Bracebridge Hall written by Washington Irving
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I cannot help mentioning one little ceremony which, I believe, is
peculiar to the Hall. After the cloth is removed at dinner, the old
housekeeper sails into the room and stands behind the squire's chair,
when he fills her a glass of wine with his own hands, in which she
drinks the health of the company in a truly respectful yet dignified
manner, and then retires. The squire received the custom from his
father, and has always continued it.
[Illustration: "She drinks the health of the company"]
There is a peculiar character about the servants of old English families
that reside principally in the country. They have a quiet, orderly,
respectful mode of doing their duties. They are always neat in their
persons, and appropriately, and, if I may use the phrase, technically
dressed; they move about the house without hurry or noise; there is
nothing of the bustle of employment, or the voice of command; nothing of
that obtrusive housewifery that amounts to a torment. You are not
persecuted by the process of making you comfortable; yet everything is
done, and is done well. The work of the house is performed as if by
magic, but it is the magic of system. Nothing is done by fits and
starts, nor at awkward seasons; the whole goes on like well-oiled
clockwork, where there is no noise nor jarring in its operations.
English servants, in general, are not treated with great indulgence, nor
rewarded by many commendations; for the English are laconic and reserved
towards their domestics; but an approving nod and kind word from master
or mistress, goes as far here, as an excess of praise or indulgence
elsewhere. Neither do servants exhibit any animated marks of affection
to their employers; yet, though quiet, they are strong in their
attachments; and the reciprocal regard of masters or servants, though
not ardently expressed, is powerful and lasting in old English families.
The title of "an old family servant" carries with it a thousand kind
associations in all parts of the world; and there is no claim upon the
home-bred charities of the heart more irresistible than that of having
been "born in the house." It is common to see grey-headed domestics of
this kind attached to an English family of the "old school," who
continue in it to the day of their death in the enjoyment of steady
unaffected kindness, and the performance of faithful unofficious duty. I
think such instances of attachment speak well for master and servant,
and the frequency of them speaks well for national character.
These observations, however, hold good only with families of the
description I have mentioned, and with such as are somewhat retired, and
pass the greater part of their time in the country. As to the powdered
menials that throng the walls of fashionable town residences, they
equally reflect the character of the establishments to which they
belong; and I know no more complete epitomes of dissolute heartlessness
and pampered inutility.
But the good "old family servant!"--The one who has always been linked,
in idea, with the home of our heart; who has led us to school in the
days of prattling childhood; who has been the confidant of our boyish
cares, and schemes, and enterprises; who has hailed us as we came home
at vacations, and been the promoter of all our holiday sports; who, when
we, in wandering manhood, have left the paternal roof, and only return
thither at intervals, will welcome us with a joy inferior only to that
of our parents; who, now grown grey and infirm with age, still totters
about the house of our fathers in fond and faithful servitude; who
claims us, in a manner, as his own; and hastens with querulous eagerness
to anticipate his fellow-domestics in waiting upon us at table; and who,
when we retire at night to the chamber that still goes by our name, will
linger about the room to have one more kind look, and one more pleasant
word about times that are past--who does not experience towards such a
being a feeling of almost filial affection?
I have met with several instances of epitaphs on the gravestones of such
valuable domestics, recorded with the simple truth of natural feeling. I
have two before me at this moment; one copied from a tombstone of a
churchyard in Warwickshire:
"Here lieth the body of Joseph Batte, confidential servant to George
Birch, Esq. of Hampstead Hall. His grateful friend and master caused
this inscription to be written in memory of his discretion, fidelity,
diligence, and continence. He died (a bachelor) aged 84, having lived
44 years in the same family."
The other was taken from a tombstone in Eltham churchyard:
"Here lie the remains of Mr. James Tappy, who departed this life on the
8th of September 1818, aged 84, after a faithful service of 60 years in
one family; by each individual of which he lived respected, and died
lamented by the sole survivor."
Few monuments, even of the illustrious, have given me the glow about the
heart that I felt while copying this honest epitaph in the churchyard of
Eltham. I sympathised with this "sole survivor" of a family, mourning
over the grave of the faithful follower of his race, who had been, no
doubt, a living memento of times and friends that had passed away; and
in considering this record of long and devoted services, I called to
mind the touching speech of Old Adam in "As You Like It," when tottering
after the youthful son of his ancient master:
"Master, go on, and I will follow thee
To the last gasp, with love and loyalty!"
NOTE.--I cannot but mention a tablet which I have seen
somewhere in the chapel of Windsor Castle, put up by the late
King to the memory of a family servant who had been a
faithful attendant of his lamented daughter, the Princess
Amelia. George III. possessed much of the strong domestic
feeling of the old English country gentleman; and it is an
incident curious in monumental history, and creditable to the
human heart,--a monarch erecting a monument in honour of the
humble virtues of a menial.
[Illustration: Contemplation]
[Illustration: The Widow]
THE WIDOW.
She was so charitable and pitious
She would weep if that she saw a mouse
Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled;
Of small hounds had she, that she fed
With rost flesh, milke, and wastel bread;
But sore wept she if any of them were dead,
Or if man smote them with a yard smart.
CHAUCER.
Notwithstanding the whimsical parade made by Lady Lillycraft on her
arrival, she has none of the petty stateliness that I had imagined; but
on the contrary she has a degree of nature, and simple-heartedness, if I
may use the phrase, that mingles well with her old-fashioned manners and
harmless ostentation. She dresses in rich silks, with long waist; she
rouges considerably, and her hair, which is nearly white, is frizzled
out, and put up with pins. Her face is pitted with the small-pox, but
the delicacy of her features shows that she may once have been
beautiful; and she has a very fair and well-shaped hand and arm, of
which, if I mistake not, the good lady is still a little vain.
I have had the curiosity to gather a few particulars concerning her. She
was a great belle in town between thirty and forty years since, and
reigned for two seasons with all the insolence of beauty, refusing
several excellent offers; when, unfortunately, she was robbed of her
charms and her lovers by an attack of the small-pox. She retired
immediately into the country, where she some time after inherited an
estate, and married a baronet, a former admirer, whose passion had
suddenly revived; "having," as he said, "always loved her mind rather
than her person."
The baronet did not enjoy her mind and fortune above six months, and
had scarcely grown very tired of her, when he broke his neck in a
fox-chase and left her free, rich, and disconsolate. She has remained on
her estate in the country ever since, and has never shown any desire to
return to town, and revisit the scene of her early triumphs and fatal
malady. All her favourite recollections, however, revert to that short
period of her youthful beauty. She has no idea of town but as it was at
that time; and continually forgets that the place and people must have
changed materially in the course of nearly half a century. She will
often speak of the toasts of those days as if still reigning; and, until
very recently, used to talk with delight of the royal family, and the
beauty of the young princes and princesses. She cannot be brought to
think of the present king otherwise than as an elegant young man, rather
wild, but who danced a minuet divinely; and before he came to the crown,
would often mention him as the "sweet young prince."
She talks also of the walks in Kensington Gardens, where the gentlemen
appeared in gold-laced coats and cocked hats, and the ladies in hoops,
and swept so proudly along the grassy avenues; and she thinks the ladies
let themselves sadly down in their dignity, when they gave up cushioned
head-dresses and high-heeled shoes. She has much to say too of the
officers who were in the train of her admirers; and speaks familiarly of
many wild young blades that are now, perhaps, hobbling about
watering-places with crutches and gouty shoes.
[Illustration: Kensington Gardens]
Whether the taste the good lady had of matrimony discouraged her or not,
I cannot say; but, though her merits and her riches have attracted many
suitors, she has never been tempted to venture again into the happy
state. This is singular too, for she seems of a most soft and
susceptible heart: is always talking of love and connubial felicity; and
is a great stickler for old-fashioned gallantry, devoted attentions, and
eternal constancy, on the part of the gentlemen. She lives, however,
after her own taste. Her house, I am told, must have been built and
furnished about the time of Sir Charles Grandison: everything about it
is somewhat formal and stately; but has been softened down into a degree
of voluptuousness, characteristic of an old lady very tender-hearted and
romantic, and that loves her ease. The cushions of the great arm-chairs,
and wide sofas, almost bury you when you sit down on them. Flowers of
the most rare and delicate kind are placed about the rooms and on little
japanned stands; and sweet bags lie about the tables and mantelpieces.
The house is full of pet dogs, Angola cats, and singing birds, who are
as carefully waited upon as she is herself.
She is dainty in her living, and a little of an epicure, living on
white meats, and little lady-like dishes, though her servants have
substantial old English fare, as their looks bear witness. Indeed, they
are so indulged, that they are all spoiled, and when they lose their
present place they will be fit for no other. Her ladyship is one of
those easy-tempered beings that are always doomed to be much liked, but
ill served, by their domestics, and cheated by all the world.
Much of her time is passed in reading novels, of which she has a most
extensive library, and has a constant supply from the publishers in
town. Her erudition in this line of literature is immense: she has kept
pace with the press for half a century. Her mind is stuffed with
love-tales of all kinds, from the stately amours of the old books of
Chivalry, down to the last blue-covered romance, reeking from the press:
though she evidently gives the preference to those that came out in the
days of her youth, and when she was first in love. She maintains that
there are no novels written now-a-days equal to Pamela and Sir Charles
Grandison; and she places the Castle of Otranto at the head of all
romances.
[Illustration: A Sage Adviser]
She does a vast deal of good in her neighbourhood, and is imposed upon
by every beggar in the county. She is the benefactress of a village
adjoining to her estate, and takes a special interest in all its love
affairs. She knows of every courtship that is going on; every love-lorn
damsel is sure to find a patient listener and sage adviser in her
ladyship. She takes great pains to reconcile all love quarrels, and
should any faithless swain persist in his inconstancy, he is sure to
draw on himself the good lady's violent indignation.
[Illustration: Master Simon over the Accounts]
I have learned these particulars partly from Frank Bracebridge, and
partly from Master Simon. I am now able to account for the assiduous
attention of the latter to her ladyship. Her house is one of his
favourite resorts, where he is a very important personage. He makes her
a visit of business once a year, when he looks into all her affairs;
which, as she is no manager, are apt to get into confusion. He examines
the books of the overseer, and shoots about the estate, which, he says,
is well stocked with game, notwithstanding that it is poached by all
the vagabonds in the neighbourhood.
It is thought, as I before hinted, that the captain will inherit the
greater part of her property, having always been her chief favourite;
for, in fact, she is partial to a red coat. She has now come to the Hall
to be present at his nuptials, having a great disposition to interest
herself in all matters of love and matrimony.
[Illustration: The Lovers]
THE LOVERS.
Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away; for lo the
winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear
on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and
the voice of the turtle is heard in the land.
SONG OF SOLOMON.
To a man who is a little of a philosopher, and a bachelor to boot; and
who, by dint of some experience in the follies of life, begins to look
with a learned eye upon the ways of man, and eke of woman; to such a
man, I say, there is something very entertaining in noticing the conduct
of a pair of young lovers. It may not be as grave and scientific a study
as the loves of the plants, but it is certainly as interesting.
I have therefore derived much pleasure, since my arrival at the Hall,
from observing the fair Julia and her lover. She has all the
delightful blushing consciousness of an artless girl, inexperienced in
coquetry, who has made her first conquest; while the captain regards her
with that mixture of fondness and exultation, with which a youthful
lover is apt to contemplate so beauteous a prize.
I observed them yesterday in the garden, advancing along one of the
retired walks. The sun was shining with delicious warmth, making great
masses of bright verdure, and deep blue shade. The cuckoo, that
"harbinger of spring," was faintly heard from a distance; the thrush
piped from the hawthorn, and the yellow butterflies sported, and toyed,
and coquetted in the air.
[Illustration: "The fair Julia was leaning on her lover's arm, listening
to his conversation."--PAGE 43.]
The fair Julia was leaning on her lover's arm, listening to his
conversation, with her eyes cast down, a soft blush on her cheek, and a
quiet smile on her lips, while in the hand that hung negligently by her
side was a bunch of flowers. In this way they were sauntering slowly
along, and when I considered them, and the scene in which they were
moving, I could not but think it a thousand pities that the season
should ever change, or that young people should ever grow older, or that
blossoms should give way to fruit, or that lovers should ever get
married.
From what I have gathered of family anecdote, I understand that the fair
Julia is the daughter of a favourite college friend of the squire; who,
after leaving Oxford, had entered the army, and served for many years in
India, where he was mortally wounded in a skirmish with the natives. In
his last moments he had, with a faltering pen, recommended his wife and
daughter to the kindness of his early friend.
The widow and her child returned to England helpless, and almost
hopeless. When Mr. Bracebridge received accounts of their situation, he
hastened to their relief. He reached them just in time to soothe the
last moments of the mother, who was dying of a consumption, and to make
her happy in the assurance that her child should never want a protector.
The good squire returned with his prattling charge to his stronghold,
where he has brought her up with a tenderness truly paternal. As he has
taken some pains to superintend her education, and form her taste, she
has grown up with many of his notions, and considers him the wisest as
well as the best of men. Much of her time, too, has been passed with
Lady Lillycraft, who has instructed her in the manners of the old
school, and enriched her mind with all kinds of novels and romances.
Indeed, her ladyship has had a great hand in promoting the match between
Julia and the captain, having had them together at her country seat the
moment she found there was an attachment growing up between them: the
good lady being never so happy as when she has a pair of turtles cooing
about her.
I have been pleased to see the fondness with which the fair Julia is
regarded by the old servants of the Hall. She has been a pet with them
from childhood, and every one seems to lay some claim to her education;
so that it is no wonder that she should be extremely accomplished. The
gardener taught her to rear flowers, of which she is extremely fond. Old
Christy, the pragmatical huntsman, softens when she approaches; and as
she sits lightly and gracefully in her saddle, claims the merit of
having taught her to ride; while the housekeeper, who almost looks upon
her as a daughter, intimates that she first gave her an insight into the
mysteries of the toilet, having been dressing-maid in her young days to
the late Mrs. Bracebridge. I am inclined to credit this last claim, as I
have noticed that the dress of the young lady had an air of the old
school, though managed with native taste, and that her hair was put up
very much in the style of Sir Peter Lely's portraits in the
picture-gallery.
Her very musical attainments partake of this old-fashioned character,
and most of her songs are such as are not at the present day to be found
on the piano of a modern performer. I have, however, seen so much of
modern fashions, modern accomplishments, and modern fine ladies, that I
relish this tinge of antiquated style in so young and lovely a girl; and
I have had as much pleasure in hearing her warble one of the old songs
of Herrick, or Carew, or Suckling, adapted to some simple old melody, as
I have had from listening to a lady amateur skylark it up and down
through the finest bravura of Rossini or Mozart.
We have very pretty music in the evenings, occasionally, between her and
the captain, assisted sometimes by Master Simon, who scrapes, dubiously,
on his violin; being very apt to get out, and to halt a note or two in
the rear. Sometimes he even thrums a little on the piano, and takes a
part in a trio, in which his voice can generally be distinguished by a
certain quavering tone, and an occasional false note.
[Illustration: The Trio]
I was praising the fair Julia's performance to him after one of her
songs, when I found he took to himself the whole credit of having formed
her musical taste, assuring me that she was very apt; and, indeed,
summing up her whole character in his knowing way, by adding, that "she
was a very nice girl, and had no nonsense about her."
[Illustration: Family Reliques]
FAMILY RELIQUES.
My Infelice's face, her brow, her eye,
The dimple on her cheek; and such sweet skill
Hath from the cunning workman's pencil flown,
These lips look fresh and lovely as her own.
False colours last after the true be dead.
Of all the roses grafted on her cheeks,
Of all the graces dancing in her eyes,
Of all the music set upon her tongue,
Of all that was past woman's excellence
In her white bosom; look, a painted board,
Circumscribes all!
DEKKER.
An old English family mansion is a fertile subject for study. It
abounds with illustrations of former times, and traces of the tastes,
and humours, and manners of successive generations. The alterations and
additions, in different styles of architecture; the furniture, plate,
pictures, hangings; the warlike and sporting implements of different
ages and fancies; all furnish food for curious and amusing speculation.
As the squire is very careful in collecting and preserving all family
reliques, the Hall is full of remembrances of this kind. In looking
about the establishment, I can picture to myself the characters and
habits that have prevailed at different eras of the family history. I
have mentioned on a former occasion the armour of the crusader which
hangs up in the Hall. There are also several jack-boots, with enormously
thick soles and high heels, that belonged to a set of cavaliers, who
filled the Hall with the din and stir of arms during the time of the
Covenanters. A number of enormous drinking vessels of antique fashion,
with huge Venice glasses, and green hock glasses, with the apostles in
relief on them, remain as monuments of a generation or two of
hard-livers, that led a life of roaring revelry, and first introduced
the gout into the family.
I shall pass over several more such indications of temporary tastes of
the squire's predecessors; but I cannot forbear to notice a pair of
antlers in the great hall, which is one of the trophies of a hard-riding
squire of former times, who was the Nimrod of these parts. There are
many traditions of his wonderful feats in hunting still existing, which
are related by old Christy, the huntsman, who gets exceedingly nettled
if they are in the least doubted. Indeed, there is a frightful chasm, a
few miles from the Hall, which goes by the name of the Squire's Leap,
from his having cleared it in the ardour of the chase; there can be no
doubt of the fact, for old Christy shows the very dints of the horse's
hoofs on the rocks on each side of the chasm.
Master Simon holds the memory of this squire in great veneration, and
has a number of extraordinary stories to tell concerning him, which he
repeats at all hunting dinners; and I am told that they wax more and
more marvellous the older they grow. He has also a pair of Ripon spurs
which belonged to this mighty hunter of yore, and which he only wears on
particular occasions.
The place, however, which abounds most with mementoes of past times, is
the picture-gallery; and there is something strangely pleasing, though
melancholy, in considering the long rows of portraits which compose the
greater part of the collection. They furnish a kind of narrative of the
lives of the family worthies, which I am enabled to read with the
assistance of the venerable housekeeper, who is the family chronicler,
prompted occasionally by Master Simon. There is the progress of a fine
lady, for instance, through a variety of portraits. One represents her
as a little girl, with a long waist and hoop, holding a kitten in her
arms, and ogling the spectator out of the corners of her eyes, as if she
could not turn her head. In another we find her in the freshness of
youthful beauty, when she was a celebrated belle, and so hard-hearted as
to cause several unfortunate gentlemen to run desperate and write bad
poetry. In another she is depicted as a stately dame, in the maturity of
her charms; next to the portrait of her husband, a gallant colonel in
full-bottomed wig and gold-laced hat, who was killed abroad; and,
finally, her monument is in the church, the spire of which may be seen
from the window, where her effigy is carved in marble, and represents
her as a venerable dame of seventy-six.
[Illustration: Effigy in Marble]
In like manner I have followed some of the family great men, through a
series of pictures, from early boyhood to the robe of dignity, or
truncheon of command, and so on by degrees until they were gathered up
in the common repository, the neighbouring church.
There is one group that particularly interested me. It consisted of
four sisters of nearly the same age, who flourished about a century
since, and, if I may judge from their portraits, were extremely
beautiful. I can imagine what a scene of gaiety and romance this old
mansion must have been, when they were in the heyday of their charms;
when they passed like beautiful visions through its halls, or stepped
daintily to music in the revels and dances of the cedar gallery; or
printed, with delicate feet, the velvet verdure of these lawns. How must
they have been looked up to with mingled love, and pride, and reverence,
by the old family servants; and followed by almost painful admiration by
the aching eyes of rival admirers! How must melody, and song, and tender
serenade, have breathed about these courts, and their echoes whispered
to the loitering tread of lovers! How must these very turrets have made
the hearts of the young galliards thrill as they first discerned them
from afar, rising from among the trees, and pictured to themselves the
beauties casketed like gems within these walls! Indeed I have discovered
about the place several faint records of this reign of love and romance,
when the Hall was a kind of Court of Beauty. Several of the old romances
in the library have marginal notes expressing sympathy and approbation,
where there are long speeches extolling ladies' charms, or protesting
eternal fidelity, or bewailing the cruelty of some tyrannical fair one.
The interviews, and declarations, and parting scenes of tender lovers,
also bear the marks of having been frequently read, and are scored, and
marked with notes of admiration, and have initials written on the
margins; most of which annotations have the day of the month and year
annexed to them. Several of the windows, too, have scraps of poetry
engraved on them with diamonds, taken from the writings of the fair Mrs.
Phillips, the once celebrated Orinda. Some of these seem to have been
inscribed by lovers; and others, in a delicate and unsteady hand, and a
little inaccurate in the spelling, have evidently been written by the
young ladies themselves, or by female friends, who had been on visits to
the Hall. Mrs. Phillips seems to have been their favourite author, and
they have distributed the names of her heroes and heroines among their
circle of intimacy. Sometimes, in a male hand, the verse bewails the
cruelty of beauty and the sufferings of constant love; while in a female
hand it prudishly confines itself to lamenting the parting of female
friends. The bow-window of my bedroom, which has, doubtless, been
inhabited by one of these beauties, has several of these inscriptions. I
have one at this moment before my eyes, called "Camilla parting with
Leonora:"
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