Ashton A Righte Merrie Christmasse

1. Auflage 2015
ISBN: 978-3-8496-4688-2
Verlag: Jazzybee Verlag
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 272 Seiten

The very warm cover suggests a seasonable book, A Righte Merrie Christmasse, by John Ashton, who, fancying that some of its customs and privileges might be forgotten, collects all that has been done or could be done at this annual event. Some of ye anciente goinges on make one wonder whether feasts were better kept when they spelt with such unreasonable euphony. It must have been ' merrie in halle' when the wassail song was ordinarily sung as depicted by A. C Behrend in his exquisite copper etching.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Ashton, John

Leseproben

Chapter VIII

The Bellman—Descriptions of him—His verses. The Waits—Their origin—Ned Ward on them—Corporation Waits—York Waits (17th Century)—Essay on Waits—Westminster Waits—Modern Waits.

 Before the advent of Christmas the Bellman, or Watchman, left at each house a copy of verses ostensibly breathing good-will and a happy Christmas to the occupants, but in reality as a reminder to them of his existence, and that he would call in due time for his Christmas box. The date of the institution of the Bellman is not well defined. In Tegg's Dictionary of Chronology, 1530 is given, but no authority for the statement is adduced; Machyn, in his diary, is more definite "[the xij. day of January 1556-7, in Alderman Draper's ward called] chordwenerstrett ward, a belle man [went about] with a belle at evere lane, and at the ward [end to] gyff warnyng of ffyre and candyll lyght, [and to help the] poure, and pray for the ded." Their cry being, "Take care of your fire and candle, be charitable to the poor, and pray for the dead."

Shakespeare knew him, for in Macbeth (Act II. sc. 2) he says:

It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bell man,
Which gives the stern'st good night.

And Milton mentions him in Il Penseroso:

Or the bellman's drowsy charm,
To bless the doors from nightly harm.

Herrick also celebrates The Bellman:

From noise of Scare-fires rest ye free,
From Murders Benedicite.
From all mischances, that may fright
Your pleasing slumbers in the night;
Mercie secure ye all, and keep
The Goblin from ye, while ye sleep.
Past one o'clock, and almost two,
My Masters all, Good day to you.

On the title page of Decker's Belman of London (ed. 1608) we have a woodcut giving a vivid portrait of the Bellman going his nightly rounds with his pike upon his shoulder, a horn lanthorn, with a candle inside, in one hand, and his bell, which is attached by a strap to his girdle, in the other hand, his faithful dog following him in his nightly rounds. In his Lanthorne and Candle light; or The Bell-man's second Night's walke, ed. 1608, the title page gives us a totally different type of Bellman, carrying both bell and lanthorn, but bearing no pike, nor is he accompanied by a dog. In his O per se O, ed. 1612, is another type of Bellman, with lanthorn, bell, and brown bill on his shoulder, but no dog. And in his Villanies Discovered by Lanthorne and Candle Light, etc., ed. 1620, we have two more and yet different Bellmen, one with bell, lanthorn, and bill, followed by a dog; the other (a very rough wood cut) does not give him his four-footed friend. This is the heading to the "Belman's Cry":

Men and Children, Maides and Wives,
'Tis not late to mend your lives:
* * * * *
When you heare this ringing Bell,
Think it is your latest knell:
When I cry, Maide in your Smocke,
Doe not take it for a mocke:
Well I meane, if well 'tis taken,
I would have you still awaken:
Foure a Clocke, the Cock is crowing
I must to my home be going:
When all other men doe rise,
Then must I shut up mine eyes.

He was a person of such importance, that in 1716 Vincent Bourne composed a long Latin poem in praise of one of the fraternity: "Ad Davidem Cook, Westmonasterii Custodem Nocturnum et Vigilantissimum," a translation of which runs thus, in the last few lines:

Should you and your dog ever call at my door,
You'll be welcome, I promise you, nobody more.
May you call at a thousand each year that you live,
A shilling, at least, may each householder give;
May the "Merry Old Christmas" you wish us, befal,
And your self, and your dog, be the merriest of all!

At Christ-tide it was their custom to leave a copy of verses, mostly of Scriptural character, and generally very sorry stuff, at every house on their beat, with a view to receiving a Christmas box; and this was an old custom, for Gay notices it in his Trivia (book ii.) written in 1715:

Behold that narrow street which steep descends,
Whose building to the slimy shore extends;
Here Arundel's fam'd structure rear'd its frame,
The street, alone, retains the empty name;
Where Titian's glowing paint the canvass warm'd,
And Raphael's fair design, with judgment, charm'd,
Now hangs the bellman's song, and pasted here
The coloured prints of Overton appear.

Another ante-Christmas custom now falling into desuetude is the waits, who originally were musical watchmen, who had to give practical evidence of their vigilance by playing on the hautboy, or flageolet, at stated times during the night. In the household of Edward IV. there is mentioned in the Liber niger Domus Regis, "A Wayte, that nightely from Mychelmas to Shreve Thorsdaye, pipe the watch within this courte fowere tymes; in the Somere nightes three tymes, and maketh bon gayte at every chambre doare and offyce, as well for feare of pyckeres and pillers."[25]

These waits afterwards became bands of musicians, who were ready to play at any festivities, such as weddings, etc., and almost every city and town had its band of waits; the City of London had its Corporation Waits, which played before the Lord Mayor in his inaugural procession, and at banquets and other festivities. They wore blue gowns, red sleeves and caps, and every one had a silver collar about his neck. Ned Ward thus describes them in his London Spy (1703).

"At last bolted out from the corner of a street, with an ignis fatuus dancing before them, a parcel of strange hobgoblins, covered with long frieze rugs and blankets, hooped round with leather girdles from their cruppers to their shoulders, and their noddles buttoned up into caps of martial figure, like a Knight Errant at tilt and tournament, with his wooden head locked in an iron helmet; one, armed, as I thought with a lusty faggot-bat, and the rest with strange wooden weapons in their hands, in the shape of clyster pipes, but as long almost as speaking trumpets. Of a sudden they clapped them to their mouths, and made such a frightful yelling that I thought he would have been dissolving, and the terrible sound of the last trumpet to be within an inch of my ears.... 'Why, what,' says he, 'don't you love musick? These are the topping tooters of the town, and have gowns, silver chains and salaries for playing Lilli-borlero to my Lord Mayor's horse through the City.'"

That these Corporation Waits were no mean musicians we have the authority of Morley, who, in dedicating his Consort Lessons to the Lord Mayor and Aldermen in 1599, says:

"As the ancient custom of this most honourable and renowned city hath been ever to retain and maintain excellent and expert musicians to adorn your Honours' favours, feasts and solemn meetings—to these, your Lordships' Wayts, I recommend the same—to your servants' careful and skilful handling."

These concert lessons were arranged for six instruments—viz. two viols (treble and bass), a flute, a cittern (a kind of guitar, strung with wire), a treble lute, and a pandora, which was a large instrument, similar to a lute, but strung with wire in lieu of catgut.

The following is a description of the York Waits, end of seventeenth century:

In a Winter's morning,
Long before the dawning,
'Ere the cock did crow,
Or stars their light withdraw,
Wak'd by a hornpipe pretty,
Play'd along York City,
By th' help of o'er night's bottle
Damon made this ditty....
In a winter's night,
By moon or lanthorn light,
Through hail, rain, frost, or snow
Their rounds the music go;
Clad each in frieze or blanket
(For either, heav'n be thanked),
Lin'd with wine a quart,
Or ale a double tankard.
Burglars send away,
And, bar guests dare not stay;
Of claret, snoring sots
Dream o'er their pipes and pots,
* * * * *
Candles, four in the pound,
Lead up the jolly Round,
While Cornet shrill i' th' middle
Marches, and merry fiddle,
Curtal with deep hum, hum,
Cries we come, come,
And theorbo loudly answers,
Thrum, thrum, thrum, thrum, thrum.
But, their fingers frost-nipt,
So many notes are o'erslipt,
That you'd take sometimes
The Waits for the Minster chimes:
Then, Sirs, to hear their musick
Would make both me and you sick,
And much more to hear a roopy fiddler call
(With voice, as Moll would cry,
"Come,...