Biography of Charles Dickens by His Daughter Mamie
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CHAPTER II.
Charles Dickens Buying Christmas presents.--In the dance.--The merriest of them all.--As
a conjurer.--Christmas at "Gad's Hill."--Our Christmas dinners.--A New
Year's Eve frolic.--New Year on the Green.--Twelfth Night festivities.
[Picture: Mr. Pickwick slides]
Christmas was always a time which in our home was looked forward to with
eagerness and delight, and to my father it was a time dearer than any
other part of the year, I think. He loved Christmas for its deep
significance as well as for its joys, and this he demonstrates in every
allusion in his writings to the great festival, a day which he considered
should be fragrant with the love that we should bear one to another, and
with the love and reverence of his Saviour and Master. Even in his most
merry conceits of Christmas, there are always subtle and tender touches
which will bring tears to the eyes, and make even the thoughtless have
some special veneration for this most blessed anniversary.
In our childish days my father used to take us, every twenty-fourth day
of December, to a toy shop in Holborn, where we were allowed to select
our Christmas presents, and also any that we wished to give to our little
companions. Although I believe we were often an hour or more in the shop
before our several tastes were satisfied, he never showed the least
impatience, was always interested, and as desirous as we, that we should
choose exactly what we liked best. As we grew older, present giving was
confined to our several birthdays, and this annual visit to the Holborn
toy shop ceased.
When we were only babies my father determined that we should be taught to
dance, so as early as the Genoa days we were given our first lessons.
"Our oldest boy and his sisters are to be waited upon next week by a
professor of the noble art of dancing," he wrote to a friend at this
time. And again, in writing to my mother, he says: "I hope the dancing
lessons will be a success. Don't fail to let me know."
Our progress in the graceful art delighted him, and his admiration of our
success was evident when we exhibited to him, as we were perfected in
them, all the steps, exercises and dances which formed our lessons. He
always encouraged us in our dancing, and praised our grace and aptness,
although criticized quite severely in some places for allowing his
children to expend so much time and energy upon the training of their
feet.
When "the boys" came home for the holidays there were constant rehearsals
for the Christmas and New Year's parties; and more especially for the
dance on Twelfth Night, the anniversary of my brother Charlie's birthday.
Just before one of these celebrations my father insisted that my sister
Katie and I should teach the polka step to Mr. Leech and himself. My
father was as much in earnest about learning to take that wonderful step
correctly, as though there were nothing of greater importance in the
world. Often he would practice gravely in a corner, without either
partner or music, and I remember one cold winter's night his awakening
with the fear that he had forgotten the step so strong upon him that,
jumping out of bed, by the scant illumination of the old-fashioned
rushlight, and to his own whistling, he diligently rehearsed its "one,
two, three, one, two, three" until he was once more secure in his
knowledge.
[Picture: Mr. John Leech]
No one can imagine our excitement and nervousness when the evening came
on which we were to dance with our pupils. Katie, who was a very little
girl was to have Mr. Leech, who was over six feet tall, for her partner,
while my father was to be mine. My heart beat so fast that I could
scarcely breathe, I was so fearful for the success of our exhibition.
But my fears were groundless, and we were greeted at the finish of our
dance with hearty applause, which was more than compensation for the work
which had been expended upon its learning.
My father was certainly not what in the ordinary acceptation of the term
would be called "a good dancer." I doubt whether he had ever received
any instruction in "the noble art" other than that which my sister and I
gave him. In later years I remember trying to teach him the Schottische,
a dance which he particularly admired and desired to learn. But although
he was so fond of dancing, except at family gatherings in his own or his
most intimate friends' homes, I never remember seeing him join in it
himself, and I doubt if, even as a young man, he ever went to balls.
Graceful in motion, his dancing, such as it was, was natural to him.
Dance music was delightful to his cheery, genial spirit; the time and
steps of a dance suited his tidy nature, if I may so speak. The action
and the exercise seemed to be a part of his abundant vitality.
While I am writing of my father's fondness for dancing, a characteristic
anecdote of him occurs to me. While he was courting my mother, he went
one summer evening to call upon her. The Hogarths were living a little
way out of London, in a residence which had a drawing-room opening with
French windows on to a lawn. In this room my mother and her family were
seated quietly after dinner on this particular evening, when suddenly a
young sailor jumped through one of the open windows into the apartment,
whistled and danced a hornpipe, and before they could recover from their
amazement jumped out again. A few minutes later my father walked in at
the door as sedately as though quite innocent of the prank, and shook
hands with everyone; but the sight of their amazed faces proving too much
for his attempted sobriety, his hearty laugh was the signal for the rest
of the party to join in his merriment. But judging from his slight
ability in later years, I fancy that he must have taken many lessons to
secure his perfection in that hornpipe.
His dancing was at its best, I think, in the "Sir Roger de Coverly"--and
in what are known as country dances. In the former, while the end
couples are dancing, and the side couples are supposed to be still, my
father would insist upon the sides keeping up a kind of jig step, and
clapping his hands to add to the fun, and dancing at the backs of those
whose enthusiasm he thought needed rousing, was himself never still for a
moment until the dance was over. He was very fond of a country dance
which he learned at the house of some dear friends at Rockingham Castle,
which began with quite a stately minuet to the tune of "God save the
Queen," and then dashed suddenly into "Down the Middle and up Again."
His enthusiasm in this dance, I remember, was so great that, one evening
after some of our Tavistock House theatricals, when I was thoroughly worn
out with fatigue, being selected by him as his partner, I caught the
infection of his merriment, and my weariness vanished. As he himself
says, in describing dear old "Fezziwig's" Christmas party, we were
"people who would dance and had no notion of walking." His enjoyment of
all our frolics was equally keen, and he writes to an American friend, a
propos of one of our Christmas merry-makings: "Forster is out again; and
if he don't go in again after the manner in which we have been keeping
Christmas, he must be very strong indeed. Such dinings, such conjurings,
such blindman's buffings, such theatre goings, such kissings out of old
years and kissings in of new ones never took place in these parts before.
To keep the Chuzzlewit going, and to do this little book the Carol, in
the odd times between two parts of it, was, as you may suppose, pretty
tight work. But when it was done I broke out like a madman, and if you
could have seen me at a children's party at Macready's the other night
going down a country dance with Mrs. M. you would have thought I was a
country gentleman of independent property residing on a tip-top farm,
with the wind blowing straight in my face every day."
At our holiday frolics he used sometimes to conjure for us, the equally
"noble art" of the prestidigitateur being among his accomplishments. He
writes of this, which he included in the list of our Twelfth Night
amusements, to another American friend: "The actuary of the national debt
couldn't calculate the number of children who are coming here on Twelfth
Night, in honor of Charlie's birthday, for which occasion I have provided
a magic lantern and divers other tremendous engines of that nature. But
the best of it is that Forster and I have purchased between us the entire
stock-in-trade of a conjuror, the practice and display whereof is
entrusted to me. And if you could see me conjuring the company's watches
into impossible tea-caddies and causing pieces of money to fly, and
burning pocket handkerchiefs without burning 'em, and practising in my
own room without anybody to admire, you would never forget it as long as
you live."
One of these conjuring tricks comprised the disappearance and
reappearance of a tiny doll, which would announce most unexpected pieces
of news and messages to the different children in the audience; this doll
was a particular favorite, and its arrival eagerly awaited and welcomed.
That he loved to emphasize Christmas in every possible way, the following
extract from a note which he sent me in December, 1868, will evidence.
After speaking of a reading which he was to give on Christmas Eve, he
says: "It occurs to me that my table at St. James' Hall might be
appropriately ornamented with a little holly next Tuesday. If the two
front legs were entwined with it, for instance, and a border of it ran
round the top of the fringe in front, with a little sprig by way of
bouquet at each corner, it would present a seasonable appearance. If you
think of this and will have the materials ready in a little basket, I
will call for you at the office and take you up to the hall where the
table will be ready for you."
But I think that our Christmas and New Year's tides at "Gad's Hill" were
the happiest of all. Our house was always filled with guests, while a
cottage in the village was reserved for the use of the bachelor members
of our holiday party. My father himself, always deserted work for the
week, and that was almost our greatest treat. He was the fun and life of
those gatherings, the true Christmas spirit of sweetness and hospitality
filling his large and generous heart. Long walks with him were daily
treats to be remembered. Games passed our evenings merrily. "Proverbs,"
a game of memory, was very popular, and it was one in which either my
aunt or myself was apt to prove winner. Father's annoyance at our
failure sometimes was very amusing, but quite genuine. "Dumb Crambo" was
another favorite, and one in which my father's great imitative ability
showed finely. I remember one evening his dumb showing of the word
"frog" was so extremely laughable that the memory of it convulsed Marcus
Stone, the clever artist, when he tried some time later to imitate it.
One very severe Christmas, when the snow was so deep as to make outdoor
amusement or entertainment for our guests impossible, my father suggested
that he and the inhabitants of the "bachelors' cottage" should pass the
time in unpacking the French chalet, which had been sent to him by Mr.
Fetcher, and which reached Higham Station in a large number of packing
cases. Unpacking these and fitting the pieces together gave them
interesting employment, and some topics of conversation for our luncheon
party.
Our Christmas Day dinners at "Gad's Hill" were particularly bright and
cheery, some of our nearest neighbours joining our home party. The
Christmas plum pudding had its own special dish of coloured "repousse"
china, ornamented with holly. The pudding was placed on this with a
sprig of real holly in the centre, lighted, and in this state placed in
front of my father, its arrival being always the signal for applause. A
prettily decorated table was his special pleasure, and from my earliest
girlhood the care of this devolved upon me. When I had everything in
readiness, he would come with me to inspect the result of my labors,
before dressing for dinner, and no word except of praise ever came to my
ears.
He was a wonderfully neat and rapid carver, and I am happy to say taught
me some of his skill in this. I used to help him in our home parties at
"Gad's Hill" by carving at a side table, returning to my seat opposite
him as soon as my duty was ended. On Christmas Day we all had our
glasses filled, and then my father, raising his, would say: "Here's to us
all. God bless us!" a toast which was rapidly and willingly drunk. His
conversation, as may be imagined, was often extremely humorous, and I
have seen the servants, who were waiting at table, convulsed often with
laughter at his droll remarks and stories. Now, as I recall these
gatherings, my sight grows blurred with the tears that rise to my eyes.
But I love to remember them, and to see, if only in memory, my father at
his own table, surrounded by his own family and friends--a beautiful
Christmas spirit.
"It is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas,
when its Mighty Founder was a child himself," was his own advice, and
advice which he followed both in letter and spirit.
One morning--it was the last day of the year, I remember--while we were
at breakfast at "Gad's Hill," my father suggested that we should
celebrate the evening by a charade to be acted in pantomime. The
suggestion was received with acclamation, and amid shouts and laughing we
were then and there, guests and members of the family, allotted our
respective parts. My father went about collecting "stage properties,"
rehearsals were "called" at least four times during the morning, and in
all our excitement no thought was given to that necessary part of a
charade, the audience, whose business it is to guess the pantomime. At
luncheon someone asked suddenly: "But what about an audience?" "Why,
bless my soul," said my father, "I'd forgotten all about that."
Invitations were quickly dispatched to our neighbours, and additional
preparations made for supper. In due time the audience came, and the
charade was acted so successfully that the evening stands out in my
memory as one of the merriest and happiest of the many merry and happy
evenings in our dear old home. My father was so extremely funny in his
part that the rest of us found it almost impossible to maintain
sufficient control over ourselves to enable the charade to proceed as it
was planned to do. It wound up with a country dance, which had been
invented that morning and practised quite a dozen times through the day,
and which was concluded at just a few moments before midnight. Then
leading us all, characters and audience, out into the wide hall, and
throwing wide open the door, my father, watch in hand, stood waiting to
hear the bells ring in the New Year. All was hush and silence after the
laughter and merriment! Suddenly the peal of bells sounded, and turning
he said: "A happy New Year to us all! God bless us." Kisses, good
wishes and shaking of hands brought us again back to the fun and gaiety
of a few moments earlier. Supper was served, the hot mulled wine drunk
in toasts, and the maddest and wildest of "Sir Roger de Coverlys" ended
our evening and began our New Year.
One New year's day my father organized some field sports in a meadow
which was at the back of our house. "Foot races for the villagers come
off in my field to-morrow," he wrote to a friend, "and we have been hard
at work all day, building a course, making countless flags, and I don't
know what else, Layard (the late Sir Henry Layard) is chief commissioner
of the domestic police. The country police predict an immense crowd."
There were between two and three thousand people present at these sports,
and by a kind of magical influence, my father seemed to rule every
creature present to do his or her best to maintain order. The likelihood
of things going wrong was anticipated, and despite the general prejudice
of the neighbours against the undertaking, my father's belief and trust
in his guests was not disappointed. But you shall have his own account
of his success. "We had made a very pretty course," he wrote, "and taken
great pains. Encouraged by the cricket matches' experience, I allowed
the landlord of the Falstaff to have a drinking booth on the ground. Not
to seem to dictate or distrust, I gave all the prizes in money. The
great mass of the crowd were laboring men of all kinds, soldiers, sailors
and navvies. They did not, between half-past ten, when we began, and
sunset, displace a rope or a stake; and they left every barrier and flag
as neat as they found it. There was not a dispute, and there was no
drunkenness whatever. I made them a little speech from the lawn at the
end of the games, saying that, please God, we would do it again next
year. They cheered most lustily and dispersed. The road between this
and Chatham was like a fair all day; and surely it is a fine thing to get
such perfect behaviour out of a reckless seaport town." He was the last
to realize, I am sure that it was his own sympathetic nature which gave
him the love and honor of all classes, and that helped to make the day's
sports such a great success!
My father was again in his element at the Twelfth Night parties to which
I have before alluded. For many consecutive years, Miss Coutts, now the
Baroness Burdett Coutts, was in the habit of sending my brother, on this
his birthday anniversary, the most gorgeous of Twelfth-cakes, with an
accompanying box of bonbons and Twelfth Night characters. The cake was
cut, and the favors and bonbons distributed at the birthday supper, and
it was then that my father's kindly, genial nature overflowed in
merriment. He would have something droll to say to everyone, and under
his attentions the shyest child would brighten and become merry. No one
was overlooked or forgotten by him; like the young Cratchits, he was
"ubiquitous." Supper was followed by songs and recitations from the
various members of the company, my father acting always as master of
ceremonies, and calling upon first one child, then another for his or her
contribution to the festivity. I can see now the anxious faces turned
toward the beaming, laughing eyes of their host. How attentively he
would listen, with his head thrown slightly back, and a little to one
side, a happy smile on his lips. O, those merry, happy times, never to
be forgotten by any of his own children, or by any of their guests.
Those merry, happy times!
And in writing thus of these dear old holidays, when we were all so happy
in our home, and when my father was with us, let me add this little
postscript, and greet you on this Christmas of 1896, with my father's own
words: "Reflect upon your present blessings--of which every man has
many--not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some. Fill
your glass again with a merry face and contented heart. Our life on it,
but your Christmas shall be merry and your New Year a happy one.
"So may the New Year be a happy one to you, happy to many more whose
happiness depends on you! So may each year be happier than the last, and
not the meanest of our brethren or sisterhood debarred their rightful
share in what our great Creator formed them to enjoy."
[Picture: Mr. Pickwick under the Mistletoe]
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