yet this enormous expenditure left no impression on the popular memory,
mere stage-trick being far below the exhibition of a juggler. True it
is, that clever artists have been for many years employed to design and
paint the scenery of the pantomimes, and consequently admirable pictures
have been exhibited, especially at the national theatres, where this
feature, indeed, constitutes the main attraction of the evening's
performance. The stupid tragedy of "George Barnwell," produced for the
sake of the city apprentices, was formerly the usual prelude to the
Christmas pantomime on the night of St. Stephen's Day. Hone, in his
"Every-Day Book," has chronicled that "the representation of this
tragedy was omitted in the Christmas holidays of 1819, at both theatres,
for the first time." To be sure, this dull affair answered the purpose
as well as any other, it being an established rule with the tenants of
the theatrical Olympus that nothing shall be heard save their own
thunders, previously to the pantomime on St. Stephen's night. The most
famous pantomime which has been played in our times is unquestionably
Mother Goose. When it was produced, or to whom the authorship is
ascribed, we know not; but in 1808 it was revived and played at the
Haymarket, with an additional scene representing the burning of Covent
Garden Theatre. The pantomimes of the last thirty years have failed to
effect a total eclipse of the brilliancy of "Harlequin and Mother Goose,
or the Golden Egg;" which found its way into the list of provincial
stock-pieces.
Connected with this golden age of English pantomime, the recollection of
Grimaldi, Joey Grimaldi, as the gallery folk delighted to call him, is
an obvious association. His acting like that of Liston must have been
seen to be understood or appreciated; for no description can convey an
adequate idea of the power of expression and gesture. They who have not
seen Joey may never hope to look upon his like; and they who have seen
him must never expect to see his like again. On the English stage never
was clown like Grimaldi! He was far more than a clown, he was a great
comic actor. But his constitution soon gave way under the trials to
which it was exposed. In the depth of winter, after performing at
Sadler's Wells, he was brought down night after night wrapped in
blankets to Covent Garden; and there had, for the second time in the
course of the same evening, to go through the allotted series of
grimaces, leaps, and tumbles. Poor Grimaldi, sunk by these exertions
into a premature old age, was finally obliged to retire from the stage
on the 27th of June, 1828; and the Literary Gazette thus pleasantly, but
feelingly, announced his intention:--
"Our immense favorite, Grimaldi, under the severe pressure of years and
infirmities, is enabled through the good feeling and prompt liberality
of Mr. Price, to take a benefit at Drury Lane on Friday next; the last
of Joseph Grimaldi! Drury's, Covent Garden's, Sadler's, everybody's Joe!
The friend of Harlequin and Farley-kin! the town clown! greatest of
fools! daintiest of motleys! the true ami des enfans! The tricks and
changes of life, sadder, alas! than those of pantomime, have made a
dismal difference between the former flapping, filching, laughing,
bounding antic and the present Grimaldi. He has no spring in his foot,
no mirth in his eye! The corners of his mouth droop mournfully
earthward; and he stoops in the back, like the weariest of Time's
porters! L'Allegro has done with him, and Il Penseroso claims him for
its own! It is said, besides, that his pockets are neither so large nor
so well stuffed as they used to be on the stage: and it is hard to
suppose fun without funds, or broad grins in narrow circumstances."
The mummers, who still go about at this season of the year in some parts
of England, are the last descendants of those maskers, who in former
times, as we have shown at length, contributed to the celebrations of
the season, at once amongst the highest and lowest classes of the land;
as their performances present, also, the last semblances of those
ancient Mysteries and Moralities, by which the splendid pageants of the
court were preceded. Sir Walter Scott, in a note to "Marmion," seems to
intimate that these mummeries are, in fact, the offspring and relics of
the old Mysteries themselves. The fact, however, seems rather to be,
that these exhibitions existed before the introduction of the Scripture
plays; and that the one and the other are separate forms of a practice
copied directly from the festival observances of the pagans.
Accordingly, Brand speaks of a species of mumming which "consists in
changing clothes between men and women who, when dressed in each other's
habits go from one neighbor's house to another, partaking of Christmas
cheer and making merry with them in disguise;" and which practice he
traces directly to the Roman Sigillaria. In various parts of the
Continent also, as in France and Germany, certain forms of mumming long
existed, which appear to have been originally borrowed from the rites of
idolatry: and the Scottish Guisars, or Guisarts, if the very ingenious
explanation of their hogmanay cry given by Mr. Repp (and for which we
refer our readers to vol. iv., part 1, of the Archæologia Scotica) be
correct, connect themselves with the superstitions of the northern
nations.
Amongst the forms of ancient mumming which have come down to the present
or recent times, we may observe that the hobby-horse formed as late as
the seventeenth century a prominent character, and that something of
this kind seems still to exist. Dr. Plot in his "History of
Staffordshire" mentions a performance called the "Hobby-horse Dance," as
having taken place at Abbot's Bromley during the Christmas season,
within the memory of man; and we have already shown that a modification
of the same practice continues to the present day, or did to within a
few years back, in the Isle of Thanet. This dance is described by Dr.
Plot as being composed of "a person who carried the image of a horse
between his legs, made of thin boards, and in his hand a bow and arrow.
The latter, passing through a hole in the bow and stopping on a
shoulder, made a snapping noise when drawn to and fro, keeping time with
the music. With this man danced six others, carrying on their shoulders
as many reindeer heads with the arms of the chief families to whom the
revenues of the town belonged. They danced the heys, and other country
dances. To the above Hobby-horse there belonged a pot, which was kept by
turns by the reeves of the town, who provided cakes and ale to put into
this pot,--all people who had any kindness for the good intent of the
institution of the sport, giving pence a-piece for themselves and
families. Foreigners also that came to see it contributed; and the
money, after defraying the expense of the cakes and ale, went to repair
the church and support the poor." A reason given by some as the origin
of this practice, we have already stated in our mention of "hodening;"
and our readers will see that its object, like that of the other similar
observances of this season, was charity.
In some parts of the north of England, a custom exists to the present
time which appears to be composed of the ancient Roman sword-dance, or,
perhaps, the sword-dance of the northern nations, and lingering traces
of the obsolete "Festival of Fools." This practice, which is called the
"Fool Plough," consists in a pageant composed of "a number of
sword-dancers dragging a plough, with music, and one, sometimes two, in
very strange attire; the Bessy in the grotesque habit of an old woman,
and the fool almost covered with skins, a hairy cap on, and the tail of
some animal hanging from his back. The office of one of these
characters, in which he is very assiduous, is to go about rattling a box
amongst the spectators of the dance, in which he receives their little
donations." Our readers will probably remember that a set of these
mummers are introduced by Washington Irving, in his account of a
Christmas spent in Yorkshire.
The old Christmas play of "Saint George and the Dragon" is still amongst
the most popular amusements of this season, in many parts of England.
Whether this particular kind of performance is to be considered as
dating from the return of the Crusaders, or that similar representations
had existed previously, the characters of which alone were changed by
that event, does not appear from any other remains that have reached us.
There is evidence, however, that plays founded upon the legend of Saint
George are of a very remote date; and, in all probability, they were
introduced not long after the age of the Crusades. From various
contributors to Mr. Hone's "Every-Day Book," we learn that versions of
these plays are still performed amongst the lower orders at the
Christmas tide, in the extreme western counties of England, as also in
Cumberland, and some others of the more northern ones; and one of those
correspondents, dating from Falkirk, gives an account of a play still
performed by the Guisars, in some parts of Scotland, which is of similar
construction and evidently borrowed from the same source, but in which
one Galgacus is substituted for Saint George, as the hero of the piece;
and the drama is made by that substitution to commemorate the successful
battle of the Grampians, by the Scots under that leader, against the
invader, Agricola. If Mr. Reddock be right in this opinion, Agricola is
for the nonce elevated to the title of king of Macedon. The party who
carries the bag for these mummers is a very questionable trustee, being
no other than Judas Iscariot. Sir Walter Scott, in his notes to
"Marmion," speaks of the same play as one in which he and his companions
were in the habit of taking parts, when boys; and mentions the
characters of the old Scripture-plays having got mixed up with it in the
version familiar to him. He enumerates Saint Peter, who carried the
keys; Saint Paul, who was armed with a sword; and Judas, who had the bag
for contributions; and says that he believes there was also a Saint
George. It is not unlikely there might, though he is not mentioned by
Mr. Reddock, for the confusion of characters in all these versions is
very great. In the Whitehaven edition, Saint George is son to the king
of Egypt, and the hero who carries all before him is Alexander. He
conquers Saint George and kills the king of Egypt. In fact the legend,
as it exists in the old romance of "Sir Bevys of Hampton," has
everywhere been mixed up with extraneous matter, and scarcely any two
sets of performers render it alike. The plot seems, in all, to be pretty
nearly the same; and the doctor, with his marvellous cures and empirical
gibberish, seems to be common to them all. "But so little," says Sandys,
"do the actors know the history of their own drama, that sometimes
General Wolfe is introduced, who first fights Saint George, and then
sings a song about his own death. I have also seen the Duke of
Wellington represented." Mr. Reddock mentions, that during the war with
France one of the characters in his version "was made to say that he had
been 'fighting the French,' and that the _loon_ who took leg-bail was no
less a personage than" the great Napoleon. Mr. Sandys mentions that
occasionally there is a sort of anti-masque, or burlesque (if the
burlesque itself _can_ be burlesqued) at the end of the performance;
when some comic characters enter, called Hub Bub, Old Squire, etc., and
the piece concludes with a dance. At other times, the performances are
wound up by a song.
We may mention that we have in our possession an Irish version of the
same play, as it is still played by the boys in that country; in which
version, as might be expected, the championship is given to Saint
Patrick, who asserts that Saint George was nothing more than "Saint
Patrick's boy," and fed his horses. Another of the characters in this
edition of the story is Oliver Cromwell, who, after certain
grandiloquent boastings (amongst others, that he had "conquered many
nations with his copper nose"), calls upon no less personage than
Beelzebub to step in and confirm his assertions.
The costume and accoutrements of these mummers (of whom we have given a
representation at page 65) appear to be pretty generally of the same
kind, and, for the most part, to resemble those of morris-dancers. They
are thus correctly described by Mr. Sandys. Saint George and the other
tragic performers wear "white trousers and waistcoats, showing their
shirt-sleeves, and are much decorated with ribbons and handkerchiefs,
each carrying a drawn sword in his hand, if they can be procured,
otherwise a cudgel. They wear high caps of pasteboard covered with fancy
paper, adorned with beads, small pieces of looking-glass, bugles, etc.,
several long strips of pith generally hanging down from the top, with
shreds of different colored cloth strung on them, the whole having a
fanciful and smart effect. The Turk sometimes has a turban. Father
Christmas is personified as a grotesque old man, wearing a large mask
and wig, with a huge club in his hand. The doctor, who is sort of
merry-andrew to the piece, is dressed in some ridiculous way, with a
three-cornered hat and painted face. The female when there is one, is
in the costume of her great-grandmother. The hobby-horse, when
introduced, has a sort of representation of a horse's hide; but the
dragon and the giant, when there is one, frequently appear with the same
style of dress as the knights."
We will present our readers with the version of this old drama given by
Mr. Sandys, as still performed in Cornwall. Elsewhere, we have met with
some slight variations upon even this Cornwall piece, but will be
content to print it as we find it in the collection in question. Our
Lancashire readers will at once recognize its close resemblance to the
play performed in that county, about the time of Easter, by the
Peace-eggers, or Paste-eggers, of whom we shall speak, in their proper
place, in a future volume.
_Enter the Turkish Knight._
Open your doors and let me in,
I hope your favors I shall win;
Whether I rise or whether I fall
I'll do my best to please you all.
Saint George is here, and swears he will come in,
And if he does, I know he'll pierce my skin.
If you will not believe what I do say,
Let Father Christmas come in,--clear the way!
[_Retires._
_Enter Father Christmas._
Here come I, old Father Christmas,
Welcome, or welcome not,
I hope old Father Christmas
Will never be forgot.
I am not come here to laugh or to jeer,
But for a pocketful of money and a skinful of beer.
If you will not believe what I do say,
Come in the King of Egypt,--clear the way!
_Enter the King of Egypt._
Here I, the King of Egypt, boldly do appear,
Saint George! Saint George! walk in, my only son and heir.
Walk in, my son, Saint George! and boldly act thy part,
That all the people here may see thy wond'rous art.
_Enter Saint George._
Here come I, Saint George, from Britain did I spring,
I'll fight the Dragon bold, my wonders to begin,
I'll clip his wings, he shall not fly;
I'll cut him down, or else I die.
_Enter the Dragon._
Who's he that seeks the Dragon's blood,
And calls so angry, and so loud?
That English dog, will he before me stand?
I'll cut him down with my courageous hand.
With my long teeth and scurvy jaw,
Of such I'd break up half a score,
And stay my stomach, till I'd more.
[_Saint George and the Dragon fight,--the latter is killed._
_Father Christmas._
Is there a doctor to be found
All ready, near at hand,
To cure a deep and deadly wound,
And make the champion stand?
_Enter Doctor._
Oh! yes, there is a doctor to be found
All ready, near at hand,
To cure a deep and deadly wound,
And make the champion stand.
_Fa. Chris._ What can you cure?
_Doctor._ All sorts of diseases,
Whatever you pleases,
The phthisic, the palsy, and the gout;
If the devil's in, I'll blow him out.
_Fa. Chris._ What is your fee?
_Doctor._ Fifteen pound, it is my fee,
The money to lay down;
But, as 'tis such a rogue as thee,
I cure for ten pound.
I carry a little bottle of alicumpane,
Here Jack, take a little of my flip flop,
Pour it down thy tip top,
Rise up and fight again.
[_The Doctor performs his cure, the fight is renewed, and the Dragon
again killed._
_Saint George._
Here am I, Saint George,
That worthy champion bold!
And with my sword and spear
I won three crowns of gold!
I fought the fiery dragon,
And brought him to the slaughter;
By that I won fair Sabra,
The King of Egypt's daughter.
Where is the man, that now me will defy?
I'll cut his giblets full of holes, and make his buttons fly.
_The Turkish Knight advances._
Here come I, the Turkish knight,
Come from the Turkish land to fight!
I'll fight Saint George, who is my foe,
I'll make him yield, before I go;
He brags to such a high degree,
He thinks there's none can do the like of he.
_Saint George._
Where is the Turk, that will before me stand?
I'll cut him down with my courageous hand.
[_They fight, the Knight is overcome, and falls on one knee._
_Turkish Knight._
Oh! pardon me, Saint George! pardon of thee I crave,
Oh! pardon me, this night, and I will be thy slave.
_Saint George._
No pardon shalt thou have, while I have foot to stand.
So rise thee up again, and fight out sword in hand.
[_They fight again, and the Knight is killed; Father Christmas calls for
the Doctor, with whom the same dialogue occurs as before, and the cure
is performed._
_Enter the Giant Turpin._
Here come I, the Giant! bold Turpin is my name,
And all the nations round do tremble at my fame.
Where'er I go, they tremble at my sight,
No lord or champion long with me would fight.
_Saint George._
Here's one that dares to look thee in the face,
And soon will send thee to another place.
[_They fight, and the Giant is killed; medical aid is called in, as
before, and the cure performed by the Doctor, who then, according to the
stage direction, is given a basin of girdy grout, and a kick, and driven
out._
_Father Christmas._
Now, ladies and gentlemen, your sport is most ended.
So prepare for the hat, which is highly commended.
The hat it would speak, if it had but a tongue.
Come throw in your money, and think it no wrong.
And these, with the dance filling up the intervals and enlivening the
winter nights, are amongst the sports and amusements which extend
themselves over the Christmas season and connect together its more
special and characteristic observances.
[Illustration: GALANTEE SHOW.]
[Illustration: MARKET--CHRISTMAS EVE.--_Page 267._]
CHRISTMAS EVE.
24TH DECEMBER.
"Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
This bird of dawning singeth all night long:
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time."
HAMLET.
THE progress of the Christmas celebrations has at length brought us up
to the immediate threshold of that high day in honor of which they are
all instituted; and amid the crowd of festivities by which it is on all
sides surrounded, the Christian heart makes a pause to-night. Not that
the Eve of Christmas is marked by an entire abstinence from that spirit
of festival by which the rest of this season is distinguished, nor that
the joyous character of the event on whose immediate verge it stands
requires that it should. No part of that season is more generally
dedicated to the assembling of friends than are the great day itself and
the eve which ushers it in. Still, however, the feelings of rejoicing
which properly belong to the blessed occasion are chastened by the
immediate presence of the occasion itself; and touching traditions and
beautiful superstitions have given an air of solemnity to the night,
beneath whose influence the spirit of commemoration assumes a religious
character, and takes a softened tone.
Before however, touching upon the customs and ceremonies of the night,
or upon those natural superstitions which have hung themselves around
its sacred watches, we must take a glimpse at an out-of-door scene which
forms a curious enough feature of Christmas Eve, and is rather connected
with the great festival of to-morrow than with the hushed and expectant
feelings which are the fitting moral condition of to-night.
Everywhere throughout the British isles Christmas Eve is marked by an
increased activity about the good things of this life. "Now," says
Stevenson, an old writer whom we have already quoted for the customs of
Charles the Second's time, "capons and hens, besides turkeys, geese,
ducks, with beef and mutton, must all die; for in twelve days a
multitude of people will not be fed with a little;" and the preparations
in this respect of this present period of grace, are made much after the
ancient prescription of Stevenson. The abundant displays of every kind
of edible in the London markets on Christmas Eve, with a view to the
twelve days' festival of which it is the overture, the blaze of lights
amid which they are exhibited and the evergreen decorations by which
they are embowered, together with the crowds of idlers or of purchasers
that wander through these well-stored magazines, present a picture of
abundance and a congress of faces well worthy of a single visit from the
stranger, to whom a London market on the eve of Christmas is as yet a
novelty.
The approach of Christmas Eve in the metropolis is marked by the
Smithfield show of over-fed cattle; by the enormous beasts and birds,
for the fattening of which medals and cups and prizes have been awarded
by committees of amateur graziers and feeders; in honor of which
monstrosities, dinners have been eaten, toasts drunk, and speeches made.
These prodigious specimens of corpulency we behold, after being thus
glorified, led like victims of antiquity decked with ribbons and other
tokens of triumph, or perhaps instead of led, we should, as the animals
are scarcely able to waddle, have used the word goaded, to be immolated
at the altar of gluttony in celebration of Christmas! To admiring
crowds, on the eve itself, are the results of oil-cake and
turnip-feeding displayed in the various butcher's shops of the
metropolis and its vicinity; and the efficacy of walnut-cramming is
illustrated in Leadenhall market, where Norfolk turkeys and Dorking
fowls appear in numbers and magnitude unrivalled. The average weight
given for each turkey, by the statement heretofore quoted by us of the
number and gravity of those birds sent up to London from Norfolk during
two days of a Christmas some years ago, is nearly twelve pounds; but
what is called a fine bird in Leadenhall Market weighs, when trussed,
from eighteen to one or two-and-twenty pounds,--the average price of
which may be stated at twenty shillings; and prize turkeys have been
known to weigh more than a quarter of a hundred weight.
Brawn is another dish of this season, and is sold by the poulterers,
fishmongers, and pastry-cooks. The supply for the consumption of London
is chiefly derived from Canterbury, Oxfordshire, and Hampshire. "It is
manufactured from the flesh of large boars, which are suffered to live
in a half-wild state, and, when put up to fatten, are strapped and
belted tight round the principal parts of the carcass, in order to make
the flesh become dense and brawny. This article comes to market in rolls
about two feet long and ten inches in diameter, packed in wicker
baskets."