The Rural Life of England

by William Howitt

Some youths will now a mumming go,
And others play at Rowland-bo,
And twenty other games boys mo,
Because they will be merry.

Then wherefore in these merry daies
Should we, I pray, be duller?
No, let us sing some roundelays,
To make our mirth the fuller.

And while we thus inspired sing,
Let all the streets with echoes ring;
Woods and hills and every thing,
Bear witness we are merry.

This is, at once, quaint and graphic. It shews us the joys of our ancestors in their homeliness and their strength. It is full of the spirit of the time, and the impressions of surrounding things. Let us now see the same days through the magic mist of a modern poet’s imagination—a poet whose soul turned to all the beauty and picturesque splendour, and the jollity of the past, with a passion never, in any bosom, living with a stronger delight. How, in reverted vision of his heart and mind is every thing purified, sanctified, and refined. What a force of enjoyment breathes through the whole: how vividly are all the characteristics of the time, its fable and its manners given; yet with what a grace and delicacy, unknown to the poet of the times themselves. We have here all the happiness, the hospitality, the generous simplicity of the past, tinged with the beautiful illusions of the present.

ANCIENT CHRISTMAS.

And well our Christian sires of old
Loved, when the year its course had rolled,
And brought blithe Christmas back again,
With all its hospitable train.
Domestic and religious rite
Gave honour to the holy night:
On Christmas-eve the bells were rung;
On Christmas-eve the mass was sung;
That only night of all the year
Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.
The damsel donned her kirtle sheen;
The hall was dressed with holly green;
Forth to the wood did merry men go
To gather in the mistletoe.
Then opened wide the baron’s hall,
To vassals, tenants, serf, and all;
Power laid his rod of rule aside,
And Ceremony doffed his pride.
The heir with roses in his shoes,
That night might village partner choose;
The lord, underogating share
The vulgar game of “post and pair.”
All hailed with uncontrolled delight
And general voice the happy night,
That to the cottage, as the crown,
Brought tidings of Salvation down.

The fire with well-dried logs supplied,
Went roaring up the chimney wide;
The huge hall table’s oaken face,
Scrubbed till it shone the day to grace,
Bore then upon its massive board
No mark to part the squire and lord.
Then was brought in the lusty braun
By old blue-coated serving-man;
Then the grim boar’s-head frowned on high,
Crested with bays and rosemary.
Well can the green-garbed ranger tell
How, when, and where the monster fell;
What dogs before his death he tore,
And all the baiting of the boar,
While round the merry wassail bowl,
Garnished with ribbons, blithe did trowl
There the huge sirloin reeked; hard by
Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie;
Nor failed old Scotland to produce,
At such high tide the savoury goose.
Then came the merry maskers in,
And carols roared with blithesome din;
If unmelodious was the song,
It was a hearty note and strong,
Who lists may in their mumming see
Traces of ancient mystery.
White shirt supplied the masquerade,
And smutted cheeks the vizor made;
But oh! what maskers richly dight
Can boast of bosoms half so light!
England was merry England then,
Old Christmas brought his sports again;
’Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale;
’Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;
A Christmas gambol oft would cheer
A poor man’s heart through half the year.

Scott’s Marmion.

In these two poems we have sufficient picture of the past; what of these things continue with the present? In Catholic countries, indeed, much of the ancient show and circumstance remain. In Rome, all the splendour of the church is called forth. On Christmas-eve, the pipes of the Pifferari, or Calabrian minstrels, are heard in the streets. The decorators are busy in draping the churches, clothing altars, and festooning façades. Devout ladies and holy nuns are preparing dresses, crowns, necklaces, and cradles, for the Madonna and Child of their respective churches. The toilette of the Virgin is performed, and she blazes in diamonds, or shines in tin, according to the riches of the respective parish treasuries. In the Church of the Pantheon, says Lady Morgan, she was crowned with gilt paper, and decked with glass beads, and on the same day in Santa Maria Novella, we beheld the coal-black face set off with rubies and sapphires, which glittered on her dusky visage “like a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear.” The cannons of St. Angelo announce the festival; shops are shut, and saloons deserted. The midnight supper and the midnight bands begin the holy revel, and the splendid pomp in which the august ceremonies are performed at the churches of the Quirinal, St. Louis, and the Ara Cœli, is succeeded by a banquet of which even the poorest child of indigence contrives to partake. The people from the mountains and the Campagna flock in to witness and to enjoy the fête, and present a strange sight of wild figures amid the inhabitants of the city. The churches are lit up with thousands of wax tapers; the culla, or cradle of Christ, is removed from the shrine at the chapel of Santa Maria Maggiore, and carried in procession to the chapel of the Santa Croce, where it is exposed on the high altar on Christmas-day to the admiration of the faithful. Musical masses are performed; the Pope himself performs service in the Sextine Chapel on Christmas-eve, and on Christmas-day his Holiness performs mass in St. Peter’s, in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin; amid a most brilliant assembly of people of all nations, princes, ambassadors, nobles, and distinguished strangers.

At Naples numbers of shepherds from the mountains of the Abruzzi and the neighbouring Apennines, flock in two or three weeks before Christmas, and go about the streets, playing on their bagpipes, as the Calabrians do both here and in Rome. Most of the Neapolitan families engage some of these itinerant musicians to play a quarter of an hour at their houses on each day of the Novena: the wild appearance of these mountaineers, and the shrill notes of their pipes attract the attention of travellers. Fireworks are displayed here in the most extraordinary manner; and, as in other parts of Italy, it is the custom to erect in the churches and in private houses, representations of the birth of our Saviour;—the stable, the shepherds, the oxen, the Virgin Mary, receiving the homage of kings and their trains, are all exhibited with great ingenuity. A similar custom prevailed in some parts of Spain. Such are the customs of these and other catholic countries. In the north, where Christmas was celebrated as a festival of the gods of the ancient Scandinavians, under the name of Yule, it is now celebrated with great devotion; and in Germany they have some domestic customs of a very interesting nature. Coleridge, in the Friend, gives the following account of what he witnessed himself. “The children make little presents to their parents, and to each other; and the parents to their children. For three or four months before Christmas, the girls are all busy; and the boys save their pocket-money to make or purchase these presents. What the present is to be, is cautiously kept secret, and the girls have a world of contrivances to conceal it—such as working when they are out on visits, and the others are not with them; getting up in the morning before daylight, etc. Then, on the evening before Christmas-day, one of the parlours is lighted up by the children, into which the parents must not go. A great yew bough is fastened on the table at a little distance from the wall; a multitude of little tapers are fixed in the bough, but not so as to burn it till they are nearly consumed; and coloured paper, etc. hangs and flutters from the twigs. Under this bough, the children lay out in great order, the presents they mean for their parents, still concealing in their pockets, what they intend for each other. Then the parents are introduced, and each presents his little gift: they then bring out the remainder, one by one, from their pockets, and present them with kisses and embraces. When I witnessed this scene, there were eight or nine children, and the eldest daughter and mother wept aloud for joy and tenderness; and the tears ran down the face of the father, and he clasped all his children so tight to his breast, it seemed as if he did it to stifle the sob that was rising within him. I was very much affected. The shadow of the bough and its appendages on the walls and arching over on the ceiling, made a pretty picture; and then the rapture of the very little ones, when at last the twigs and their needles began to take fire and snap,—O, it was a delight for them!