Originally published in Howitt's Journal (William Lovett) vol.3 #53 (01 Jan 1848).
In general society the New Year's Eve is principally marked by social parties, which dance the old year out and the new year in, and drink to each other's health and prosperity through the coming year. The Methodists in their "Watch Night" have seized upon a custom of the ancient church, and have engrafted on modern life one of its most picturesque and solemn practices. They crowd into their chapels for a midnight service, and as the hour of twelve approaches they all kneel down and remain in silence, watching the departing moments of the year, and the instant the clock strikes twelve, they all rise to their feet, and burst forth with a hymn of thanksgiving. From the steeples and towers of all the churches, the whole land over, peal forth the bells ringing the old year out and the new year in. There is something poetically beautiful in the idea, that at the same moment the bells from the proud towers of gay cities and the humble turrets of rural village churches are all ringing forth the great fact of the end of one and the beginning of another year of our lives. There is something still more solemn in the thought of the many thousands of our fellow creatures who, are at the same moment, listening to these bells either amidst the gay scenes of evening festivities, or awoke from their early slumbers, are reflecting on what the past year has brought them of good or evil, and anticipations of what the coming year shall bring. Happy are they who are prepared to solemnize this ancient custom with the great and beautiful sentiment of our ancestors of leaving all the animosities of the past to perish with the past, and to begin the new year with new heart as well as new hope.
New Year's Day is kept in Germany as a thorough holiday; there is service at the churches; business is at a stand; and, like Christmas-day, it is far more observed than a Sunday. New-year's eve is perhaps the most merry time of the German year. In almost every house are parties met to conduct the old year out with dance and sport. About five o'clock in the evening, the church bells ring, and guns are fired off in all directions. In this respect every town is filled with as much noise of firing and smell of gunpowder as the night of the fifth of November used to be in England. The practice has been forbidden by the authorities; but, except in the chief cities, the authorities are not over active, and the prohibition is little regarded. The police go about the streets; but in all ordinary towns these are so fat and sleepy, that it is only necessary to be quiet just where they are, and everywhere where they are not are guns and pistols discharging.
It is considered a compliment for young men to go and fire a salute in front of the houses of their friends. In the University towns, the students, a little before twelve o'clock, headed by their clubs, proceed with torches to the house of the Prorector, and by a volley of fire-arms, and a loud vivat, announce the termination of the year, and wish him a happy new one. The Prorector appears at his window, makes there a short speech in acceptance of their compliments, drinks a happy new year to them, and frequently concludes by flinging the glass down upon the pavement, that it may never be used on any other occasion. With loud vivats they echo his good wishes, and march away to pay the same compliment to a few others of their most popular Professors. The scene is wild and peculiar, the troop of students, every one with his torch, forming a train, headed by the seniors of their clubs, in their respective costumes, joined by as many other students as please, with wild looks, flying hair, and torches flaming in the stormy winds, and followed by a crowd of the miscellanea of the city, marching through the wintry streets at midnight, with shouts and scattered discharges of fire-arms—is strange and picturesque. At a distance you see the light of their torch-train, confined by the narrow streets, stream up into the air lice the tail of a comet, while the successive discharges of guns flash across it like lightning.
Within doors all is mirth and enjoyment. There are games played peculiar to this eve. New Year's-eve is probably acted in a witty and ludicrous charade, which occasions much merriment. In one party where we were, the young men made the charade New Year's-night. They represented the students drinking and singing, from the Burschen Song-book, a New Year's-night song. They then acted them, as pretty well primed with punch and glee-wine, they rushed into the streets. The watchman, against whom they ran, raised his staff, and blew his horn, and said his rhyme, but in vain, being glad to get away from them. Then the scene changed to the room of one of the Professors, who sat at his table waiting for the arrival of the student's torch-train, pretending to be very calm and philosophical, taking up a book to read, but all the while very fidgetty, lest the Burschen should not pay him that compliment, or should go to others before him. At length a volley was discharged before the house. He started up joyfully, exclaiming, "Aha! they are there!" threw up the window, made his speech, and pledging the youngsters, flung his glass into the street.
There is plenty of dancing going on. Glee wine, a sort of negus, and punch, are brought in after supper, and just before twelve o'clock. Every one is on the watch to win the new year from the others; that is, to announce the New Year first. Accordingly, the instant the city bell is heard to commence tolling. "Prosst Neu Jahr!" starts from every one's lips; and happy is he who is acknowledged to have made the exclamation first, and to have won from all others the New Year. In every house, at that moment, all over the country, is shouted "Prosst Neu Jahr!" prosst being no German word, but a contraction of the Latin prosit. On one occasion, having retired to rest, our servants assembled at our room-door, and awoke us, in order to cry "Prosst Neu Jahr!" On the following morning, every one that meets you salutes you with the same exclamation.
With the glee-wine are brought in, on a waiter, the New Year wishes of the family and its friends. These are written in verse, generally on very ornamental gilt note paper, and sealed up. When the "Prosst Neu Jahr!" has passed, and all have drunk to one another a Happy New Year, with a general touching of glasses, these are opened and read. For the most part they are without signatures, and occasion much guessing and joking. Under cover of these anonymous epistles, good hints and advice are often administered by parents and friends. Numbers of people, who never on any other occasion write a verse, now try their hands at one; and those who do not find themselves sufficiently inspired, present-ornamental cards, which have all kinds of wishes, to suit all kinds of tastes and circumstances. These are to be purchased of all qualities and prices, and those sent by friends and lovers, generally appear on New Year's Day, and are signed or not, as ts the purpose of the sender.
After the New Year's wishes have been read, a game of very old standing on this occasion is introduced, a game known to most people in England acquainted with old fashions; that of the flour, the water, and the keys. Three plates are set on a round table in the middle of the room. In one is flour, in another water, in the third a bunch of keys. The young unmarried people are by turns blindfolded, and, walking round the table, pitch upon one of the plates. These have, of course, been shifted while the person about to try his or her chance, has been under the operation of blind-folding, so as to occupy quite different relative positions to what they did before; or are sometimes shifted and then replaced, so that the person, naturally supposing that they have been changed, shall try to avoid the unlucky ones, by aiming at a new point, and thus shall actually have a greater chance of passing the lucky one. The lucky one is that containing the keys. Whoever gets that, is to be married to the person of his own choice; he who pushes his finger into the flour is to marry a widow, or vice versa, and he who dips into the water, shall not be married at all. This simple lottery occasions its share of merriment, and then the dancing goes on again.
With the punch and the glee-wine, come in also one of those large ornamented and nice cakes, for which the Germans are so famous, and large cakes of gingerbread, in the shape of hearts, with almonds stuck in them. These make an indispensible part of the entertainment of New Year's-Eve; and accordingly you see them reared in and before the bakers' windows, and on stalls, in thousands; some of them at least half-a-yard all, and a foot wide. On this eve, the servants of every house, by right of ancient custom, have their feasts of punch, and their great gingerbread hearts, each servant one.
The Catholics, according to their custom, close the old year, and open the new one in the churches. They have a sermon as midnight approaches; in many places he lights are extinguished, leaving alone conspicuous, a huge cross reaching from bottom to near the top of the church, illuminated with lamps. When twelve has struck, an anthem of thanksgiving strikes up, and mass is celebrated.
In Germany, the servants of tradesmen come for New-Year's gifts, as they do for Christmas-boxes with us; and your baker sends you a large cake, like a couple of great serpents wreathed into two connected circles, perhaps originally intended to represent the old year and the new.
The Dutch, a kindred nation, carried over their national custom to America; but singular enough, one of the chief features of their New Year's-Eve is the arrival of Santa Claus, with gifts for the children, and whose figure as represented by an American artist, and which has been handed to us by an indefatigable American friend we present to our readers at the head of this article.
Santa Claus is no other than the Pelz Nickel of Germany and the North; he is in fact, the good Saint Nicholas of Russia, the patron-saint of children; he arrives in Germany about a fortnight before Christmas, but as may be supposed from all the visits he has to pay there, and the length of his voyage, he does not arrive in America, until this eve. Here he is, sitting before the empty fire-place of an American house, with his foot on the old fashioned dog, a little after midnight, all the family having retired to bed to be out of his way, and having hung up the stockings that he may fill them with gifts. Here he sits, smoking his pipe, and delighting himself with the thought of what he shall leave for the children, and of the delight and surprise in the morning. But we will now let an American writer speak after his own fashion of the good Santa Claus.
"Santa Claus has doffed his cocked-hat and assumes one in union with the weather. The sign of the saint is stamped on his forehead as the genuine impress of heaven. He wears his snow-boots and fur-trimmed mantle, which are the very same with which he journeyed over the hills of Holland. The artist has represented him about the midnight hour, on his last call; and, from the position of the saint, we should judge that he had heard, or thought he heard, the cock crow; or the rats, which are the great antipathy of the Dutch.
Saint Nicholas is smothered with gooderies, and is prepared to be very lavish upon those who live in expectancy of presents. The family has retired, the little ones are dreaming most intensely of crammed stockings, which they have hung so as to attract the attention of the saint. We fancy ourselves looking upon the little, short limbs, on tip-toes, straining to place their hose out of the way of rats. Jane can scarcely reach higher than one of these animals; the larger boys and girls have obtained a better position; and one appears to tower above the rest, who, no doubt, has received the friendly aid of grandfather.
"The mother has coaxed them off to bed earlier than usual, and has saved a ration of gingerbread. Neither tears, words, sobs, nor petulance disturb them now; they know that the saint visits only good children; and Bob, Sally, and Peter find it difficult to hold their tongues. Their mother promises them, even though they have been violent transgressors throughout the year, that, for one night's peace, she will bribe the saint for them. They fancy they hear the sound of whistles, penny-trumpets, and drums; the cries of dolls, the singing of wooden birds, and the ticking of pewter watches; then boxes of tools are already at work repairing houses built in air; and they fairly stagger under the inheritance of a new year. When sound asleep, emblems of innocence and the kingdom of heaven, they are blessed with a profusion of presents; the morning dawns, and the family are disturbed by their up-risings. On other mornings it may have been difficult to arouse them, but, on the New-Year's, trumpets and drums bring them down, scarcely half awake. John (who is advanced to the age of small boots) takes the lead; he misses his way, or runs against the door. Sally and Mary, aided by the bannisters, come down crying with impatience. The little ones seize their stockings with eagerness, Sally substituting a chair for her grandfather. The day is consumed with comments, eyes sparkle with delight, and the faces of all beam with happiness.
"What would men do if there were no holidays from one year's end to the other! They are as necessary as landmarks or resting-places for travellers; and, as custom—a good custom, one to be established and perpetuated, a sociable and an endearing one—has thrown this in our way, let us cling to it until the short journey of life is ended.