clouded over; a north wind whirling snow from alp and forest through
the murky gloom. The benches and broad walnut tables of the Rathhaus
were crowded with men in shaggy homespun of brown and grey frieze.
Its low wooden roof and walls enclosed an atmosphere of smoke, denser
than the eternal snow-drift. But our welcome was hearty, and we found
a score of friends. Titanic Fopp, whose limbs are Michelangelesque
in length; spectacled Morosani; the little tailor Kramer, with a
French horn on his knees; the puckered forehead of the Baumeister; the
Troll-shaped postman; peasants and woodmen, known on far excursions
upon pass and upland valley. Not one but carried on his face the memory
of winter strife with avalanche and snow-drift, of horses struggling
through Fluela whirlwinds, and wine-casks tugged across Bernina, and
haystacks guided down precipitous gullies at thundering speed 'twixt
pine and pine, and larches felled in distant glens beside the frozen
watercourses. Here we were, all met together for one hour from our
several homes and occupations, to welcome in the year with clinked
glasses and cries of Prosit Neujahr!
The tolling bells above us stopped. Our turn had come. Out into the
snowy air we tumbled, beneath the row of wolves' heads that adorn
the pent-house roof. A few steps brought us to the still God's acre,
where the snow lay deep and cold upon high-mounded graves of many
generations. We crossed it silently, bent our heads to the low Gothic
arch, and stood within the tower. It was thick darkness there. But far
above, the bells began again to clash and jangle confusedly, with
volleys of demoniac joy. Successive flights of ladders, each ending in
a giddy platform hung across the gloom, climb to the height of some
hundred and fifty feet; and all their rungs were crusted with frozen
snow, deposited by trampling boots. For up and down these stairs,
ascending and descending, moved other than angels--the frieze-jacketed
Burschen, Grisens bears, rejoicing in their exercise, exhilarated with
the tingling noise of beaten metal. We reached the first room safely,
guided by firm-footed Christian, whose one candle just defined the
rough walls and the slippery steps. There we found a band of boys
pulling ropes that set the bells in motion. But our destination was not
reached. One more aerial ladder, perpendicular in darkness, brought
us swiftly to the home of sound. It is a small square chamber, where
the bells are hung, filled with the interlacement of enormous beams,
and pierced to north and south by open windows, from whose parapets I
saw the village and the valley spread beneath. The fierce wind hurried
through it, charged with snow, and its narrow space thronged with
men. Men on the platform, men on the window-sills, men grappling the
bells with iron arms, men brushing by to reach the stairs, crossing,
re-crossing, shouldering their mates, drinking red wine from gigantic
beakers, exploding crackers, firing squibs, shouting and yelling in
corybantic chorus. They yelled and shouted, one could see it by their
open mouths and glittering eyes; but not a sound from human lungs
could reach our ears. The overwhelming incessant thunder of the bells
drowned all. It thrilled the tympanum, ran through the marrow of
the spine, vibrated in the inmost entrails. Yet the brain was only
steadied and excited by this sea of brazen noise. After a few moments
I knew the place and felt at home in it. Then I enjoyed a spectacle
which sculptors might have envied. For they ring the bells in Davos
after this fashon:--The lads below set them going with ropes. The
men above climb in pairs on ladders to the beams from which they are
suspended. Two mighty pine-trees, roughly squared and built into the
walls, extend from side to side across the belfry. Another, from which
the bells hang, connects these massive trunks at right angles. Just
where the central beam is wedged into the two parallel supports, the
ladders reach from each side of the belfry, so that, bending from the
higher rung of the ladder, and leaning over, stayed upon the lateral
beam, each pair of men can keep one bell in movement with their hands.
Each comrade plants one leg upon the ladder, and sets the other knee
firmly athwart the horizontal pine. Then round each other's waist they
twine left arm and right. The two have thus become one man. Right arm
and left are free to grasp the bell's horns, sprouting at its crest
beneath the beam. With a grave rhythmic motion, bending sideward in a
close embrace, swaying and returning to their centre from the well-knit
loins, they drive the force of each strong muscle into the vexed bell.
The impact is earnest at first, but soon it becomes frantic. The men
take something from each other of exalted enthusiasm. This efflux
of their combined energies inspires them and exasperates the mighty
resonance of metal which they rule. They are lost in a trance of what
approximates to dervish passion--so thrilling is the surge of sound, so
potent are the rhythms they obey. Men come and tug them by the heels.
One grasps the starting thews upon their calves. Another is impatient
for their place. But they strain still, locked together, and forgetful
of the world. At length, they have enough: then slowly, clingingly,
unclasp, turn round with gazing eyes, and are resumed, sedately, into
the diurnal round of common life. Another pair is in their room upon
the beam.
The Englishman who saw those things stood looking up, enveloped in his
ulster with the grey cowl thrust upon his forehead, like a monk. One
candle cast a grotesque shadow of him on the plastered wall. And when
his chance came, though he was but a weakling, he too climbed and for
some moments hugged the beam, and felt the madness of the swinging
bell. Descending, he wondered long and strangely whether he ascribed
too much of feeling to the men he watched. But no, that was impossible.
There are emotions deeply seated in the joy of exercise, when the body
is brought into play, and masses move in concert, of which the subject
is but half conscious. Music and dance, and the delirium of the battle
or the chase, act thus upon spontaneous natures. The mystery of rhythm
and associated energy and blood tingling in sympathy is here. It lies
at the root of man's most tyrannous instinctive impulses.
It was past one when we reached home, and now a meditative man might
well have gone to bed. But no one thinks of sleeping on Sylvester
Abend. So there followed bowls of punch in one friend's room, where
English, French, and German blent together in convivial Babel; and
flasks of old Montagner in another. Palmy, at this period, wore an
archdeacon's hat, and smoked a church-warden's pipe; and neither
were his own, nor did he derive anything ecclesiastical or Anglican
from the association. Late in the morning we must sally forth, they
said, and roam the town. For it is the custom here on New Year's
night to greet acquaintances, and ask for hospitality, and no one may
deny these self-invited guests. We turned out again into the grey
snow-swept gloom, a curious Comus--not at all like Greeks, for we had
neither torches in our hands nor rose-wreaths to suspend upon a lady's
door-posts....
However, upon this occasion, though we had winter wind enough, and cold
enough, there was not much love in the business. My arm was firmly
clenched in Christian Buol's, and Christian Palmy came behind, trolling
out songs in Italian dialect, with still recurring canaille choruses,
of which the facile rhymes seemed mostly made on a prolonged amu-u-u-r.
It is noticeable that Italian ditties are especially designed for
fellows shouting in the streets at night.... The tall church-tower and
spire loomed up above us in grey twilight. The tireless wind still
swept thin snow from fell and forest. But the frenzied bells had sunk
into their twelve-month's slumber, which shall be broken only by
decorous tollings at less festive times. I wondered whether they were
tingling still with the heart-throbs and with the pressure of those
many arms? Was their old age warmed, as mine was, with that gust of
life--the young men who had clung to them like bees to lily-bells, and
shaken all their locked-up tone and shrillness into the wild winter
air? Alas! how many generations of the young have handled them; and
they are still there, frozen in their belfry; and the young grow
middle-aged, and old, and die at last; and the bells they grappled in
their lust of manhood toll them to their graves, on which the tireless
wind will, winter after winter, sprinkle snow from alps and forests
which they knew.
JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS
XI
TWELFTH NIGHT
[Illustration: TWELFTH NIGHT]
"Now have Good Day!"
A Twelfth Night Superstition
Twelfth-Day Table Diversion
The Blessing of the Waters
La Galette du Roi
Drawing King and Queen on Twelfth Night
St. Distaff's Day and Plough Monday
[Illustration]
Down with the rosemary and bays,
Down with the mistletoe;
Instead of holly, now up-raise
The greener box, for show.
The holly hitherto did sway;
Let box now domineer,
Until the dancing Easter-day,
On Easter's Eve appear.
ROBERT HERRICK
Now have Good Day
_Now have good day, now have good day!
I am Christmas, and now I go my way!_
Here have I dwelt with more and less,
From Hallow-tide till Candlemas!
And now must I from you hence pass,
_Now have good day!_
I take my leave of King and Knight,
And Earl, Baron, and lady bright!
To wilderness I must me dight!
_Now have good day!_
And at the good lord of this hall,
I take my leave, and of guests all!
Methinks I hear Lent doth call,
_Now have good day!_
And at every worthy officer,
Marshall, painter, and butler,
I take my leave as for this year,
_Now have good day!_
Another year I trust I shall
Make merry in this hall!
If rest and peace in England may fall!
_Now have good day!_
But often times I have heard say,
That he is loth to part away,
That often biddeth "have good day!"
_Now have good day!_
Now fare ye well all in-fere!
Now fare ye well for all this year,
Yet for my sake make ye good cheer!
_Now have good day!_
_From a Balliol MS. of c. 1540_
A Twelfth Night Superstition
Twice six nights then from Christmasse, they do count with diligence,
Where in eche maister in his house doth burne by franckensence:
And on the table settes a loafe, when night approcheth nere,
Before the coles and franckensence to be perfumed there:
First bowing down his heade he standes, and nose and eares and eyes
He smokes, and with hos mouth receyves the fume that doth arise
Whom followeth streight his wife, and doth the same full solemly,
And of their children every one and all their family;
Which doth preserve they say their teeth and nose and eye and eare
From every kind of maladie, and sicknesse all the yeare.
When every one receyued hath this odour great and small
Then one takes up the pan with coales, and franckensence and all
An other takes the loafe, whom all the rest do follow here.
And round about the house they go with torch or taper clere,
That neither bread nor meat do want, nor witch with dreadful charme
Have power to hurt their children or to do their cattell harme
There are that three nightes only do perfoure this foolish geare
To this intent, and thinke themselves in safetie all the yeare.
BARNABY GOOGE'S versification of _The Popish Kingdome_
Twelfth-Day Table Diversion
John Nott, describing himself as "late cook to the dukes of Somerset,
Ormond, and Batton," writes in 1726: "Ancient artists in cookery inform
us that in former days, when good housekeeping was in fashion amongst
the English nobility, they used either to begin or conclude their
entertainments, and divert their guests with such pretty devices as
these following, viz:--
A castle made of pasteboard, with gates, drawbridges, battlements and
portcullises, all done over with paste, was set upon a table in a
large charger, with salt laid round about it, as if it were the ground
in which were stuck egg-shells full of rose or other sweet waters,
the meat of the egg having been taken out by a great pin. Upon the
battlement of the castle were planted Kexes covered over with paste, in
the form of cannons, and made to look like brass by covering them with
dutch leaf-gold. These cannons being charged with gunpowder, and trains
laid so that you might fire as many as you pleased, at one touch; this
castle was set at one end of the table.
Then in the middle of the table, they would set a stag made of paste,
but hollow, and filled with claret wine, and a broad arrow stuck in his
side; this was also set in a large charger, with a ground made of salt
with egg-shells of perfumed waters stuck in it as before.
Then at the other end of the table, they would have a ship made of
pasteboard, and covered all over with paste, with masts, sails, flags,
and streamers; and guns made of Kexes, covered with paste and charged
with gunpowder, with a train, as in the castle. This being placed in
a large charger was set upright in as it were a sea of salt, in which
were also stuck egg-shells full of perfumed waters. Then betwixt the
stag and castle, and the stag and ship, were placed two pies made of
coarse paste, filled with bran, and washed over with saffron and the
yolks of eggs; when these were baked the bran was taken out, a hole
was cut in the bottom of each, and live birds put into one and frogs
into the other. Then the holes were closed up with paste, and the lids
neatly cut up, so that they might be easily taken off by the funnels,
and adorned with gilded laurels.
These being thus prepared, and placed in order on the table, one of the
ladies was persuaded to draw the arrow out of the body of the stag,
which being done the claret wine issued forth like blood from a wound
and caused admiration in the spectators; which being over, after a
little pause, all the guns on one side of the castle were by a train
discharged against the ship; and afterwards the guns of one side of
the ship were discharged against the castle; then, having turned the
chargers, the other sides were fired off as in a battle. This causing a
great smell of powder, the ladies or gentlemen took up the eggshells
of perfumed water and threw them at one another. This pleasant disorder
being pretty well laughed over, and the two great pies still remaining
untouched, some one or other would have the curiosity to see what was
in them and on lifting up the lid of one pie, out would jump the
frogs, which would make the ladies skip and scamper; and on lifting up
the lid of the other out would fly the birds, which would naturally
fly at the light and so put out the candles. And so with the leaping
of the frogs below, and the flying of the birds above, would cause a
surprising and diverting hurley burley among the guests, in the dark.
After which the candles being lighted, the banquet would be brought
in, the music sound, and the particulars of each person's surprise and
adventures furnish matter for diverting discourse.
_The Cook and Confectioner's Dictionary_, 1726
The Blessing of the Waters
I was anxious to be present at the early liturgy of the morning of
Epiphany to witness the ceremony of the blessing of the waters in the
pretty quaint village on the island of Skiathos in a far-away corner
of Greece. It was a great effort, for the night had been cold and
stormy; however, by some process which will never be quite clear to
me, I managed to find myself at the door of the one church with its
many storied bell-tower, soon after four o'clock. Very quaint indeed it
looked as I went out of the cold darkness into the brilliantly lighted
church, and saw the pious islanders kneeling all around on the cold
floor as the liturgy was being chanted prior to the blessing of the
waters. Near the entrance stood the font filled to the brim; and close
to it was placed an eikon or sacred picture, representing the baptism
of our Lord; around the font were stuck many candles fastened by their
own grease; whilst pots and jugs of every size and description, full
of water, stood about on the floor in the immediate vicinity of the
font.
After the priest had chanted the somewhat tedious litany from the steps
of the high altar, he set off dressed sumptuously in his gold brocaded
vestments, round the church with a large cross in one hand, and a sprig
of basil in the other, accompanied by two acolytes, who waved their
censers and cast about a pleasant odor of frankincense. Every one was
prostrate as the priest read the appointed Scripture, signed the water
in the font and in the adjacent jugs with the cross and threw into the
font his sprig of basil. No sooner was this solemn impressive ceremony
over than there was a general rush from all sides with mugs and bottles
to secure some of this consecrated water. Everybody laughed and hustled
his neighbor; even the priest, with the cross in his hand, stood
and watched them with a grin. The sudden change from the preceding
solemnity was ludicrous in the extreme.
Before taking his departure for his home each person went up to kiss
the cross which the priest held and to be sprinkled with water from
the sprig of basil. Each person had brought his own sprig of basil
which he presented to the priest to bless, and in return for this favor
dropped a small coin into the plate held by one of the acolytes. Basil
is always held to be a sacred plant in Greece. The legend says that it
grew on Christ's tomb, and they imagine that this is the reason why its
leaves grow in a cruciform shape. In nearly every humble Greek dwelling
you may see a dried sprig of basil hanging in the household sanctuary.
It is this sprig which has been blessed at the Feast of Lights. It is
most effectual say they in keeping off the influence of the evil eye.
The day broke fine and the violence of the storm was over. Yet our
captain still lingered saying that perhaps toward evening we might
start, and for this delay I believe I discovered the reason. Towards
midday on Epiphany it is customary among these seafaring islanders to
hold a solemn function, closely akin to the one I had witnessed in the
church that morning, namely, the blessing of the sea.
From their homes by the shore the fishermen came, and all the
inhabitants of Skiathos assembled on the quay to join the procession
which descended from the church by a zigzag path, headed by two priests
and two acolytes behind them waving censers, and men carrying banners
and the large cross.
Very touching it was to watch the deep devotion of these hardy
seafaring men as they knelt on the shore whilst the litany was being
chanted, and whilst the chief priest blest the waves with his cross and
invoked the blessing of the most High on the many and varied crafts
which were riding at anchor in Skiathos harbor. When the service was
over there followed, as in the morning, an unseemly bustle, so ready
are these vivacious people to turn from the solemn to the gay. Every
one chatted with his neighbor and pressed forward toward a little
jetty to see the fun. Presently the priest advanced to the end of this
jetty with the cross in his hand, and after tying a heavy stone to it
he threw it into the sea. Thereupon there was a general rush into the
water; men and boys with their clothes on plunged and dived until at
length to the applause of the bystanders one young man succeeded in
bringing the cross to the surface, stone and all. A subscription was
then raised for the successful diver, the proceeds of which were spent
by him in ordering many glasses of wine at the nearest coffee shop,
and the wet men sat down for a heavy drink--to drive out the chill, I
suppose.
In many places you will find the boats hauled upon the beach the day
before Christmas, and nothing will induce their owners to launch them
again until after the blessing of the sea. I am sure the captain of
our steamer shared the superstition, though he chose to laugh at the
islanders' ways; for a few hours after the sea had been blessed we
put out into it, and I imagine could have started hours before if the
captain had been so inclined.
J. T. BENT
La Galette du Roi
In France, where it probably originated, the Twelfth Night cake, known
as La Galette du Roi ("the king's cake"), still survives.
The cake is generally made of pastry, and baked in a round sheet like
a pie. The size of the cake depends on the number of persons in the
company. In former times a broad bean was baked in the cake, but now a
small china doll is substituted.
[Illustration: THE ADORATION OF THE MAGI. _Memling._]
The cake is the last course in the dinner. One of the youngest people
at the table is asked to say to whom each piece shall be given. This
creates a little excitement and all watch breathlessly to see who gets
the doll. The person who gets it is king or queen, and immediately
chooses a king or queen for a partner. So soon as the king and queen
are announced they are under the constant observation of the rest of
the party and whatever they do is immediately commented upon. In a
short time there is a perfect uproar: "The king drinks," "the queen
speaks," "the queen laughs." This is kept up for a long time; then
there are games, music and dancing.
WILLIAM HONE in the _Everyday Book_
Drawing King and Queen on Twelfth Night
Hone, in his _Everyday Book_, describes a drawing as it was conducted
in 1823: "First, buy your cake. Then, before your visitors arrive, buy
your characters (painted cards), 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 a gentleman to carry
the reticule to the ladies, as they sit, from which each lady is to
draw one ticket and 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.
St. Distaff's Day and Plough Monday
The day after Epiphany was called St. Distaff's day by country people,
because the Christmas holidays being ended the time had come for the
resumption of the distaff and other industrious employments of good
housewives.
The Monday after Twelfthday was a similar occasion for the resumption
of agricultural labors. Another writer connects the day with a custom
which among farm servants corresponded somewhat to the 'prentices
Boxing Day. The usage was "to draw around a plough and solicit money
with guisings, and dancing with swords, preparatory to beginning to
plough after the Christmas holidays."
Olaus Magnus describes the "dance with swords": First, with swords
sheathed and erect in their hands, they dance in a triple round; then
with their drawn swords held erect as before; afterwards extending them
from hand to hand, they lay hold of each other's hilts and points,
and while they are wheeling more moderately around and changing their
order, they throw themselves into the figure of a hexagon which they
call a rose: but presently raising and drawing back their swords, they
undo that figure, in order to form with them a four-square rose so
that they may rebound over the head of each other. Lastly, they dance
rapidly backwards, and vehemently rattling the sides of their swords
together, conclude their sport. Pipes or songs (sometimes both) direct
the measure which at first is slow, increasing to a very quick movement
at the close. Olaus Magnus adds: "It is scarcely to be understood how
gamely and decent it is."
WILLIAM HONE in _Year Book_
XII
THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT
[Illustration: THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT]