For Christmas Day, let’s return to Washington Irving’s The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent., looking this time at the fifth number, published in America on January 1, 1820, and covering the English celebration of the Christmas holidays. The description of the old-fashioned English Christmas at the fictional Bracebridge Hall was based on Irving’s personal experience at Aston Hall in the late 1810s and, as is well-known to scholars and obvious even to the casual reader, was a major influence on Charles Dickens when he came to write A Christmas Carol.

Four of the five sketches in the fifth number contained dance references. I’ll take them one by one, skipping over the first sketch (“Christmas”) which merely provides an overview of the excitement of celebrating the Christmas holyday [sic] in England. Page numbers reference the London second edition of 1820.

“The Stage Coach”
This sketch describes the narrator’s trip through the English countryside just before Christmas and his meeting with his old friend Frank Bracebridge, who promptly invites him to spend Christmas in old-fashioned style at Bracebridge Hall with his family. There are no actual descriptions of dance in this chapter, merely a note about its importance:

Now or never must music be in tune, for the youth must dance and sing to get them a heat, while the aged sit by the fire. (p. 49)

As we will soon see, being aged does not actually stop anyone in these sketches from dancing.

“Christmas Eve”
Here is the social dancing most similar to Dickens’ description of Fezziwig’s ball as the Squire and a lady of similar years (it’s not clear whether it’s his wife or some other relative) joins a country dance:

The dance, like most dances after supper, was a merry one: some of the older folks joined in it, and the Squire himself figured down several couple with a partner with whom he affirmed he had danced at every Christmas for nearly half a century.  (p. 72)

The parallel moment in Dickens:

Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too; with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four and twenty pair of partners; people who were not to be trifled with; people who would dance, and had no notion of walking.

Master Simon, an older bachelor relative, is ambitious in his steps (as was Fezziwig with his “cut”) but frustrated by his young partner’s lack of elegance:

Master Simon, who seemed to be a kind of connecting link between the old times and the new, and to be withal a little antiquated in the taste of his accomplishments, evidently piqued himself on his dancing, and was endeavouring to gain credit by the heel and toe, rigadoon, and other graces of the ancient school; but he had unluckily assorted himself with a little romping girl from boarding school, who, by her wild vivacity, kept him continually on the stretch, and defeated all his sober attempts at elegance:—such are the ill sorted matches to which antique gentlemen are unfortunately prone!  (p. 73)

The rigadoon is a common setting step.  It’s interesting to see a “heel and toe” in there, though; I’m not sure to what step that refers.  It can’t be the later heel and toe step of the polka, which was not yet in fashion in the late 1810s.  

The young Oxonian, on the contrary, had led out one of his maiden aunts, on whom the rogue played a thousand little knaveries with impunity; he was full of practical jokes, and his delight was to tease his aunts and cousins; yet, like all mad-cap youngsters, he was a universal favourite among the women.  (pp. 73-74)

The Oxonian having such fun in the dance, even with his aunt for a partner, is one of the Squire’s three sons, the other two being Frank and the Waterloo veteran mentioned next:

The most interesting couple in the dance was the young officer and a ward of the Squire’s, a beautiful blushing girl of seventeen.  From several shy glances which I had noticed in the course of the evening, I suspected there was a little kindness growing up between them; and, indeed, the young soldier was just the hero to captivate a romantic girl.  He was tall, slender, and handsome, and, like most young British officers of late years, had picked up various small accomplishments on the continent—he could talk French and Italian—draw landscapes—sing very tolerably—dance divinely; but, above all, he had been wounded at Waterloo:— what girl of seventeen, well read in poetry and romance, could resist such a mirror of chivalry and perfection!  (p. 74)

Dancing and courtship are heavily intertwined in this period, so this couple is very typical.  I find it more interesting that the Squire and his equally mature dance partner were still taking the floor and that the other son was dancing with an older relative!

The positive association of good dancing with the European continent is an interesting contrast to the insularity of the folk in “Little Britain”, where they are quite hostile to French influence.

And, finally, a reminder that dancing of this era was vigorous, leaving even a teenager red-faced and panting afterward, though Irving uses prettier language in his description:

Her face was suffused, it is true, with a beautiful blush, and there was a gentle heaving of the bosom, but all that was doubtless caused by the exercise of the dance… (p. 76)

“Christmas Day”
Here we get a cameo by the local Morris dancers!

We had not been long home when the sound of music was heard from a distance.  A band of country lads, without coats, their shirt sleeves fancifully tied with ribands, their hats decorated with greens, and clubs in their hands, were seen advancing up the avenue, followed by a large number of villagers and peasantry.  They stopped before the hall door, where the music struck up a peculiar air, and the lads performed a curious and intricate dance, advancing, retreating, and striking their clubs together, keeping exact time to the music while one, whimsically crowned with a fox’s skin, the tail of which flaunted down his back, kept capering round the skirts of the dance, and rattling a Christmas box with many antic gesticulations. (p. 103)

The Squire explains that this was a descendant of an ancient Roman sword dance (p. 104).  While I don’t know anything useful about Morris dance history, I have my doubts about this.  More interesting to those studying Morris dance history would be the Squire’s claim that it had been “nearly extinct” and that he had “encouraged its revival” (p. 104).  If this scene was taken directly from Irving’s own experience, that’s an interesting hint about the status of this kind of traditional dance in the early nineteenth century.

We also get a brief look at the servants having a bit of fun with what sounds like an improvised jig:

as I passed to my room to dress for dinner I heard the sound of music in a small court, and looking through the window that commanded it, I perceived a band of wandering musicians, with pandean pupes and tambourine; a pretty coquettish housemaid was dancing a jig with a smart country lad, while several of the other servants were looking on. (p. 106)

“The Christmas Dinner”
After dinner, Master Simon decides to raid the Squire’s old wardrobe and dress people up in antique costume, an idea Irving’s narrator suggests was inspired by Ben Jonson’s Masque of Christmas (p. 130). His and his young partner’s outfits sound vaguely Elizabethan – ruff, short cape, stomacher, etc. (p. 131). Their “walked” minuet does not sound particularly accomplished, however:

Master Simon covered himself with glory by the stateliness with which, as Ancient Christmas, he walked a minuet with the peerless, though giggling, Dame Mince Pie.  (p. 132)

This was followed by a lively country dance with recognizable figures (cross hands, right and left, down the middle) as well as pirouettes and rigadoons:

It was followed by a dance of all the characters, which from its medley of costumes, seemed as though the old family portraits had skipped down from their frames to join the sport.  Different centuries were figuring at cross hands and right and left; the dark ages were cutting pirouettes and rigadoons; and the days of Queen Bess jigging merrily down the middle, through a line of succeeding generations.  (pp. 132-133)

And, finally, we see that dubious dance history is eternal:  

The worthy Squire contemplated these fantastic sports, and this resurrection of his old wardrobe, with the simple relish of childish delight.  He stood chuckling and rubbing his hands, and scarcely hearing a word the parson said, notwithstanding that the latter was discoursing most authentically on the ancient and stately dance of the Paon, or peacock, from which he conceived the minuet to be derived.*  (p. 133)

[footnote] *Sir John Hawkins, speaking of the dance called the Pavon, from pavo, a peacock, says, “It is a grave and majestic dance; the method of dancing it anciently was by gentlemen dressed with caps and swords, by those of the long robe in their gowns, by the peers in their mantles, and by the ladies in gowns with long trains, the motion whereof, in dancing, resembled that of a peacock.”
History of Music

The peacock/pavane association is an old one, but the parson, who spends much of the evening pontificating about various topics, is on shakier ground with the idea that the minuet evolved from the pavane, since they share neither musical style nor steps nor figures and there is no evidence of any connection between them.

The footnote refers to an actual book, A general history of the science and practice of music, by Sir John Hawkins, Volume 2 of which contains the relevant quote, which may be found in the footnote at the bottom of page 134.  

The full text of the Christmas sketches may be found in the Google Books scan of the London second edition of The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent, Volume II, starting here.