Dickens's England (8 page)

After the soup is removed, and the covers are taken off, every man helps the dish before him, and offers some of it to his neighbour; if he wishes for anything else, he must ask across the table, or send a servant for it . . .

It is not usual to take wine without drinking to another person. When you raise your glass, you look fixedly at the one with whom you are drinking, bow your head, and then drink with great gravity. Certainly many of the customs of the South Sea Islanders, which strike us the most, are less ludicrous. . . .

At the conclusion of the second course comes a sort of intermediate dessert of cheese, butter, salad, raw celery and the like; after which ale, sometimes thirty or forty years old, and so strong that when thrown on the fire it blazes like spirit, is handed about. The tablecloth is then removed; under it, at the best tables, is a finer, upon which the dessert is set. At inferior ones, it is placed on the bare polished table. It consists of all sorts of hot-house fruits, which are here of the finest quality, Indian and native preserves, stomachic ginger, confitures and the like. Clean glasses are set before every guest and, with the dessert plates and knives and forks, small fringed napkins are laid. Three decanters are usually placed before the master of the house, generally containing claret, port and sherry or madeira. The host pushes these in stands, or in a little silver waggon on wheels, to his neighbour on the left. Every man pours out his own wine, and if a lady sits next to him, also helps her; and so on till the circuit is made, when the same process begins again. . . . The ladies sit a quarter of an hour longer, during which time sweet wines are sometimes served, and then rise from the table. The men rise at the same time, one opens the door for them, and as soon as they are gone, draw closer together; the host takes the place of the hostess, and the conversation turns upon subjects of local and everyday interest.

Prince von Pückler-Muskau (trans. S. Austin),
Tour by a German Prince
(1832)

AN UNACCUSTOMED GUEST

Mr Watkins, who had previously requested friend Facey to take his wife into dinner, having finished a platitude he was enunciating about the state of the moon, now presented his great red arm to Mrs Somerville and led her off to the radiant apartment illuminated with the joint efforts of fire, candles and oil. It was a perfect blaze of light. Mrs Somerville having trod the passage, entered the dining-room with measured step, like a Tragedy Queen, and subsided in her seat on Mr Watkins's right. . . .

Facey . . . brought up the rear with Mrs Watkins, our master [of hounds] hoping, as he crossed what he called the vale of the entrance-hall, that – in schoolboy parlance – her meat might presently stop her mouth. So they sailed majestically up the spacious dining-room to the top of the table, where, by one of those masterly manoeuvres that ladies understand so much better than men, Facey found Cassandra Cleopatra spreading her napkin over her voluminous dress on his right, just as Mrs Watkins subsided in her great armchair on the left. ‘Rot it,' thought Romford, ‘but I shall be talked to death between you.' He then picked the bun out of his napkin, and spreading as much of the latter over his legs as his fair friend's dress allowed him to do, he took a glance down the table to see what there was in the way of what he called ‘grub'.

‘Humph!
I thought it had been a dinner,' observed he, in tones of disappointment, to his hostess; ‘but there seems nothin' but fruit and things, like a flower-show.'

‘Dinner
à la Russe,'
replied Mrs Watkins, thinking he was joking, at the same time handing him a finely embroidered French bill of fare.

‘Ah, there's nothin' like a good cut at a round of beef when one's hungry,' observed Facey, laying it down again.

A servant with two plates of soup then asked him whether he would take thick or clear turtle.

‘Thick,' replied Facey, thinking it would be the most substantial of the two.

The servant then set it down before him.

‘Here! Give us both!' exclaimed he, seeing how little there was in the plate he had got. He then took the other and placed it in front of him until he was done with the first. And he supped and slushed just like one of his own hounds.

‘What's this stuff?' now demanded Facey, as a servant offered him a green glass of something.

‘Punch, sir,' replied the man.

‘Set it down,' replied Romford, continuing his soup. Having finished both plates of turtle, he quaffed off the glass, and was balancing himself on his chair, raking the guests fore and aft, and considering whether mock-turtle or real turtle was best, when his lisping friend on the right interrupted his reverie by asking him if he was fond of flowers.

‘Whoy, yes,' replied Facey carelessly, ‘they are well enough in their way,' adding, ‘and I'm fond of hounds, but I don't like havin' them in the dinner-room.' . . .

Facey then got some fish, not so much as he liked, but still he would take it on account. So, helping himself copiously to lobster-sauce – taking nearly half the boat – he proceeded to attack his turbot with great avidity.

Then came some hock and white hermitage; next, some incomprehensible side-dishes, or rather
entrées,
for, of course, they never got on the table at all; then some sparkling Moselle and Burgundy, followed by more anonymous viands, of all of which Facey partook greedily, not knowing but that each chance might be the last. And when he had about ate to repletion, a servant came and offered him some mutton, which he couldn't resist, saying as he took it, ‘I wish you'd brought me that at first.' Next came the ‘sweet and dry,' to which he paid the same compliment of wishing it had come before, observing confidentially to Mrs Watkins that he thought champagne was just the best white wine there was, adding that Lucy and he managed a bottle between them almost every hunting day. Meanwhile Miss Cassandra, baffled with her flowers, but anxious to be doing, thought to ingratiate herself by asking him a pertinent question connected with the chase; namely, whether he liked ladies hunting. . . .

‘Dangerous enough for the men,' replied Facey, filling his mouth full of potato; adding, ‘besides, they're always gettin' in the way.'

Having finished his mutton, they now offered him some turkey. Facey eyed it intently, wishing it, too, had come before. ‘Well – no,' said he, after a pause, ‘ar can't eat any more!' So saying, he dived his hands into his trousers pockets, and stretched out his legs, as if he was done. But his persecution was not over yet.

After another round of ‘sweet and dry,' the game began to circulate – grouse, woodcocks, partridges, snipes – to all of which offers our master returned a testy negative. ‘No! no!' exclaimed he, upon a third tease, ‘ar've had enough!'

Still there were the sweets to come – sweets without end – sweets in every sort of disguise – for Lubbins was great in that line. And they baited Facey with creams and jellies, and puffs and pastry, till he was half frantic. . . .

Footman
(with a silver dish) – ‘Little
fondieu,
sir?'

Facey
– ‘No, ye beggar! I don't want any more!' growled he. . . .

At length there were symptoms of a lull. The chopped cheese having made its circuit, was duly followed by Port wine, Beaujolais, Badminton cup, bitter and sweet ales; and Facey began to feel a little more comfortable. His roving pig eyes raked either side of the table – now glancing at Lolly, now at Miss Mowser, now at Felt, now at Salver, now at Lucy, and anon at Mrs Watkins. Then they reverted to his fair neighbour on his right. ‘Good-looking lass,' thought he, examining her minutely behind. . . .

‘Cream or water ice, sir?' now asked a footman.

‘Who said I wanted either?' growled Facey, just as he would to a shopkeeper who asked him, ‘What's the next article, sir?' . . .

Just then a persecution of fruit commenced – pineapple, grapes and Jersey pears arrived – thus making a break in the conversation . . . And the science of ‘eating made easy' having been further developed by [the butler] Burlinson helping them all round to a glass of wine and offering them another, an ominous lull suddenly took place in the conversation, and all the guests arose simultaneously – the gentlemen standing a pace or two back, while the ladies extracted their enormous crinolines from under the table. Then, the door being opened by the obsequious host, Mrs Somerville sailed out of the room, with the same stately air with which she entered it; and, after a little of the usual mock-modesty about each not going first, Mrs Watkins at length got the whole party collected, and drove them before her like a flock of sheep . . . while the gentlemen closed up at the table, to see what they could make of old Facey.

R.S. Surtees,
Mr Facey Romford's Hounds
(1865)

FOOD FOR THE WORKERS

(I)

In the great towns of England everything may be had of the best, but it costs money; and the workman, who must keep house on a couple of pence, cannot afford much expense. Moreover, he usually receives his wages on Saturday evening, for, although a beginning has been made in the payment of wages on Friday, this excellent arrangement is by no means universal; and so he comes to market at five or even seven o'clock while the buyers of the middle-class have had the first choice during the morning, when the market teems with the best of everything. But when the workers reach it, the best has vanished, and, if it was still there, they would probably not be able to buy it. . . . As nothing can be sold on Sunday, and all shops must be closed at twelve o'clock on Saturday night, such things as would not keep until Monday are sold at any price between ten o'clock and midnight. But nine-tenths of what is sold at ten o'clock is past using by Sunday morning, yet these are precisely the provisions which make up the Sunday dinner of the poorest class. The meat which the workers buy is very often past using; but having bought it, they must eat it. . . .

Dealers and manufacturers adulterate all kinds of provisions in an atrocious manner, and without the slightest regard to the health of the consumers . . . Let us hear the
Liverpool Mercury:
‘Salted butter is sold for fresh, the lumps being covered with a coating of fresh butter, or a pound of fresh being laid on top to taste, while the salted article is sold after this test, or the whole mass is washed and then sold as fresh. With sugar, pounded rice and other cheap adulterating materials are mixed, and the whole sold at full price. The refuse of soap-boiling establishments also is mixed with other things and sold as sugar. Chicory and other cheap stuff is mixed with ground coffee, and artificial coffee beans with the unground article. Cocoa is often adulterated with fine brown earth, treated with fat to render it more easily mistakable for real cocoa. Tea is mixed with the leaves of the sloe and with other refuse, or dry tea-leaves are roasted on hot copper plates, so returning to the proper colour and being sold as fresh. Pepper is mixed with pounded nutshells; port wine is manufactured outright (out of alcohol, dye-stuffs, etc.), while it is notorious that more of it is consumed in England alone than is grown in Portugal; and tobacco is mixed with disgusting substances of all sorts and in all possible forms in which the article is produced.' . . .

The habitual food of the individual working man naturally varies according to his wages. The better paid workers, especially those in whose families every member is able to earn something, have good food as long as this state of things lasts; meat daily, and bacon and cheese for supper. Where wages are less, meat is used only two or three times a week, and the proportion of bread and potatoes increases. Descending gradually, we find the animal food reduced to a small piece of bacon cut up with the potatoes; lower still, even this disappears, and there remain only bread, cheese, porridge and potatoes, until on the lowest round of the ladder, among the Irish, potatoes form the sole food. As an accompaniment, weak tea, with perhaps a little sugar, milk or spirits, is universally drunk. . . . The quantity of food varies, of course, like its quality, according to the rate of wages, so that among ill-paid workers, even if they have no large families, hunger prevails in spite of full and regular work; and the number of the ill-paid is very large. . . . In these cases all sorts of devices are used; potato parings, vegetable refuse, and rotten vegetables are eaten for want of other food, and everything speedily gathered up which may possibly contain an atom of nourishment. And, if the week's wages are used up before the end of the week, it often enough happens that in the closing days the family gets only as much food, if any, as is barely sufficient to keep off starvation.

Friedrich Engels,
The Condition of the Working-Class in England in 1844
(1845; trans. F.K. Wischnewetsky, 1885)

(II)

[Shopping in the New Cut, Lambeth]

There are hundreds of stalls and every stall has one or two lights; whether it is illuminated by the intense white lamp of the new self-generating gas-lamp, or else brightened by the red smoky flame of the old grease lamp. One man shows off his yellow haddock with a candle stuck in a bucket of firewood, another makes a candlestick of a huge turnip and the tallow gutters over its sides, while the boy shouting ‘Eight a penny, stunning pears!' has rolled his dip in a thick coat of brown paper that flares away with the candle. . . . These with the sparkling round-glass globes of the tea-dealers' shops and the butchers' gas-lights streaming and fluttering in the wind like flags of flame, pour forth such a flood of light that at a distance the atmosphere immediately above the spot is as lurid as if the street were on fire. . . . Then the tumult of the thousand different cries of the eager dealers all shouting at the tops of their voices at one and the same time, are almost bewildering. ‘So-old again,' roars one. ‘Chestnuts all 'ot, a penny a score,' bawls another. . . . ‘Penny a lot, fine russets,' calls the apple woman. And so the babel goes on. . . . The man with a donkey cart filled with turnips has three lads to shout for him to their utmost with their ‘Ho! Ho! Hi-i-i! What d'you think of this here? A penny a bunch – hurrah for free trade!'