Celebrate Poe

Revelry Encouraged

December 23, 2021 George Bartley Season 1 Episode 93
Celebrate Poe
Revelry Encouraged
Show Notes Transcript
  • 00:00 Introduction
  • 01:16 Ride to Bracebridge Manor
  • 03:21 Arrival at Bracebridge
  • 04:36 Description of the Manor House
  • 10:10 Description of the interior
  • 17:26 Description of the narrator’s room
  • 19:27 Future episodes
  • 22:01 Sources


  • What has been the emphasis in the first two portions of Old Christmas?
  • How does the son in the carriage describe his father?
  • Who are the father’s favorite authors?
  • Where did the carriage stop?
  • What memories did the wall engender?
  • What did the father feel was “the happiest place in the world’ (hint - NOT Disneyland)
  • What did the dogs do when they heard Bracebridge’s voice?
  • How was the narrator’s room paneled?
  • Why was Mr. Simon Bracebridge so popular?


Sources for this episode include “The Sketchbook of Geoffrey Crayon” by Washington Irving, Complete Fictional Works of Washington Irving by Washington Irving, Washington Irving: The Definitive Biography of America’s First Bestselling Author by Brian Jay Jones, The Literary Adventures of Washington Irving by Cheryl Harness, Original Knickerbocker: The Life of Washington Irving by Andrew Burstein, Edgar Allan Poe: A Critical Biography by Arthur Hobson Quinn, The Poe Log: A Documentary Life of Edgar Allan Poe by Dwight Thomas and David K. Jackson, and The Reason for the Darkness of the Night by John Tresch.

Episode 93  Revelry Encouraged

00:00 Introduction  (from Silent Night)

Welcome to Celebrate Poe. My name is George Bartley, and this is episode Ninety Three - Revelry Encouraged

In the last two episodes of Old Christmas, Washington Irving set the scene for the Christmas festivities that would take place at the Bracebridge home.  Up til now, the narrator has commented mostly on the season and a carriage ride that is taking him through the English countryside.  This episode begins after the stagecoach has stopped, and Bracebridge has invited the narrator to join him at his manor to celebrate Christmas.  In this episode, the actual Christmas festivites at Bracebridge manor begin.  And while the words that Washington Irving uses might be a bit difficult for present day sensibilities, hold on and you just might begin to feel the beauty of the language.

01:16 Ride to Bracebridge Manor

It was a brilliant moonlight night, but extremely cold; the driver smacked his whip incessantly, and his horses were on a gallop. “The driver knows where he is going," said my companion, laughing, "and is eager to arrive in time for some of the merriment and good cheer of the servants' hall. My father, you must know, is a devotee of the old school, and prides himself upon keeping up something of old English hospitality. He is a tolerable specimen of what you will rarely meet with nowadays in its purity,    My father, determined, in his own mind, that there was no condition more truly honourable and enviable than that of a country gentleman, and, therefore, passes the whole of his time on his estate. He is a strenuous advocate for the revival of the old rural games and holiday observances, and is deeply read in the writers, ancient and modern, who have written on the subject. Indeed, his favourite reading is among the authors who flourished at least two centuries ago; who, he insists, wrote and thought more like true Englishmen than any of their successors. He even regrets sometimes that he had not been born a few centuries earlier, when England was itself, and had its peculiar manners and customs. Being representative of the oldest family in the neighbourhood, and a great part of the peasantry being his tenants, he is much looked up to, and, in general, is known simply as a title which has been accorded to the head of the family since time immemorial. I think it best to give you these hints about my worthy old father, to prepare you for any little eccentricities that might otherwise appear absurd."

03:21 Arrival at Bracebridge

We had passed for some time along the wall of a park, and at length the carriage stopped at the gate. It was in a heavy, magnificent old style, of iron bars, fancifully wrought at top into flourishes and flowers. The huge square columns that supported the gate were surmounted by the family crest. The driver rang a large bell, which resounded through the still, frosty air, and was answered by the distant barking of dogs. An old woman immediately appeared at the gate. She came curtseying forth. Her husband, it seems, was up at the house keeping Christmas eve in the servants' hall; they could not do without him, as he was the best hand at a song and story in the household. My friend proposed that we should alight and walk through the park to the hall, which was at no great distance. Our road wound through a noble avenue of trees, among the naked branches of which the moon glittered as she rolled through the deep vault of a cloudless sky.

04:36 Description of the Manor

The lawn beyond was sheeted with a slight covering of snow, which here and there sparkled as the moonbeams caught a frosty crystal; and at a distance might be seen a thin, transparent vapour, stealing up from the low grounds, and threatening gradually to shroud the landscape. My companion looked round him—"How often," said he, "have I scampered up this avenue, on returning home on school vacations! How often have I played under these trees when a boy! I feel a degree of reverence for them, as we look up to those who have cherished us in childhood. My father was always scrupulous in exacting our holidays, and having us around him on family festivals. He used to direct and superintend our games with the strictness that some parents do the studies of their children. It was the policy of the good old gentleman to make his children feel that home was the happiest place in the world; and I value this delicious homefeeling as one of the choicest gifts a parent can bestow." We were interrupted by the clangour of a troop of dogs of all sorts and sizes, "mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, and curs of low degree," At the sound of Bracebridge’s voice their barks were changed into yelps of delight, and in a moment Bracebridge was surrounded and almost overpowered by the caresses of the faithful animals. We had now come in full view of the old family mansion, partly thrown in deep shadow, and partly lit up by the cold moonshine. It was an irregular building of some magnitude, and seemed to be of the architecture of different periods. One wing was, evidently very ancient, with heavy stone-shafted bow windows jutting out and overrun with ivy, from among the foliage of which the small diamond-shaped panes of glass glittered with the moonbeams. The grounds about the house were laid out in the old formal manner of artificial flower-beds, clipped shrubberies, raised terraces, and heavy stone balustrades, ornamented with urns, a leaden statue or two, and a jet of water. The old gentleman, I was told, was extremely careful to preserve this obsolete finery in all its original state. He admired this fashion in gardening; it had an air of magnificence, was courtly and noble, and befitting good old family style.  As we approached the house, we heard the sound of music, and now and then a burst of laughter from one end of the building. This, Bracebridge said, must proceed from the servants' hall, where a great deal of revelry was permitted, and even encouraged, by the Squire throughout the twelve days of Christmas, provided everything was done comformably to ancient usage. Here the Yule log and Christmas candle were regularly burnt, and the mistletoe, with its white berries, hung up to the imminent peril of all the pretty housemaids.* So intent were the servants upon their sports, that we had to ring repeatedly before we could make ourselves heard. On our arrival being announced, the Squire came out to receive us, accompanied by his two other sons; one a young officer in the army, home on leave of absence; the other just from the University. The Squire was a fine, healthy-looking old gentleman, with silver hair curling lightly round an open, florid countenance. The family meeting was warm and affectionate; as the evening was far advanced, the Squire would not permit us to change our travelling dresses, but ushered us at once to the company, which was assembled in a large old fashioned hall. It was composed of different branches of a numerous family connection, where there were the usual proportion of old uncles and aunts, blooming country cousins, half-fledged striplings, and bright-eyed boarding-school students. They were variously occupied; some at a round game of cards; others conversing around the fireplace;   at one end of the hall was a group of the young folks, some nearly grown up, others of a more tender and budding age, fully engrossed by a merry game; and a profusion of wooden horses, penny trumpets, and tattered dolls, about the floor, showed traces of a troop of little fairy beings, who, having frolicked through a happy day, had been carried off to slumber through a peaceful night.

10:10 Description of the interior
 

While the mutual greetings were going on between Bracebridge and his relatives, I had time to scan the apartment. I have called it a hall, for so it had certainly been in old times, and the Squire had evidently endeavoured to restore it to something of its primitive state. Over the heavy projecting fireplace was suspended a picture of a warrior in armour standing by a white horse, and on the opposite wall hung helmet, buckler, and lance. At one end an enormous pair of antlers were inserted in the wall, the branches serving as hooks on which to suspend hats, whips, and spurs; and in the corners of the apartment were fowling-pieces, fishing-rods, and other sporting implements. The furniture was of the workmanship of former days, though some articles of modern convenience had been added, and the oaken floor had been carpeted; so that the whole presented an odd mixture of parlour and hall. The grate had been removed from the wide overwhelming fireplace, to make way for a fire of wood, in the midst of which was an enormous log glowing and blazing, and sending forth a vast volume of light and heat; this I understood was the Yule-log, which the Squire was particular in having brought in and illumined on a Christmas eve, according to ancient custom.* It was really delightful to see the old Squire seated in his hereditary elbowchair by the hospitable fireside of his ancestors, and looking around him like the sun of a system, beaming warmth and gladness to every heart. Even the very dog that lay stretched at his feet, as he lazily shifted his position and yawned, would look fondly up in his master's face, wag his tail against the floor, and stretch himself again to sleep, confident of kindness and protection. There is an emanation from the heart in genuine hospitality which cannot be described, but is immediately felt, and puts the stranger at once at his ease. I had not been seated many minutes by the comfortable hearth of the worthy cavalier before I found myself as much at home as if I had been one of the family. Supper was announced shortly after our arrival. It was served up in a spacious oaken chamber, the panels of which shone with wax, and around which were several family portraits decorated with holly and ivy. Beside the accustomed lights, two great Christmas candles, wreathed with greens, were placed on a highly-polished buffet among the family plate. The mirth of the company was greatly promoted by the humours of an eccentric personage whom Mr. Bracebridge always addressed as Master Simon. He was a tight, brisk little man, with the air of an arrant old bachelor. His nose was shaped like the bill of a parrot; his face slightly pitted with the smallpox, with a dry perpetual bloom on it, like a frostbitten leaf in autumn. He was evidently the wit of the family, dealing very much in sly jokes and innuendoes with the ladies, and making infinite merriment by harpings upon old themes; which, unfortunately, my ignorance of the family chronicles did not permit me to enjoy. It seemed to be his great delight during supper to keep a young girl next him in a continual agony of stifled laughter, in spite of her awe of the reproving looks of her mother, who sat opposite. Indeed, he was the idol of the younger part of the company, who laughed at everything he said or did, and at every turn of his countenance. I could not wonder at it; for he must have been a miracle of accomplishments in their eyes. He could imitate Punch and Judy; make an old woman of his hand, with the assistance of a burnt cork and pocket-handkerchief: and cut an orange into such a ludicrous caricature, that the young folks were ready to die with laughing. I was let briefly into his history by Frank Bracebridge. He was an old bachelor of a small independent income, which by careful management was sufficient for all his wants. He had a chirping, buoyant disposition, always enjoying the present moment; and his frequent change of scene and company prevented his acquiring those rusty unaccommodating habits with which old bachelors are so uncharitably charged. He was a complete family chronicle, being versed in the genealogy, history, and intermarriages of the whole house of Bracebridge, which made him a great favourite with the old folks; he was a beau of all the elder ladies, among whom he was habitually considered rather a young fellow, and he was a master of the revels among the children; so that there was not a more popular being in the sphere in which he moved than Mr. Simon Bracebridge.
The most interesting couple in the dance was the young officer and a ward of the Squire's, a beautiful blushing girl of seventeen. From several shy glances which I had noticed in the course of the evening, I suspected there was a little kindness growing up between them; and, indeed, the young soldier was just the hero to captivate a romantic girl. He was tall, slender, and handsome, and like most young British officers of late years, had picked up various small accomplishments on the Continent—he could talk French and Italian—draw landscapes,—sing very tolerably—dance divinely; but above all he had been wounded at Waterloo;—what girl of seventeen, well read in poetry and romance, could resist such a mirror of chivalry and perfection! The moment the dance was over, he caught up a guitar, and lolling against the old marble fireplace, in an attitude which I am half inclined to suspect was studied, began singing a French air.

17:26  Description of the narrator’s room

The party then broke up for the night with the kind-hearted old custom of shaking hands. As I passed through the hall, on the way to my chamber, the dying embers of the Yule-log still sent forth a dusky glow; and had it not been the season when "no spirit dares stir abroad," I should have been half tempted to steal from my room at midnight, and peep whether the fairies might not be at their revels about the hearth. My chamber was in the old part of the mansion, the ponderous furniture of which might have been fabricated in the days of the giants. The room was panelled with heavy carved work, in which flowers and grotesque faces were strangely intermingled; and a row of black looking portraits stared mournfully at me from the walls. The bed stood in a niche opposite a bow window. I had scarcely got into bed when a strain of music seemed to break forth in the air just below the window. I listened, and found it proceeded from a band, which I concluded was from some neighbouring village. They went round the house, playing under the windows. I drew aside the curtains, to hear them more distinctly. The moonbeams fell through the upper part of the casement, partially lighting up the antiquated apartment. The sounds, as they receded, became more soft and aerial, and seemed to accord with quiet and moonlight. I listened and listened—they became more and more tender and remote, and, as they gradually died away, my head sank upon the pillow and I fell asleep.

19:27 Future episodes

The episode to be released tomorrow deals with the next part of Old Christmas, and is called Christmas Day.  And since I like to keep episodes around 35 minutes or less, I will release the final section of Old Christmas - The Christmas Dinner - a few minutes later. Then on the day after Christmas, the podcast episode is The Festival by H.P. Lovecraft.  It would hardly be accurate to call The Festival a Christmas story in the traditional sense - it is FAR too dark - but, as you probably know, Lovecraft was greatly influenced by Poe, and The Festival is a really cool story.

Meanwhile - to quote the great comedian Stephen Colbert - meanwhile - I will start on Monday December 27 with a 30 minute recap series covering roughly 20 episodes of Celebrate Poe everyday. I will talk about format of this podcast, a bit about its background, some of the elements of Poe’s early life, and an introduction.

There will also be a different episode every day during the 5 week days after Christmas - each dealing with roughly 20 podcasts each day.  At that rate, it should take 5 episodes in the series until Celebrate Poe reaches 100 episodes - which should happen before the end of 2001.  This should all becomes a lot clearer as time goes by.

And one last thing - instead of aiming for 12:00 midnight as a release time for episodes, I am releasing the rest of the episodes this month starting at 8:00 am in the morning.  Not that I will be up at 8:00 - that’s asking too much - but I am doing all these episodes in advance.  Then I can upload a podcast episode and set a time for that episode to be released.  For example, the episode on the story called Chrismas Day should be available on the morning of Christmas Day.

Thank you for listening to Celebrate Poe - only two more Christmas shows to go.

22:01 Sources

Sources for this episode include “The Sketchbook of Geoffrey Crayon” by Washington Irving, Complete Fictional Works of Washington Irving by Washington Irving, Washington Irving: The Definitive Biography of America’s First Bestselling Author by Brian Jay Jones, The Literary Adventures of Washington Irving by Cheryl Harness, Original Knickerbocker: The Life of Washington Irving by Andrew Burstein, Edgar Allan Poe: A Critical Biography by Arthur Hobson Quinn, The Poe Log: A Documentary Life of Edgar Allan Poe by Dwight Thomas and David K. Jackson, and The Reason for the Darkness of the Night by John Tresch.

Again, thank you for listening to Celebrate Poe.