Episode Ninety Four - Generous and Happy Feelings
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 Ninety Four - Generous and Happy Feelings
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.
00:00 Introduction
Welcome to Celebrate Poe. My name is George Bartley, and this is episode Ninety Four - Generous and Happy Feelings.
In this episode, the narrator awakes on Christmas morning to formally celebrate Christmas day with the Bracebridges. And while the words and phrases that Washington Irving uses might be somewhat foreign to 21st century ears, hold on and you just might begin to experience the beauty of the language.
From Old Christmas - Christmas Day
00:54 Waking Up
When I awoke the next morning, it seemed as if all the events of the preceding evening had been a dream. While I lay musing on my pillow, I heard the sound of little feet pattering outside of the door. Presently a choir of small voices chanted forth an old Christmas carol. I rose softly, slipped on my clothes, opened the door suddenly, and beheld one of the most beautiful little fairy groups that a painter could imagine. It consisted of a boy and two girls, the eldest not more than six, and lovely as angels. They were going the rounds of the house, and singing at every chamber-door; but my sudden appearance frightened them into mute bashfulness. They remained for a moment playing on their lips with their fingers, and now and then stealing a shy glance, from under their eyebrows, until, as if by one impulse, they scampered away, and as they turned an angle of the gallery, I heard them laughing in triumph at their escape. Everything conspired to produce kind and happy feelings in this stronghold of old-fashioned hospitality. The window of my chamber looked out upon what in summer would have been a beautiful landscape. At a distance was a church with its dark spire in strong relief against the clear, cold sky. A robin, perched upon the top of a mountain-ash that hung its clusters of red berries just before my window, was basking himself in the sunshine.
02:43 Invitation to family prayers
I had scarcely dressed myself, when a servant appeared to invite me to family prayers. He showed me the way to a small chapel in the old wing of the house, where I found the principal part of the family already assembled in a kind of gallery, furnished with cushions, and large prayer-books; the servants were seated on benches below. The old gentleman read prayers from a desk in front of the gallery. The service was followed by a Christmas carol, which Mr. Bracebridge himself had constructed from a poem of his favourite author, Mr. Herrick. As there were several good voices among the household, the effect was extremely pleasing; but I was particularly gratified by grateful feeling, with which the worthy Squire sang, his eyes glistening, and his voice rambling out of all the bounds of time and tune: I afterwards understood that early morning service was read on every Sunday and saint's day throughout the year, either by Mr. Bracebridge or by some member of the family.
04:01 Breakfast
Our breakfast consisted of what the Squire considered true old English fare. He indulged in some bitter lamentations over modern breakfasts of tea and-toast, which he censured as among the causes of modern effeminacy and weak nerves, and the decline of old English heartiness; and though he admitted them to his table to suit the palates of his guests, yet there was a brave display of cold meats, wine, and ale, on the sideboard.
04:38 Observations regarding the grounds
After breakfast I walked about the grounds with Frank Bracebridge and Master Simon, or Mr. Simon as he was called by everybody but the Squire. We were escorted by a number of gentleman-like dogs, There appeared to be an unusual number of peacocks about the place, and I was making some remarks upon what I termed a flock of them, when I was gently corrected in my phraseology by Master Simon, who told me that, according to the most ancient and approved treatise on hunting, I must say a MUSTER of peacocks. "In the same way," added he "we say a flight of doves or swallows, a bevy of quails, a herd of deer, of wrens, or cranes, a skulk of foxes, or a building of rooks." He went on to inform me, that, we ought to ascribe, to this bird "both understanding and glory; for, being praised, he will presently set up his tail chiefly against the sun, to the intent you may the better behold the beauty thereof. But at the fall of the leaf, when his tail falleth, he will mourn and hide himself in corners, till his tail come again as it was." I could not help smiling on so whimsical a subject; but I found that the peacocks were birds of some consequence at the Hall, for Frank Bracebridge informed me that they were great favourites with his father, who was extremely careful to keep up the breed; partly because they were in great request at the stately banquets of the olden time; and partly because they had a pomp and magnificence about them, highly becoming an old family mansion. Nothing, he was accustomed to say, had an air of greater state and dignity than a peacock. Master Simon had now to hurry off, having an appointment at the parish church with the village choir who were to perform some music of his selection. There was something extremely agreeable in the cheerful flow of animal spirits of the little man; and I confess I had been somewhat surprised at his occasional quotations from authors who certainly were not in the range of everyday reading. I mentioned this last circumstance to Frank Bracebridge, who told me with a smile that Master Simon's whole stock of knowledge was confined to some half-a-dozen old authors, and, like all men who know but a few books, he looked up to them with a kind of idolatry, and quoted them on all occasions. His practical application of scraps of literature, however, had caused him to be looked upon as a prodigy of book-knowledge by all the grooms, huntsmen, and small sportsmen of the neighbourhood. While we were talking we heard the distant toll of the village bell, and I was told that the Squire was a little particular in having his household at church on a Christmas morning; considering it a day of pouring out of thanks and rejoicing.
08:26 Liturgical concerns
"If you are disposed to go to church," said Frank Bracebridge, "I can promise you a specimen of my cousin Simon's musical achievements. As the church is destitute of an organ, he has formed a band from the village amateurs, and established a musical club for their improvement; he has also sorted a choir, as he sorted my father's pack of hounds, for the bass he has sought out all the 'deep solemn mouths,' and for the tenor the 'loud ringing mouths,' among the country bumpkins; and for 'sweet mouths,' he has culled with curious taste among the prettiest lasses in the neighbourhood; though these last, he affirms, are the most difficult to keep in tune; your pretty female singer being exceedingly wayward and capricious, and very liable to accident." As the morning, though frosty, was remarkably fine and clear, the most of the family walked to the church, which was a very old building of gray stone, and stood near a village, about half a mile from the park gate. Adjoining it was a low snug parsonage. As we passed this sheltered nest, the parson issued forth and preceded us. I had expected to see a sleek, well-conditioned pastor, such as is often found in a sliving in the vicinity of a rich patron's table; but I was disappointed. The parson was a little, meagre, man, with a grizzled wig that was too wide, and stood off from each ear; so that his head seemed to have shrunk away within it. He wore a rusty coat, with great skirts, and pockets that would have held the church Bible and prayer-book; and his small legs seemed still smaller, from being planted in large shoes decorated with enormous buckles. I was informed by Frank Bracebridge that the parson had been a chum of his father's at Oxford, and had received this living shortly after the latter had come to his estate. In deference, perhaps, to the notions of Mr. Bracebridge, he had made diligent investigations into the festive rites and holiday customs of former times. On reaching the church porch, we found the parson rebuking the grayheaded sexton for having used mistletoe among the greens with which the church was decorated. It was, he observed, an unholy plant, profaned by having been used by the Druids in their mystic ceremonies; and though it might be innocently employed in the festive ornamenting of halls and kitchens, yet it had been deemed by the Fathers of the Church as unhallowed, and totally unfit for sacred purposes. So tenacious was he on this point, that the poor sexton was obliged to strip down a great part of the humble trophies of his taste, before the parson would consent to enter upon the service of the day. The interior of the church was venerable but simple; on the walls were several mural monuments of the Bracebridges, and just beside the altar was a tomb of ancient workmanship, on which lay the effigy of a warrior in armour, with his legs crossed, a sign of his having been a crusader. I was told he had been one of the family. During service, Master Simon stood up in the pew, and repeated the responses very audibly; evincing that kind of ceremonious devotion punctually observed by a gentleman of the old school, and a man of old family connections. I observed, too, that he turned over the leaves of a folio prayerbook with something of a flourish; possibly to show off an enormous seal-ring which enriched one of his fingers, and which had the look of a family relic. But he was evidently most solicitous about the musical part of the service, keeping his eye fixed intently on the choir, and beating time with much gesticulation and emphasis. The orchestra was in a small gallery, and presented a most whimsical grouping of heads, piled one above the other, among which I particularly noticed that of the village tailor, a pale fellow with a retreating forehead and chin There was another, a short pursy man, stooping and labouring at a bass viol, so as to show nothing but the top of a round bald head, like the egg of an ostrich. There were two or three pretty faces among the female singers, to which the keen air of a frosty morning had given a bright rosy tint; but the gentlemen choristers had evidently been chosen, more for tone than looks; and as several had to sing from the same book, there were clusterings not unlike those groups of cherubs we sometimes see on country tombstones. The usual services of the choir were managed tolerably well, the vocal parts generally lagging a little behind the instrumental, and some loitering fiddler now and then making up for lost time. But the great trial was an anthem that had been prepared and arranged by Master Simon. Unluckily there was a blunder at the very outset; the musicians became quite confused. Master Simon was in a fever; everything went on lamely and irregularly until they came to a chorus beginning "Now let us sing with one accord," which seemed to be a signal for parting company: all became discord and confusion; each shifted for himself, and got to the end as well, or rather as soon, as he could, excepting one old chorister who kept on a quavering course, wriggling his head, ogling his book, and winding all up by a nasal solo of at least three bars' duration. The parson gave us a sermon on the rites and ceremonies of Christmas, and the propriety of observing it not merely as a day of thanksgiving, but of rejoicing.
15:58 Emotional effects of sermon
I have seldom known a sermon attended apparently with more immediate effects; for, on leaving the church, the congregation seemed one and all possessed with the gaiety of spirit so earnestly enjoined by their pastor. The elder folks gathered in knots in the churchyard, greeting and shaking hands; and the children ran about crying and repeating some uncouth rhymes,* which the parson, who had joined us, informed me had been handed down from days of yore. The villagers doffed their hats to the Squire as he passed, giving him the good wishes of the season with every appearance of heartfelt sincerity, and were invited by him to the Hall, to take something to keep out the cold of the weather; and I heard blessings uttered by several of the poor, which convinced me that, in the midst of his enjoyments, the worthy old cavalier had not forgotten the true Christmas virtue of charity. On our way homeward his heart seemed overflowing with generous and happy feelings. As we passed over a rising ground which commanded something of a prospect, the sounds of rustic merriment now and then reached our ears. Notwithstanding the frostiness of the morning, the sun in his cloudless journey had acquired sufficient power to melt away the thin covering of snow, and to bring out the living green which adorns an English landscape even in midwinter. There was something truly cheering in this triumph of warmth and verdure over the frosty thraldom of winter; it was, as the Squire observed, an emblem of Christmas hospitality, breaking through the chills of ceremony and selfishness, and thawing every heart into a flow. He pointed with pleasure to the indications of good cheer reeking from the chimneys of the comfortable farmhouses and low, thatched cottages. "I love," said he, "to see this day well kept by rich and poor; it is a great thing to have one day in the year, at least, when you are sure of being welcome wherever you go, and of having, as it were, the world all thrown open to you.
18:30 Future episodes
The next episode of Celebrate Poe is the final part of Old Christmas - an episode called Christmas Dinner. (APPLAUSE) 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 the introduction, and why I feel qualified to do this podcast.
There will also be episodes every day during that week after Christmas on Tuesday - Friday - 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 one more Old Christmas show to go.
21:14 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.
Christmas in America: a History