The tree yet sparkles, I say. I am writing on the day before Twelfth Day, if you must know; but already ever so many of the fruits have been pulled, and the Christmas lights have gone out. Bobby Miseltow, who has been staying with us for a week (and who has been sleeping mysteriously in the bathroom), comes to say he is going away to spend the rest of the holidays with his grandmother — and I brush away the manly12 tear of regret as I part with the dear child. “Well, Bob, good-by, since you WILL go. Compliments to grandmamma. Thank her for the turkey. Here’s —” (A slight pecuniary13 transaction takes place at this juncture14, and Bob nods and winks15, and puts his hand in his waistcoat pocket.). “You have had a pleasant week?”
BOB. —“Haven’t I!” (And exit, anxious to know the amount of the coin which has just changed hands.)
He is gone, and as the dear boy vanishes through the door (behind which I see him perfectly), I too cast up a little account of our past Christmas week. When Bob’s holidays are over, and the printer has sent me back this manuscript, I know Christmas will be an old story. All the fruit will be off the Christmas tree then; the crackers16 will have cracked off; the almonds will have been crunched17; and the sweet-bitter riddles will have been read; the lights will have perished off the dark green boughs; the toys growing on them will have been distributed, fought for, cherished, neglected, broken. Ferdinand and Fidelia will each keep out of it (be still, my gushing18 heart!) the remembrance of a riddle read together, of a double-almond munched19 together, and the moiety20 of an exploded cracker. . . . The maids, I say, will have taken down all that holly21 stuff and nonsense about the clocks, lamps, and looking-glasses, the dear boys will be back at school, fondly thinking of the pantomime-fairies whom they have seen; whose gaudy22 gossamer23 wings are battered24 by this time; and whose pink cotton (or silk is it?) lower extremities25 are all dingy26 and dusty. Yet but a few days, Bob, and flakes27 of paint will have cracked off the fairy flower-bowers, and the revolving28 temples of adamantine lustre29 will be as shabby as the city of Pekin. When you read this, will Clown still be going on lolling his tongue out of his month, and saying, “How are you tomorrow?” Tomorrow, indeed! He must be almost ashamed of himself (if that cheek is still capable of the blush of shame) for asking the absurd question. To-morrow, indeed! To-morrow the diffugient snows will give place to Spring; the snowdrops will lift their heads; Ladyday may be expected, and the pecuniary duties peculiar30 to that feast; in place of bonbons, trees will have an eruption31 of light green knobs; the whitebait season will bloom . . . as if one need go on describing these vernal phenomena32, when Christmas is still here, though ending, and the subject of my discourse33!
We have all admired the illustrated34 papers, and noted35 how boisterously36 jolly they become at Christmas time. What wassail-bowls, robin-redbreasts, waits, snow landscapes, bursts of Christmas song! And then to think that these festivities are prepared months before — that these Christmas pieces are prophetic! How kind of artists and poets to devise the festivities beforehand, and serve them pat at the proper time! We ought to be grateful to them, as to the cook who gets up at midnight and sets the pudding a-boiling, which is to feast us at six o’clock. I often think with gratitude37 of the famous Mr. Nelson Lee — the author of I don’t know how many hundred glorious pantomimes — walking by the summer wave at Margate, or Brighton perhaps, revolving in his mind the idea of some new gorgeous spectacle of faery, which the winter shall see complete. He is like cook at midnight (si parva licet). He watches and thinks. He pounds the sparkling sugar of benevolence38, the plums of fancy, the sweetmeats of fun, the figs39 of — well, the figs of fairy fiction, let us say, and pops the whole in the seething40 caldron of imagination, and at due season serves up THE PANTOMIME.
Very few men in the course of nature can expect to see ALL the pantomimes in one season, but I hope to the end of my life I shall never forego reading about them in that delicious sheet of The Times which appears on the morning after Boxing-day. Perhaps reading is even better than seeing. The best way, I think, is to say you are ill, lie in bed, and have the paper for two hours, reading all the way down from Drury Lane to the Britannia at Hoxton. Bob and I went to two pantomimes. One was at the Theatre of Fancy, and the other at the Fairy Opera, and I don’t know which we liked the best.
At the Fancy, we saw “Harlequin Hamlet, or Daddy’s Ghost and Nunky’s Pison,” which is all very well — but, gentlemen, if you don’t respect Shakspeare, to whom will you be civil? The palace and ramparts of Elsinore by moon and snowlight is one of Loutherbourg’s finest efforts. The banqueting hall of the palace is illuminated41: the peaks and gables glitter with the snow: the sentinels march blowing their fingers with the cold — the freezing of the nose of one of them is very neatly42 and dexterously43 arranged: the snow-storm rises: the winds howl awfully44 along the battlements: the waves come curling, leaping, foaming45 to shore. Hamlet’s umbrella is whirled away in the storm. He and his two friends stamp on each other’s toes to keep them warm. The storm-spirits rise in the air, and are whirled howling round the palace and the rocks. My eyes! what tiles and chimney-pots fly hurtling through the air! As the storm reaches its height (here the wind instruments come in with prodigious46 effect, and I compliment Mr. Brumby and the violoncellos)— as the snow-storm rises, (queek, queek, queek, go the fiddles47, and then thrumpty thrump comes a pizzicato movement in Bob Major, which sends a shiver into your very boot-soles,) the thunder-clouds deepen (bong, bong, bong, from the violoncellos). The forked lightning quivers through the clouds in a zig-zag scream of violins — and look, look, look! as the frothing, roaring waves come rushing up the battlements, and over the reeling parapet, each hissing48 wave becomes a ghost, sends the gun-carriages rolling over the platform, and plunges49 howling into the water again.
Hamlet’s mother comes on to the battlements to look for her son. The storm whips her umbrella out of her hands, and she retires screaming in pattens.
The cabs on the stand in the great market-place at Elsinore are seen to drive off, and several people are drowned. The gas-lamps along the street are wrenched50 from their foundations, and shoot through the troubled air. Whist, rush, hish! how the rain roars and pours! The darkness becomes awful, always deepened by the power of the music — and see — in the midst of a rush, and whirl, and scream of spirits of air and wave — what is that ghastly figure moving hither? It becomes bigger, bigger, as it advances down the platform — more ghastly, more horrible, enormous! It is as tall as the whole stage. It seems to be advancing on the stalls and pit, and the whole house screams with terror, as the GHOST OF THE LATE HAMLET comes in, and begins to speak. Several people faint, and the light-fingered gentry51 pick pockets furiously in the darkness.
In the pitchy darkness, this awful figure throwing his eyes about, the gas in the boxes shuddering52 out of sight, and the wind-instruments bugling53 the most horrible wails54, the boldest spectator must have felt frightened. But hark! what is that silver shimmer55 of the fiddles! Is it — can it be — the gray dawn peeping in the stormy east? The ghost’s eyes look blankly towards it, and roll a ghastly agony. Quicker, quicker ply5 the violins of Phoebus Apollo. Redder, redder grow the orient clouds. Cockadoodledoo! crows that great cock which has just come out on the roof of the palace. And now the round sun himself pops up from behind the waves of night. Where is the ghost? He is gone! Purple shadows of morn “slant o’er the snowy sward,” the city wakes up in life and sunshine, and we confess we are very much relieved at the disappearance56 of the ghost. We don’t like those dark scenes in pantomimes.
After the usual business, that Ophelia should be turned into Columbine was to be expected; but I confess I was a little shocked when Hamlet’s mother became Pantaloon, and was instantly knocked down by Clown Claudius. Grimaldi is getting a little old now, but for real humor there are few clowns like him. Mr. Shuter, as the grave-digger, was chaste57 and comic, as he always is, and the scene-painters surpassed themselves.
“Harlequin Conqueror58 and the Field of Hastings,” at the other house, is very pleasant too. The irascible William is acted with great vigor59 by Snoxall, and the battle of Hastings is a good piece of burlesque60. Some trifling61 liberties are taken with history, but what liberties will not the merry genius of pantomime permit himself? At the battle of Hastings, William is on the point of being defeated by the Sussex volunteers, very elegantly led by the always pretty Miss Waddy (as Haco Sharpshooter), when a shot from the Normans kills Harold. The fairy Edith hereupon comes forward, and finds his body, which straightway leaps up a live harlequin, whilst the Conqueror makes an excellent clown, and the Archbishop of Bayeux a diverting pantaloon, &c. &c. &c.
Perhaps these are not the pantomimes we really saw; but one description will do as well as another. The plots, you see, are a little intricate and difficult to understand in pantomimes; and I may have mixed up one with another. That I was at the theatre on Boxing-night is certain — but the pit was so full that I could only see fairy legs glittering in the distance, as I stood at the door. And if I was badly off, I think there was a young gentleman behind me worse off still. I own that he has good reason (though others have not) to speak ill of me behind my back, and hereby beg his pardon.
Likewise to the gentleman who picked up a party in Piccadilly, who had slipped and fallen in the snow, and was there on his back, uttering energetic expressions; that party begs to offer thanks, and compliments of the season.
Bob’s behavior on New Year’s day, I can assure Dr. Holyshade, was highly creditable to the boy. He had expressed a determination to partake of every dish which was put on the table; but after soup, fish, roast-beef, and roast-goose, he retired62 from active business until the pudding and mince-pies made their appearance, of which he partook liberally, but not too freely. And he greatly advanced in my good opinion by praising the punch, which was of my own manufacture, and which some gentlemen present (Mr. O’M— g — n, amongst others) pronounced to be too weak. Too weak! A bottle of rum, a bottle of Madeira, half a bottle of brandy, and two bottles and a half of water — CAN this mixture be said to be too weak for any mortal? Our young friend amused the company during the evening by exhibiting a two-shilling magic-lantern, which he had purchased, and likewise by singing “Sally, come up!” a quaint64, but rather monotonous65 melody, which I am told is sung by the poor negro on the banks of the broad Mississippi.
What other enjoyments66 did we proffer67 for the child’s amusement during the Christmas week? A great philosopher was giving a lecture to young folks at the British Institution. But when this diversion was proposed to our young friend Bob, he said, “Lecture? No, thank you. Not as I knows on,” and made sarcastic68 signals on his nose. Perhaps he is of Dr. Johnson’s opinion about lectures: “Lectures, sir! what man would go to hear that imperfectly at a lecture, which he can read at leisure in a book?” I never went, of my own choice, to a lecture; that I can vow69. As for sermons, they are different; I delight in them, and they cannot, of course, be too long.
Well, we partook of yet other Christmas delights besides pantomime, pudding, and pie. One glorious, one delightful70, one most unlucky and pleasant day, we drove in a brougham, with a famous horse, which carried us more quickly and briskly than any of your vulgar railways, over Battersea Bridge, on which the horse’s hoofs71 rung as if it had been iron; through suburban72 villages, plum-caked with snow; under a leaden sky, in which the sun hung like a red-hot warming-pan; by pond after pond, where not only men and boys, but scores after scores of women and girls, were sliding, and roaring, and clapping their lean old sides with laughter, as they tumbled down, and their hobnailed shoes flew up in the air; the air frosty with a lilac haze73, through which villas74, and commons, and churches, and plantations75 glimmered76. We drive up the hill, Bob and I; we make the last two miles in eleven minutes; we pass that poor, armless man who sits there in the cold, following you with his eyes. I don’t give anything, and Bob looks disappointed. We are set down neatly at the gate, and a horse-holder opens the brougham door. I don’t give anything; again disappointment on Bob’s part. I pay a shilling apiece, and we enter into the glorious building, which is decorated for Christmas, and straight-way forgetfulness on Bob’s part of everything but that magnificent scene. The enormous edifice77 is all decorated for Bob and Christmas. The stalls, the columns, the fountains, courts, statues, splendors78, are all crowned for Christmas. The delicious negro is singing his Alabama choruses for Christmas and Bob. He has scarcely done, when, Tootarootatoo! Mr. Punch is performing his surprising actions, and hanging the beadle. The stalls are decorated. The refreshment79-tables are piled with good things; at many fountains “MULLED CLARET” is written up in appetizing capitals. “Mulled Claret — oh, jolly! How cold it is!” says Bob; I pass on. “It’s only three o’clock,” says Bob. “No, only three,” I say, meekly80. “We dine at seven,” sighs Bob, “and it’s so-o-o coo-old.” I still would take no hints. No claret, no refreshment, no sandwiches, no sausage-rolls for Bob. At last I am obliged to tell him all. Just before we left home, a little Christmas bill popped in at the door and emptied my purse at the threshold. I forgot all about the transaction, and had to borrow half a crown from John Coachman to pay for our entrance into the palace of delight. NOW you see, Bob, why I could not treat you on that second of January when we drove to the palace together; when the girls and boys were sliding on the ponds at Dulwich; when the darkling river was full of floating ice, and the sun was like a warming-pan in the leaden sky.
One more Christmas sight we had, of course; and that sight I think I like as well as Bob himself at Christmas, and at all seasons. We went to a certain garden of delight, where, whatever your cares are, I think you can manage to forget some of them, and muse63, and be not unhappy; to a garden beginning with a Z, which is as lively as Noah’s ark; where the fox has brought his brush, and the cock has brought his comb, and the elephant has brought his trunk, and the kangaroo has brought his bag, and the condor81 his old white wig82 and black satin hood83. On this day it was so cold that the white bears winked84 their pink eyes, as they plapped up and down by their pool, and seemed to say, “Aha, this weather reminds us of our dear home!” “Cold! bah! I have got such a warm coat,” says brother Bruin, “I don’t mind;” and he laughs on his pole, and clucks down a bun. The squealing85 hyaenas gnashed their teeth and laughed at us quite refreshingly86 at their window; and, cold as it was, Tiger, Tiger, burning bright, glared at us red-hot through his bars, and snorted blasts of hell. The woolly camel leered at us quite kindly as he paced round his ring on his silent pads. We went to our favorite places. Our dear wambat came up, and had himself scratched very affably. Our fellow-creatures in the monkey-room held out their little black hands, and piteously asked us for Christmas alms. Those darling alligators87 on their rock winked at us in the most friendly way. The solemn eagles sat alone, and scowled88 at us from their peaks; whilst little Tom Ratel tumbled over head and heels for us in his usual diverting manner. If I have cares in my mind, I come to the Zoo, and fancy they don’t pass the gate. I recognize my friends, my enemies, in countless89 cages. I entertained the eagle, the vulture, the old billy-goat, and the black-pated, crimson-necked, blear-eyed, baggy90, hook-beaked old marabou stork91 yesterday at dinner; and when Bob’s aunt came to tea in the evening, and asked him what he had seen, he stepped up to her gravely, and said —
“First I saw the white bear, then I saw the black,
Then I saw the camel with a hump upon his back.
Chorus of children:
Then I saw the camel with a HUMP upon his back!
Then I saw the gray wolf, with mutton in his maw;
Then I saw the wambat waddle92 in the straw;
Then I saw the elephant with his waving trunk,
Then I saw the monkeys — mercy, how unpleasantly they — smelt93!”
There. No one can beat that piece of wit, can he, Bob? And so it is all over; but we had a jolly time, whilst you were with us, hadn’t we? Present my respects to the doctor; and I hope, my boy, we may spend another merry Christmas next year.
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1
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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bonbon
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| n.棒棒糖；夹心糖 | |
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cracker
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| n.（无甜味的）薄脆饼干 | |
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conundrums
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| n.谜，猜不透的难题，难答的问题( conundrum的名词复数 ) | |
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ply
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| v.(搬运工等)等候顾客，弯曲 | |
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riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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riddles
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| n.谜（语）( riddle的名词复数 )；猜不透的难题，难解之谜 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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bonbons
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| n.小糖果( bonbon的名词复数 ) | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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pecuniary
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| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
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juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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winks
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| v.使眼色( wink的第三人称单数 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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crackers
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| adj.精神错乱的，癫狂的n.爆竹( cracker的名词复数 )；薄脆饼干；（认为）十分愉快的事；迷人的姑娘 | |
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crunched
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的过去式和过去分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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gushing
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| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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munched
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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moiety
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| n.一半；部分 | |
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holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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gossamer
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| n.薄纱，游丝 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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extremities
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| n.端点( extremity的名词复数 )；尽头；手和足；极窘迫的境地 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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eruption
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| n.火山爆发；（战争等）爆发；（疾病等）发作 | |
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phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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boisterously
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| adv.喧闹地，吵闹地 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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figs
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| figures 数字，图形，外形 | |
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seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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dexterously
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| adv.巧妙地，敏捷地 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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45
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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fiddles
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| n.小提琴( fiddle的名词复数 )；欺诈；（需要运用手指功夫的）细巧活动；当第二把手v.伪造( fiddle的第三人称单数 )；篡改；骗取；修理或稍作改动 | |
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48
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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49
plunges
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| n.跳进，投入vt.使投入，使插入，使陷入vi.投入，跳进，陷入v.颠簸( plunge的第三人称单数 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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50
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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51
gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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52
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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53
bugling
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| 吹号（bugle的现在分词形式） | |
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54
wails
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| 痛哭，哭声( wail的名词复数 ) | |
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shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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enjoyments
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| 愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 )； 令人愉快的事物； 享有； 享受 | |
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proffer
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| v.献出，赠送；n.提议，建议 | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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plantations
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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splendors
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| n.华丽( splendor的名词复数 )；壮丽；光辉；显赫 | |
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refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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condor
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| n.秃鹰；秃鹰金币 | |
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wig
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| n.假发 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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squealing
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的现在分词 ) | |
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refreshingly
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| adv.清爽地，有精神地 | |
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alligators
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| n.短吻鳄( alligator的名词复数 ) | |
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scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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baggy
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| adj.膨胀如袋的，宽松下垂的 | |
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stork
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| n.鹳 | |
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waddle
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| vi.摇摆地走；n.摇摆的走路(样子) | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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