, and other provisions for
the same feast.
[Illustration: James Stephanoff, del. Ashbee & Dangerfield, lith.
USHERING IN THE BOAR’S HEAD.]
In his thirty-ninth year, the French king, having sent over as a
present to Henry (whether as a New Year’s gift or not does not exactly
appear) an elephant—“a beast most strange and wonderfull to the
English people, sith most seldome or never any of that kind had beene
seene before that time,”—the sheriffs of London were commanded to
build a house for the same, forty feet long and twenty feet broad, and
to find necessaries for himself and keeper.
The boar’s head just referred to was the most distinguished of the
Christmas dishes, and there are several old carols remaining in honour
of it.
“At the begynnyng of the mete,
Of a borys hed ye schal hete,
And in the mustard ye shal wete;
And ye shal syngyn or ye gon.”
The dish itself, though the “chief service in this land,” and of very
ancient dignity—probably as old as the Saxons,—was not confined
to Christmas; for, in 1170, when King Henry the Second had his son
Henry crowned in his own lifetime, he himself, to do him honour,
brought up the boar’s head with trumpets before it, “according to the
manner.” It continued the principal entry at all grand feasts, and
was frequently ornamented. At the coronation feast of Henry the Sixth
there were boars’ heads in “castellys of golde and enamell.” By Henry
the Eighth’s time it had become an established Christmas dish, and we
find it ushered in at this season to his daughter the Princess Mary,
with all the usual ceremonies, and no doubt to the table of the monarch
himself, who was not likely to dispense with so royal a dish; and so to
the time of Queen Elizabeth, and the revels in the Inns of Court in her
time, when at the Inner Temple a fair and large boar’s head was served
on a silver platter, with minstrelsy. At the time of the celebrated
Christmas dinner, at Oxford, in 1607, the first mess was a boar’s head,
carried by the tallest of the guard, having a green scarf and an empty
scabbard, preceded by two huntsmen, one carrying a boar spear and the
other a drawn faucion, and two pages carrying mustard, which seems to
have been as indispensable as the head itself. A carol was sung on the
occasion, in the burden of which all joined. Queen’s College, Oxford,
was also celebrated for its custom of bringing in the boar’s head with
its old carol. Even in the present day, though brawn, in most cases,
is considered as a sort of substitute, the boar’s head with lemon in
his mouth may be seen, though rarely, and when met with, may be safely
recommended as a dainty; but some of the _soi-disant_ boars’ heads seen
at Christmas in a pompous state of whiskerless obesity, may without
disparagement take Lady Constance’s words literally and “hang a calf
skin on their recreant limbs.” Brawn is probably as old as boar’s
head; but the inventor of such an arrangement of hogsflesh must have
been a genius, and would have been a patentee in our days, and probably
have formed a joint-stock brawn association. We have just observed it
in the time of Henry the Third, and the ‘begging frere,’ in ‘Chaucer’s
Sompnoure’s Tales,’ says, “geve us of your braun, if ye have any,” and
it may be found in most of the coronation and grand feasts; even in
the coronation feast of Katharine, queen to Henry the Fifth, in 1421,
brawn and mustard appear, though the feast was intended to be strictly
a fish dinner, and with this exception and a little confectionary,
really was so, comprising, with other marine delicacies, “fresh
sturgion with welks,” and “porperous rosted,” the whole bill of fare,
however, would match even the ministerial whitebait dinner. This is not
the only instance where brawn was ranked with fish; for when Calais
was taken, there was a large quantity there; so the French, guessing
it to be some dainty, tried every means of cooking it; they roasted
it, boiled it, baked it, but all in vain, till some imaginative mind
suggested a trial _au naturel_, when its merits were discovered. But
now came the question, in what class of the animal creation should it
be placed? The monks tasted and admired: “Ha! ha!” said they, “capital
fish!” and immediately placed it on their list of fast-day provisions.
The Jews were somewhat puzzled, but a committee of taste, of the most
experienced elders, decided that it certainly was not any preparation
from impure swine, and included it in their list of clean animals.
At the coronation of Henry the Seventh, a distinction was made between
“brawne royall,” and “brawne,” the former probably being confined to
the king’s table. Brawn and mustard appear to be as inseparable as
the boar’s head and mustard, and many directions respecting them may
be found at early feasts. In the middle of the sixteenth century brawn
is called a great piece of service, chiefly in Christmas time, but
as it is somewhat hard of digestion, a draught of malvesie, bastard,
or muscadell is usually drunk after it, where either of them is
conveniently to be had.
“Even the two rundlets,
The two that was our hope, of muscadel,
(Better ne’er tongue tript over,) these two cannons,
To batter brawn withal, at Christmas, sir,—
Even these two lovely twins, the enemy
Had almost cut off clean.”
At the palace, and at the revels of the Inns of Court, it seems to have
been a constant dish at a Christmas breakfast. Tusser prescribes it
amongst his good things for Christmas, and it has so remained to the
present time. The salmon recently mentioned, as having been ordered for
the king, continued to be a favourite dish for this feast. Carew says—
“Lastly, the sammon, king of fish,
Fils with good cheare the Christmas dish.”
There used to be a superstition at Aberavon, in Monmouthshire, that
every Christmas Day, in the morning, and then only, a large salmon
exhibited himself in the adjoining river, and permitted himself to be
handled and taken up, but it would have been the greatest impiety to
have captured him. One would not wish to interfere with the integrity
of this legend, by calling on the salmon some Christmas morning, for
fear that he may have followed the tide of emigration, or may have been
affected by free trade.
The salmon, however, is not the only living creature, besides man, that
is supposed to venerate this season.
“Some say, that ever ’gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated,
The bird of dawning singeth all night long:
And then, they say, no spirit can walk abroad;
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike;
No fairy tales, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallow’d and so gracious is the time.”
According to popular superstition the bees are heard to sing, and the
labouring cattle may be seen to kneel, on this morning, in memory of
the cattle in the manger, and the sheep to walk in procession, in
commemoration of the glad tidings to the shepherds.
Howison, in his ‘Sketches of Upper Canada,’ mentions an interesting
incident of his meeting an Indian at midnight, on Christmas Eve, during
a beautiful moonlight, cautiously creeping along, and beckoning him to
silence, who, in answer to his inquiries, said, “Me watch to see the
deer kneel; this is Christmas night, and all the deer fall upon their
knees to the Great Spirit, and look up.”
In our notice of Christmas wines, we must not omit malt-wine or ale,
which may be considered, indeed, as our national beverage.
“The nut-brown ale, the nut-brown ale,
Puts downe all drinke when it is stale,”
or, as it has been classically rendered, alum _si sit stalum_. The
Welsh who are still famous for their ale, had early laws regulating it,
while the steward of the king’s household had as much of every cask of
plain ale as he could reach with his middle finger dipped into it;
and as much of every cask of spiced ale as he could reach with the
second joint of his middle finger. As millers are remarkable for the
peculiarity of their thumbs, no doubt these stewards were gifted with
peculiarly long middle fingers. Ale, or beer, was afterwards divided
into single beer, or small ale, double beer, double-double beer, and
dagger ale; there was, also, a choice kind, called March ale; and our
early statute books contain several laws regulating the sale of ale,
which was to be superintended by an ale-taster, and the terrors of the
pillory and cucking-stool held over misdemeanants.
It maybe expected that “Christmas broached the mightiest ale,” and
Christmas ale has, accordingly, been famous from the earliest times.—
“Bryng us in good ale, and bryng us in good ale,
For our blyssd Lady sake, bring us in good ale,”
is a very old wassailing cry, and the wandering musicians always
expected a black jack of ale and a Christmas pye. A favourite
draught, also, was spiced ale with a toast, stirred up with a sprig
of rosemary,—“Mark you, sir, a pot of ale consists of four parts:
imprimis, the ale, the toast, the ginger, and the nutmeg.” Mead, or
metheglin, was another national drink, and here the steward was only
allowed as far as he could reach in the cask with the first joint of
his middle finger. That metheglin was so called from one Matthew Glinn,
who had a large stock of bees that he wished to make profitable, must
be considered more as a joke than a tradition.
Henry the Third generally kept his Christmasses with festivities. In
1230, there was a grand one at York, the King of Scots being present;
but four years afterwards he kept it at Gloucester, with only a small
company, many of the nobles having left him in consequence of the
great favour he was showing foreigners, to their injury. In 1241, he
again offended them by placing the Pope’s legate, at the great dinner
at Westminster Hall, in the place of honour, that is, the middle,
he himself sitting on the right-hand, the Archbishop of York (the
Archbishop of Canterbury being dead) on his left-hand, and then the
prelates and nobles, according to rank. This etiquette, as to place
at table, is certainly as old as the Egyptians, and many a wronged
or neglected individual’s dinner has been spoilt, who has failed in
getting such a place above the salt, or at the cross table, as he
considered his merits entitled him to.
On one occasion, in his forty-second year, Henry rather took undue
advantage of the custom of the season, and being distressed for money,
required compulsory New Year’s Gifts from the Londoners. His wars
frequently distressed him for money, and in 1254, his queen sent him,
to Gascoigne, 500 marks from her own revenues, as a New Year’s Gift,
toward the maintenance of them. In several instances, he kept his
Christmasses at the expense of some of the great nobles, as Hubert de
Burgh, and Peter, bishop of Winchester, who, in 1232, not only took all
the expense upon himself, but gave the king and all his court festive
garments; and, in another year, when Alexander, King of Scots, married
his daughter Margaret, the Archbishop of York, where the feast was
held, gave 600 fat oxen, which were all spent at one meal, and expended
4000 marks besides. This convenient practice saved the pocket of the
sovereign, and gratified the ambition of the subject; but the great
expense caused by such a favour, must have been something like the
costly present of an elephant, by an Eastern despot, to a subject. In
his later years, the king laid aside hospitality very much.
The three Edwards kept the feast much as before, and Edward the First
is said to have been the first king who kept any solemn feast at
Bristol, holding his Christmas there in 1284. In his wardrobe accounts,
there are some valuable particulars of the custom of the king at this
time. In pursuance of ancient usage, he offered at the high altar,
on the Epiphany, one golden florin, frankincense, and myrrh, in
commemoration of the offering of the three kings; a custom carried down
with some variation to the present day. In the same accounts, some of
the New Year’s Gifts given to him are mentioned; among them, a large
ewer set with pearls all over, with the arms of England, Flanders, and
Barr, a present from the countess of Flanders; a comb and looking-glass
of silver-gilt enamelled, and a bodkin of silver in a leathern case,
from the countess of Barr; also, a pair of large knives of ebony and
ivory, with studs of silver enamelled, given by the Lady Margaret, his
daughter, duchess of Brabant.
The custom of giving New Year’s Gifts existed from the earliest
period, and as Warmstry, in his ‘Vindication,’ says, may be “harmless
provocations to Christian love, and mutuall testimonies thereof to good
purpose, and never the worse because the heathens have them at the like
times.” The Romans had their Xenia and Strenæ, during the Saturnalia,
which were retained by the Christians, whence came the French term
_étrennes_; a very ancient one, for in the old mystery, “Li Gieus de
Robin et de Marion,” in the thirteenth century, Marion says, she will
play, “aux jeux qu’on fait aux étrennes, entour la veille de Noël.” The
Greek word strenæ, is translated in our New Testament, delicacies; so
that, whether delicacies were called strenæ because such gifts were
generally of an elegant or graceful nature, or the New Year’s Gifts
adopted a word previously applied to delicacies, seems immaterial, as
the result is the same. These “diabolical New Year’s Gifts,” as some
called them, were denounced by certain of the councils, as early as
the beginning of the seventh century, though without effect. They were
either in the nature of an offering from an inferior to his superior,
who gave something in return, or an interchange of gifts between
equals. Tenants were accustomed to give capons to their landlords at
this season, and in old leases, a capon, at Christmas, is sometimes
reserved as a sort of rent,—
“Yet must he haunt his greedy landlord’s hall,
With often presents at ech festivall;
With crammed capons ev’ry New Year’s morne.”
The practice of New Year’s Gifts is of great antiquity in this country.
In the twelfth century, Jocelin of Brakelond, when about to make a gift
to his abbot, refers to it, as being according to the custom of the
English; and, in very early times, the nobility, and persons connected
with the court, gave these New Year’s Gifts to the monarch, who gave
in return presents of money, or of plate, the amount of which in time
became quite a matter of regulation; and the messenger, bringing the
gift, had, also, a handsome fee given him. How much kindly feeling is
caused by the interchange of these gifts, and how much taste and fancy
displayed at Fortnum and Mason’s, and other places, to tempt us to
purchase for the gratification of our younger friends, and receive our
reward in the contemplation of their unfeigned pleasure and amusement!
Humorous and witty, as well as elegant, bon-bons and souvenirs, drawing
the money from us like so many magnets; as Nasgeorgus says—
“These giftes the husband gives his wife,
And father eke the childe,
And maister on his men bestowes
The like, with favour milde.”
There are some particulars in the wardrobe accounts of the New Year’s
Gifts of Edward the Second, and also payments made to him to play
at dice at Christmas; a custom existing probably long before his
time, and certainly continued down to a comparatively recent period,
gambling at the groom-porter’s having been observed as late as the
time of George the Third. He also gave numerous gifts, being, as is
well known, of extravagant and luxurious habits. In his eleventh
year, especially, at Westminster, several knights received sumptuous
presents of plate from him, and the king of the bean (Rex Fabæ) is
mentioned as receiving handsome silver-gilt basins and ewers as New
Year’s Gifts. Two of the kings of the bean named, are, Sir William de
la Bech, and Thomas de Weston, squire of the king’s household. Edward
kept several stately Christmasses, and one at Nottingham in 1324,
with particular magnificence, glory, and resort of people. Even when
a prisoner at Kenilworth in 1326-7, he kept up a degree of state,
although his son, Edward the Third, then aged about sixteen years, was
crowned on Christmas Day, 1326, the queen-mother keeping open court,
with a great assembly of nobles, prelates, and burgesses, when it was
decided to depose the father, whose melancholy fate is well known.
Edward the Third became not only a great warrior, but, also, in many
respects, a great monarch, and his Christmasses, with other feasts,
were held with much splendour. One at Wells, where there were many
strange and sumptuous shows made to pleasure the king and his guests,
is particularly mentioned; but that at Windsor, in 1343-4, is by far
the most distinguished in history, as the king then renewed the Round
Table, and instituted the celebrated Order of the Garter, making St.
George the patron; whether from the circumstance of the countess of
Salisbury having dropped her garter (whence the old Welsh tune took its
name of Margaret has lost her garter), cannot now be distinctly proved;
but we may as well leave the balance in favour of gallantry. Suffice
it, that never has any order of knighthood enrolled such a succession
of royal, brave, and world-renowned characters. In 1347 at Guildford,
and 1348 at Ottford, in Kent, there were great revellings at Christmas.
In the first of these years, there were provided for the amusements of
the court, eighty-four tunics of buckram, of divers colours; forty-two
visors of different likenesses; twenty-eight crests; fourteen coloured
cloaks; fourteen dragons’ heads; fourteen white tunics; fourteen heads
of peacocks, with wings; fourteen coloured tunics, with peacocks’
eyes; fourteen heads of swans, with wings; fourteen coloured tunics of
linen; and fourteen tunics, coloured, with stars of gold and silver. In
the following year, quadrupeds were in the ascendancy, instead of the
feathered creation, and amongst the things mentioned in the wardrobe
expenses are, twelve heads of men, surmounted by those of elephants;
twelve of men, having heads of lions over them; twelve of men’s heads,
having bats’ wings; and, twelve heads of wodewoses, or wildmen. A good
pantomime decorator would have been invaluable in those days. On New
Year’s Eve 1358, Edward, with his gallant son, were in a different
scene, fighting under the banners of Sir Walter de Mauny before the
walls of Calais, which place the French thought had been betrayed to
them; but the plot was counteracted, and they were defeated, and many
French knights made captives, who were hospitably entertained by the
English king on the following day, being New Year’s Day.
The mummeries, or disguises, just referred to, were known here as
early as the time of Henry the Second, if not sooner, and may have
been derived originally from the heathen custom of going about, on
the kalends of January, in disguises, as wild beasts and cattle, and
the sexes changing apparel. They were not confined to the diversions
of the king and his nobles; but a ruder class was in vogue among the
inferior orders, where, no doubt, abuses were occasionally introduced
in consequence. Even now, our country geese or guise dancers are a
remnant of the same custom, and, in some places, a horse’s head still
accompanies these mummers. The pageants, in former times, of different
guilds or trades, some of which still exist, and, at the Lord Mayor’s
shows, had all probably a common origin, modified by circumstances;
but, with respect to those of the city, I must refer to Mr. Fairholt’s
account, printed for the Percy Society, where he has treated largely
on the subject. Who knows how many juvenile citizens may not have been
fired by ambition at the sight of these soul-stirring spectacles,
to becoming common councilmen, aldermen, sheriffs, and lord-mayors
themselves—to have at their beck, the copper-cased knights; the brazen
trumpets; the prancing horses, bedecked with streamers; the marshalmen,
in martial attire; gilded coach, with the sword of state looking out of
window!—and then the charms of the dinner, in all the magnificence of
turtle-soup, barons of beef, champagne, venison, and minced pies, with
Gog and Magog looking benignly on; though they must miss the times,
when the Lord Mayor’s Fool used to jump into a huge bowl of Almayn
custard.
Edward the Third gave and received New Year’s Gifts, as former kings;
and we find an instance of presents given to Roger Trumpony and his
companions, minstrels of the king, in the name of the king of the bean.
He also made the usual oblations at the Epiphany.
The continental usages were, in many places, similar to our own; but,
as before intimated, they will be but slightly noticed. Charles the
Fifth, of France, for instance, in 1377, held the feast of Christmas,
or Noël as it was called, at Cambray, “et là, fist ses sérimonies
impériaulx, selon l’usage,” referring evidently to old customs; he
also presented gold, incense, and myrrh, in three gilt cups. Not many
years afterwards, the duke of Burgundy gave New Year’s Gifts of greater
value than any one, and especially to all the nobles and knights of
his household, to the value of 15,000 golden florins; but there was
probably as much policy in this, as any real regard for the sacred
festival.
Richard the Second was young when he came to the throne, extravagant,
fond of luxury and magnificence, and the vagaries of fashion in dress
were then, and for a long time after, unequalled; his dress, was
“all jewels, from jasey to his diamond boots.” It is to be expected,
therefore, that his Christmasses were kept in splendour, regardless
of expense; and this appears to have been the case even to the close
of his short and unfortunate reign; as, in 1399, there was a royal
Christmas at Westminster, with justings and running at the tilt
throughout, and from twenty-six to twenty-eight oxen, with three
hundred sheep, and fowls without number, were consumed every day.
In the previous Christmas, at Lichfield where the Pope’s nuncio and
several foreign gentlemen were present, there were spent two hundred
tuns of wine, and two thousand oxen, with their appurtenances. It is to
be assumed that the pudding was in proportion to the beef; so these, in
point of feasting, must have been royal Christmasses indeed.
In the midst of all this grandeur, there was a want of cleanliness and
comfort in the rush-strewn floors and imperfectly furnished rooms and
tables, that would have been very evident to a modern guest; and the
manners at table, even in good society, would rather shock our present
fastidious habits. Chaucer, not long previously, in describing the
prioresse, who appears to have been a well-bred and educated person
for the time, proves the usual slovenliness of the domestic habits, by
showing what she avoided—
“At mete was she wel ytaughte withalle;
She lette no morsel from hire lippes falle,
Ne wette hire fingres in hire sauce depe.
Wel coude she carie a morsel, and wel kepe,
Thatte no drope ne felle upon hire brest.
In curtesie was sette ful moche hire lest.
Hire over lippe wiped she so clene,
That in hire cuppe was no ferthing sene,
Of grese, whan she dronken hadde hire draught.”
or, according to the Roman de la Rose, from whence Chaucer took this
account,—
“Et si doit si sagement boyre,
Que sur soy n’en espande goutte.”
It must be remembered, however, that there were no forks in those
days. The Boke of Curtasye of the same age, reprobates a practice that
is even now scarcely obsolete, and may unexpectedly be seen in company,
where it excites surprise, to say the least of it;—
“Clense not thi tethe at mete sittande,
With knyfe ne stre, styk ne wande.”
Richard also had his pageants, or disguisings, but instead of
looking to the brute or feathered creation for models, we find,
on one occasion, there is a charge for twenty-one linen coifs for
counterfeiting men of the law, in the king’s play or diversion at
Christmas, 1389. If the men of the law had been as plentiful as at
present, there would have been no need of making any counterfeits,
where a sufficient quantity of real ones might have been procured so
cheap. The unfortunate Richard was murdered on Twelfth Day, 1400, a sad
finish to all his Christmasses. At the same time, a plan was laid by
the earls of Kent and Huntingdon (recently degraded from the dukedoms
of Exeter and Surrey), with the earl of Salisbury and others, to gain
access, under colour of a Christmas mumming, at Windsor, where Henry
the Fourth and the princes were keeping the feast, and thus effect
the restoration of Richard; but one of the conspirators, the earl of
Rutland (degraded from duke of Aumarle), gave timely notice of it, in
order, as it is said, to forestal his father, the duke of York, who had
got some knowledge of the plot. Henry the Fourth kept his Christmas
feasts in the usual style, and does not require any particular notice,
which might tend to needless repetition.
[Illustration]