Bracebridge Hall written by Washington Irving
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BRACEBRIDGE HALL
by
WASHINGTON IRVING
Illustrated by R. Caldecott.
London.
MacMillan & Co.
Printed by R. & R. CLARK, Edinburgh
1877
[Illustration: "The chivalry of the Hall prepared to take the
field."--_Frontispiece._]
[Illustration: Title-Page]
[Illustration: Heading to Preface]
PREFACE
The success of "OLD CHRISTMAS" has suggested the re-publication of its
sequel "BRACEBRIDGE HALL," illustrated by the same able pencil, but
condensed so as to bring it within reasonable size and price.
[Illustration: Tailpiece to Preface]
[Illustration: Contents]
CONTENTS
THE HALL
THE BUSY MAN
FAMILY SERVANTS
THE WIDOW
THE LOVERS
FAMILY RELIQUES
AN OLD SOLDIER
THE WIDOW'S RETINUE
READY-MONEY JACK
BACHELORS
A LITERARY ANTIQUARY
THE FARM-HOUSE
HORSEMANSHIP
LOVE SYMPTOMS
FALCONRY
HAWKING
FORTUNE-TELLING
LOVE-CHARMS
A BACHELOR'S CONFESSIONS
GIPSIES
VILLAGE WORTHIES
THE SCHOOLMASTER
THE SCHOOL
A VILLAGE POLITICIAN
THE ROOKERY
MAY-DAY
THE CULPRIT
LOVERS' TROUBLES
THE WEDDING
[Illustration: Tailpiece to Contents]
[Illustration: List of Illustrations]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Designed by Randolph Caldecott,
and
Arranged and Engraved by J. D. Cooper
THE HAWKING PARTY.
TITLE-PAGE.
HEADING TO PREFACE
TAILPIECE TO PREFACE
HEADING TO CONTENTS
TAILPIECE TO CONTENTS
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
TAILPIECE TO ILLUSTRATIONS
THE HALL
THE TERRACE GARDEN
STOPPING TO GATHER A FLOWER
BREAKING A POINTER
THE CHILDREN DANCE IN THE HALL
"SEVERAL UNHAPPY BIRDS IN DURANCE"
OLD CHRISTY
"TWO PAMPERED CURS THAT BARKED OUT OF EACH WINDOW"
ARRIVAL OF THE WIDOW
HEADING TO "FAMILY SERVANTS"
THE OLD HOUSEKEEPER
PHOEBE WILKINS
"SHE DRINKS THE HEALTH OF THE COMPANY"
CONTEMPLATION
THE WIDOW
KENSINGTON GARDENS
A SAGE ADVISER
MASTER SIMON OVER THE ACCOUNTS
HEADING TO "THE LOVERS"
THE LOVERS
THE TRIO
HEADING TO "FAMILY RELIQUES"
EFFIGY IN MARBLE
JULIA AND THE CAPTAIN IN THE GALLERY
THE SALUTATION
GENERAL HARBOTTLE
"PUBLIC DISTRESS, SIR, IS ALL HUMBUG!"
CANINE PETS
THE OLD COACHMAN
DIGNITY AND IMPUDENCE
CONFIDENTIAL WHISPER
READY-MONEY JACK EXPOUNDING
IN AT THE DEATH
QUELLING THE BRAWL
QUARTER-STAFF
MULLIGATAWNEY CLUB
CHAFFING THE MILKMAID
CONJUGAL EXTINGUISHER
A LITERARY ANTIQUARY
A BOOKWORM
"COME, TELL ME, SAYS ROSA, AS KISSING AND KISSED"
HEADING TO "THE FARM-HOUSE"
"HE SHONE LIKE A BOTTLE"
A TAILPIECE
CHRISTY ON PEPPER
A HUNTER
THE TUTOR'S DISMISSAL
THE OFFERING
MRS. HANNAH
ASLEEP WHEN HE READS
FALCONRY IN OLDEN TIMES
PHYSICKING THE HAWKS
"WELL, WELL, HAVE IT YOUR OWN WAY, CHRISTY!"
HAWKING
THE CONSULTATION IN THE FIELD
THE QUARRY IN SIGHT
JULIA'S MISHAP
PLUMING HER WINGS
THE GIPSY ENCAMPMENT
A GIPSY GIRL
THE GENERAL IN THE TOILS
"GOD SAVE THE KING!"
TOSSING THE PANCAKE
JACK JILTS PHOEBE
THE LOVE-SPELL
MASTER SIMON AT THE WINDOW
MASTER SIMON IN LOVE
GENTLEMEN'S JOKES
STARLIGHT TOM ON THE WATCH
A GIPSY PARTY
FORTUNE-TELLING
HEADING TO "VILLAGE WORTHIES"
"MASTER SIMON PINCHED THE DAUGHTER'S CHEEK"
THE APOTHECARY
HEADING TO "THE SCHOOLMASTER"
SLINGSBY AND READY-MONEY JACK
"ON THE ROAD"
THE SCHOOL
THE PRODIGAL
THE TRUANTS
LAYING DOWN THE LAW
THE VILLAGE POLITICIAN
THE LANDLADY
THE ANTAGONISTS
THE ROOKERY
AFTER THE STRAWS
ROOKS ON THE SHEEP
THE HERMIT OWL
BACHELOR'S HALL
MAY-DAY
MAY-DAY QUEEN
THE GENERAL NONPLUSSED
MAY QUEEN AND BRIDE-ELECT
MAY-DAY MELEE
RUMPLED FEATHERS
THE CAPTURE
CONSCIENCE MAKES COWARDS OF THE DOGS
THE TRIBUNAL
THE GUARD
TAILPIECE
A SOLEMN CONSULTATION
LOVE DOCUMENTS
SLINGSBY AND PHOEBE
BUTLER WITH BRIDE CUP
THE WEDDING
RURAL ARTILLERY
MASTER SIMON OPENS THE BALL
RECONCILIATION
A MAIDEN CONFESSION
MASTER SIMON'S FINALE
[Illustration: Tailpiece to Illustrations]
[Illustration: The Hall]
THE HALL.
The ancientest house, and the best for housekeeping in this
county or the next, and though the master of it write but
squire, I know no lord like him.
MERRY BEGGARS.
The reader, if he has perused the volumes of the Sketch Book, will
probably recollect something of the Bracebridge family, with which I
once passed a Christmas. I am now on another visit at the Hall, having
been invited to a wedding which is shortly to take place. The squire's
second son, Guy, a fine, spirited young captain in the army, is about to
be married to his father's ward, the fair Julia Templeton. A gathering
of relations and friends has already commenced, to celebrate the joyful
occasion; for the old gentleman is an enemy to quiet, private weddings.
"There is nothing," he says, "like launching a young couple gaily, and
cheering them from the shore; a good outset is half the voyage."
Before proceeding any farther, I would beg that the squire might not be
confounded with that class of hard-riding, fox-hunting gentlemen so
often described, and, in fact, so nearly extinct in England. I use this
rural title, partly because it is his universal appellation throughout
the neighbourhood, and partly because it saves me the frequent
repetition of his name, which is one of those rough old English names at
which Frenchmen exclaim in despair.
The squire is, in fact, a lingering specimen of the old English country
gentleman; rusticated a little by living almost entirely on his estate,
and something of a humourist, as Englishmen are apt to become when they
have an opportunity of living in their own way. I like his hobby passing
well, however, which is, a bigoted devotion to old English manners and
customs; it jumps a little with my own humour, having as yet a lively
and unsated curiosity about the ancient and genuine characteristics of
my "fatherland."
There are some traits about the squire's family also, which appear to me
to be national. It is one of those old aristocratical families, which, I
believe, are peculiar to England, and scarcely understood in other
countries; that is to say, families of the ancient gentry, who, though
destitute of titled rank, maintain a high ancestral pride; who look down
upon all nobility of recent creation, and would consider it a sacrifice
of dignity to merge the venerable name of their house in a modern title.
This feeling is very much fostered by the importance which they enjoy on
their hereditary domains. The family mansion is an old manor-house,
standing in a retired and beautiful part of Yorkshire. Its inhabitants
have been always regarded through the surrounding country as "the great
ones of the earth;" and the little village near the hall looks up to the
squire with almost feudal homage. An old manor-house, and an old family
of this kind, are rarely to be met with at the present day; and it is
probably the peculiar humour of the squire that has retained this
secluded specimen of English housekeeping in something like the genuine
old style.
I am again quartered in the panelled chamber, in the antique wing of the
house. The prospect from my window, however, has quite a different
aspect from that which it wore on my winter visit. Though early in the
month of April, yet a few warm, sunshiny days have drawn forth the
beauties of the spring, which, I think, are always most captivating on
their first opening. The parterres of the old-fashioned garden are gay
with flowers; and the gardener has brought out his exotics, and placed
them along the stone balustrades. The trees are clothed with green buds
and tender leaves; when I throw open my jingling casement I smell the
odour of mignonette, and hear the hum of the bees from the flowers
against the sunny wall, with the varied song of the throstle, and the
cheerful notes of the tuneful little wren.
[Illustration: The Terrace Garden]
While sojourning in this stronghold of old fashions, it is my intention
to make occasional sketches of the scenes and characters before me. I
would have it understood, however, that I am not writing a novel, and
have nothing of intricate plot, or marvellous adventure, to promise the
reader. The Hall of which I treat has, for aught I know, neither
trap-door, nor sliding-panel, nor donjon-keep: and indeed appears to
have no mystery about it. The family is a worthy, well-meaning family,
that, in all probability, will eat and drink, and go to bed, and get up
regularly, from one end of my work to the other; and the squire is so
kind-hearted an old gentleman, that I see no likelihood of his throwing
any kind of distress in the way of the approaching nuptials. In a word,
I cannot foresee a single extraordinary event that is likely to occur in
the whole term of my sojourn at the Hall.
[Illustration: Stopping to Gather a Flower]
I tell this honestly to the reader, lest when he find me dallying along,
through every-day English scenes, he may hurry ahead, in hopes of
meeting with some marvellous adventure farther on. I invite him, on the
contrary, to ramble gently on with me, as he would saunter out into the
fields, stopping occasionally to gather a flower, or listen to a bird,
or admire a prospect, without any anxiety to arrive at the end of his
career. Should I, however, in the course of my loiterings about this old
mansion, see or hear anything curious, that might serve to vary the
monotony of this every-day life, I shall not fail to report it for the
reader's entertainment.
For freshest wits I know will soon be wearie
Of any book, how grave so e'er it be,
Except it have odd matter, strange and merrie,
Well sauc'd with lies and glared all with glee.[A]
[Footnote A: Mirror for Magistrates.]
[Illustration: Breaking a Pointer]
THE BUSY MAN.
A decayed gentleman, who lives most upon his own mirth and my
master's means, and much good do him with it. He does hold my
master up with his stones, and songs, and catches, and such
tricks, and jigs you would admire--he is with him now.
JOVIAL CREW.
By no one has my return to the Hall been more heartily greeted than by
Mr. Simon Bracebridge, or Master Simon, as the squire most commonly
calls him. I encountered him just as I entered the park, where he was
breaking a pointer, and he received me with all the hospitable
cordiality with which a man welcomes a friend to another one's house. I
have already introduced him to the reader as a brisk old
bachelor-looking little man; the wit and superannuated beau of a large
family connection, and the squire's factotum. I found him, as usual,
full of bustle; with a thousand petty things to do, and persons to
attend to, and in chirping good-humour; for there are few happier beings
than a busy idler; that is to say, a man who is eternally busy about
nothing.
I visited him, the morning after my arrival, in his chamber, which is in
a remote corner of the mansion, as he says he likes to be to himself,
and out of the way. He has fitted it up in his own taste, so that it is
a perfect epitome of an old bachelor's notions of convenience and
arrangement. The furniture is made up of odd pieces from all parts of
the house, chosen on account of their suiting his notions, or fitting
some corner of his apartment; and he is very eloquent in praise of an
ancient elbow-chair, from which he takes occasion to digress into a
censure on modern chairs, as having degenerated from the dignity and
comfort of high-backed antiquity.
Adjoining to his room is a small cabinet, which he calls his study. Here
are some hanging shelves, of his own construction, on which are several
old works on hawking, hunting, and farriery, and a collection or two of
poems and songs of the reign of Elizabeth, which he studies out of
compliment to the squire; together with the Novelists' Magazine, the
Sporting Magazine, the Racing Calendar, a volume or two of the Newgate
Calendar, a book of peerage, and another of heraldry.
His sporting dresses hang on pegs in a small closet; and about the walls
of his apartment are hooks to hold his fishing-tackle, whips, spurs, and
a favourite fowling-piece, curiously wrought and inlaid, which he
inherits from his grandfather. He has also a couple of old single-keyed
flutes, and a fiddle, which he has repeatedly patched and mended
himself, affirming it to be a veritable Cremona: though I have never
heard him extract a single note from it that was not enough to make
one's blood run cold.
From this little nest his fiddle will often be heard, in the stillness
of mid-day, drowsily sawing some long-forgotten tune; for he prides
himself on having a choice collection of good old English music, and
will scarcely have anything to do with modern composers. The time,
however, at which his musical powers are of most use is now and then of
an evening, when he plays for the children to dance in the hall, and he
passes among them and the servants for a perfect Orpheus.
[Illustration: The Children Dance in the Hall]
His chamber also bears evidence of his various avocations; there are
half copied sheets of music; designs for needlework; sketches of
landscapes, very indifferently executed; a camera lucida; a magic
lantern, for which he is endeavouring to paint glasses; in a word, it is
the cabinet of a man of many accomplishments, who knows a little of
everything, and does nothing well.
After I had spent some time in his apartment admiring the ingenuity of
his small inventions, he took me about the establishment, to visit the
stables, dog-kennel, and other dependencies, in which he appeared like a
general visiting the different quarters of his camp; as the squire
leaves the control of all these matters to him, when he is at the Hall.
He inquired into the state of the horses; examined their feet;
prescribed a drench for one, and bleeding for another; and then took me
to look at his own horse, on the merits of which he dwelt with great
prolixity, and which, I noticed, had the best stall in the stable.
After this I was taken to a new toy of his and the squire's, which he
termed the falconry, where there were several unhappy birds in durance,
completing their education. Among the number was a fine falcon, which
Master Simon had in especial training, and he told me that he would show
me, in a few days, some rare sport of the good old-fashioned kind. In
the course of our round, I noticed that the grooms, gamekeeper,
whippers-in, and other retainers, seemed all to be on somewhat of a
familiar footing with Master Simon, and fond of having a joke with him,
though it was evident they had great deference for his opinion in
matters relating to their functions.
[Illustration: "Several unhappy birds in durance"]
There was one exception, however, in a testy old huntsman, as hot as a
pepper-corn; a meagre, wiry old fellow, in a threadbare velvet
jockey-cap, and a pair of leather breeches, that, from much wear, shone
as though they had been japanned. He was very contradictory and
pragmatical, and apt, as I thought, to differ from Master Simon now and
then out of mere captiousness. This was particularly the case with
respect to the treatment of the hawk, which the old man seemed to have
under his peculiar care, and, according to Master Simon, was in a fair
way to ruin; the latter had a vast deal to say about _casting_, and
_imping_, and _gleaming_, and _enseaming_, and giving the hawk the
_rangle_, which I saw was all heathen Greek to old Christy; but he
maintained his point notwithstanding, and seemed to hold all his
technical lore in utter disrespect.
[Illustration: Old Christy]
I was surprised at the good humour with which Master Simon bore his
contradictions, till he explained the matter to me afterwards. Old
Christy is the most ancient servant in the place, having lived among
dogs and horses the greater part of a century, and been in the service
of Mr. Bracebridge's father. He knows the pedigree of every horse on the
place, and has bestrid the great-great-grandsires of most of them. He
can give a circumstantial detail of every fox-hunt for the last sixty or
seventy years, and has a history of every stag's head about the house,
and every hunting trophy nailed to the door of the dog-kennel.
All the present race have grown up under his eye, and humour him in his
old age. He once attended the squire to Oxford when he was a student
there, and enlightened the whole university with his hunting lore. All
this is enough to make the old man opinionated, since he finds, on all
these matters of first-rate importance, he knows more than the rest of
the world. Indeed, Master Simon had been his pupil, and acknowledges
that he derived his first knowledge in hunting from the instructions of
Christy; and I much question whether the old man does not still look
upon him as rather a greenhorn.
On our return homewards, as we were crossing the lawn in front of the
house, we heard the porter's bell ring at the lodge, and shortly
afterwards, a kind of cavalcade advanced slowly up the avenue. At sight
of it my companion paused, considered for a moment, and then, making a
sudden exclamation, hurried away to meet it. As it approached I
discovered a fair, fresh-looking elderly lady, dressed in an
old-fashioned riding-habit, with a broad-brimmed white beaver hat, such
as may be seen in Sir Joshua Reynolds' paintings. She rode a sleek white
pony, and was followed by a footman in rich livery, mounted on an
over-fed hunter. At a little distance in the rear came an ancient
cumbrous chariot, drawn by two very corpulent horses, driven by as
corpulent a coachman, beside whom sat a page dressed in a fanciful green
livery. Inside of the chariot was a starched prim personage, with a look
somewhat between a lady's companion and a lady's maid; and two pampered
curs that showed their ugly faces and barked out of each window.
[Illustration: "Two pampered curs that barked out of each window"]
There was a general turning out of the garrison to receive this new
comer. The squire assisted her to alight, and saluted her
affectionately; the fair Julia flew into her arms, and they embraced
with the romantic fervour of boarding-school friends. She was escorted
into the house by Julia's lover, towards whom she showed distinguished
favour; and a line of the old servants, who had collected in the hall,
bowed most profoundly as she passed.
I observed that Master Simon was most assiduous and devout in his
attentions upon this old lady. He walked by the side of her pony up the
avenue; and while she was receiving the salutations of the rest of the
family, he took occasion to notice the fat coachman, to pat the sleek
carriage-horses, and, above all, to say a civil word to my lady's
gentlewoman, the prim, sour-looking vestal in the chariot.
[Illustration: Arrival of the Widow]
I had no more of his company for the rest of the morning. He was swept
off in the vortex that followed in the wake of this lady. Once indeed
he paused for a moment, as he was hurrying on some errand of the good
lady's, to let me know that this was Lady Lillycraft, a sister of the
squire's, of large fortune, which the captain would inherit, and that
her estate lay in one of the best sporting counties in all England.
[Illustration: Family Servants]
FAMILY SERVANTS.
Verily old servants are the vouchers of worthy housekeeping.
They are like rats in a mansion, or mites in a cheese,
bespeaking the antiquity and fatness of their abode.
In my casual anecdotes of the Hall, I may often be tempted to dwell on
circumstances of a trite and ordinary nature, from their appearing to me
illustrative of genuine national character. It seems to be the study of
the squire to adhere, as much as possible, to what he considers the old
landmarks of English manners. His servants all understand his ways, and,
for the most part, have been accustomed to them from infancy; so that,
upon the whole, his household presents one of the few tolerable
specimens that can now be met with, of the establishment of an English
country gentleman of the old school. By the by, the servants are not
the least characteristic part of the household; the housekeeper, for
instance, has been born and brought up at the Hall, and has never been
twenty miles from it; yet she has a stately air that would not disgrace
a lady that had figured at the court of Queen Elizabeth.
I am half-inclined to think that she has caught it from living so much
among the old family pictures. It may, however, be owing to a
consciousness of her importance in the sphere in which she has always
moved; for she is greatly respected in the neighbouring village, and
among the farmers' wives, and has high authority in the household,
ruling over the servants with quiet but undisputed sway.
She is a thin old lady, with blue eyes, and pointed nose and chin. Her
dress is always the same as to fashion. She wears a small, well-starched
ruff, a laced stomacher, full petticoats, and a gown festooned and open
in front, which, on particular occasions, is of ancient silk, the legacy
of some former dame of the family, or an inheritance from her mother,
who was housekeeper before her. I have a reverence for these old
garments, as I make no doubt they have figured about these apartments in
days long past, when they have set off the charms of some peerless
family beauty; and I have sometimes looked from the old housekeeper to
the neighbouring portraits, to see whether I could not recognise her
antiquated brocade in the dress of some one of those long-waisted dames
that smile on me from the walls.
[Illustration: The Old Housekeeper]
Her hair, which is quite white, is frizzed out in front, and she wears
over it a small cap, nicely plaited, and brought down under the chin.
Her manners are simple and primitive, heightened a little by a proper
dignity of station.
The Hall is her world, and the history of the family the only history
she knows, excepting that which she has read in the Bible. She can give
a biography of every portrait in the picture gallery, and is a complete
family chronicle.
She is treated with great consideration by the squire. Indeed, Master
Simon tells me that there is a traditional anecdote current among the
servants, of the squire's having been seen kissing her in the picture
gallery, when they were both young. As, however, nothing further was
ever noticed between them, the circumstance caused no great scandal;
only she was observed to take to reading Pamela shortly afterwards, and
refused the hand of the village innkeeper, whom she had previously
smiled on.
The old butler, who was formerly footman, and a rejected admirer of
hers, used to tell the anecdote now and then, at those little cabals
that will occasionally take place among the most orderly servants,
arising from the common propensity of the governed to talk against
administration; but he has left it off, of late years, since he has
risen into place, and shakes his head rebukingly when it is mentioned.
It is certain that the old lady will, to this day, dwell on the looks of
the squire when he was a young man at college; and she maintains that
none of his sons can compare with their father when he was of their age,
and was dressed out in his full suit of scarlet, with his hair craped
and powdered, and his three-cornered hat.
She has an orphan niece, a pretty, soft-hearted baggage, named Phoebe
Wilkins, who has been transplanted to the Hall within a year or two, and
been nearly spoiled for any condition of life. She is a kind of
attendant and companion of the fair Julia's; and from loitering about
the young lady's apartments, reading scraps of novels, and inheriting
second-hand finery, has become something between a waiting-maid and a
slip-shod fine lady.
[Illustration: Phoebe Wilkins]
She is considered a kind of heiress among the servants, as she will
inherit all her aunt's property; which, if report be true, must be a
round sum of good golden guineas, the accumulated wealth of two
housekeepers' savings; not to mention the hereditary wardrobe, and the
many little valuables and knick-knacks treasured up in the housekeeper's
room. Indeed the old housekeeper has the reputation among the servants
and the villagers of being passing rich; and there is a japanned chest
of drawers and a large iron-bound coffer in her room, which are supposed
by the housemaids to hold treasures of wealth.
The old lady is a great friend of Master Simon, who, indeed, pays a
little court to her, as to a person high in authority: and they have
many discussions on points of family history, in which, notwithstanding
his extensive information, and pride of knowledge, he commonly admits
her superior accuracy. He seldom returns to the Hall, after one of his
visits to the other branches of the family, without bringing Mrs.
Wilkins some remembrance from the ladies of the house where he has been
staying.
Indeed all the children in the house look up to the old lady with
habitual respect and attachment, and she seems almost to consider them
as her own, from their having grown up under her eye. The Oxonian,
however, is her favourite, probably from being the youngest, though he
is the most mischievous, and has been apt to play tricks upon her from
boyhood.
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