Books: Our Old Home
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Nathaniel Hawthorne >> Our Old Home
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One very pleasant characteristic, which I never met with at any other
public or partially public dinner, was the presence of ladies. No doubt,
they were principally the wives and daughters of city magnates; and if we
may judge from the many sly allusions in old plays and satirical poems,
the city of London has always been famous for the beauty of its women and
the reciprocal attractions between them and the men of quality. Be that
as it might, while straying hither and thither through those crowded
apartments, I saw much reason for modifying certain heterodox opinions
which I had imbibed, in my Transatlantic newness and rawness, as regarded
the delicate character and frequent occurrence of English beauty. To
state the entire truth (being, at this period, some years old in English
life), my taste, I fear, had long since begun to be deteriorated by
acquaintance with other models of feminine loveliness than it was my
happiness to know in America. I often found, or seemed to find, if I may
dare to confess it, in the persons of such of my dear countrywomen as I
now occasionally met, a certain meagreness, (Heaven forbid that I should
call it scrawniness!) a deficiency of physical development, a scantiness,
so to speak, in the pattern of their material make, a paleness of
complexion, a thinness of voice,--all of which characteristics,
nevertheless, only made me resolve so much the more sturdily to uphold
these fair creatures as angels, because I was sometimes driven to a
half-acknowledgment, that the English ladies, looked at from a lower
point of view, were perhaps a little finer animals than they. The
advantages of the latter, if any they could really be said to have,
were all comprised in a few additional lumps of clay on their shoulders
and other parts of their figures. It would be a pitiful bargain to
give up the ethereal charm of American beauty in exchange for half a
hundred-weight of human clay!
At a given signal we all found our way into an immense room, called the
Egyptian Hall, I know not why, except that the architecture was classic,
and as different as possible from the ponderous style of Memphis and the
Pyramids. A powerful band played inspiringly as we entered, and a
brilliant profusion of light shone down on two long tables, extending the
whole length of the hall, and a cross-table between them, occupying
nearly its entire breadth. Glass gleamed and silver glistened on an acre
or two of snowy damask, over which were set out all the accompaniments of
a stately feast. We found our places without much difficulty, and the
Lord Mayor's chaplain implored a blessing on the food,--a ceremony which
the English never omit, at a great dinner or a small one, yet consider, I
fear, not so much a religious rite as a sort of preliminary relish before
the soup.
The soup, of course, on this occasion, was turtle, of which, in
accordance with immemorial custom, each guest was allowed two platefuls,
in spite of the otherwise immitigable law of table-decorum. Indeed,
judging from the proceedings of the gentlemen near me, I surmised that
there was no practical limit, except the appetite of the guests and the
capacity of the soup-tureens. Not being fond of this civic dainty, I
partook of it but once, and then only in accordance with the wise maxim,
always to taste a fruit, a wine, or a celebrated dish, at its indigenous
site; and the very fountain-head of turtle-soup, I suppose, is in the
Lord Mayor's dinner-pot. It is one of those orthodox customs which
people follow for half a century without knowing why, to drink a sip of
rum-punch, in a very small tumbler, after the soup. It was excellently
well-brewed, and it seemed to me almost worth while to sup the soup for
the sake of sipping the punch. The rest of the dinner was catalogued in
a bill-of-fare printed on delicate white paper within an arabesque border
of green and gold. It looked very good, not only in the English and
French names of the numerous dishes, but also in the positive reality of
the dishes themselves, which were all set on the table to be carved and
distributed by the guests. This ancient and honest method is attended
with a good deal of trouble, and a lavish effusion of gravy, yet by no
means bestowed or dispensed in vain, because you have thereby the
absolute assurance of a banquet actually before your eyes, instead of a
shadowy promise in the bill-of-fare, and such meagre fulfilment as a
single guest can contrive to get upon his individual plate. I wonder
that Englishmen, who are fond of looking at prize-oxen in the shape of
butcher's-meat, do not generally better estimate the aesthetic gormandism
of devouring the whole dinner with their eyesight, before proceeding to
nibble the comparatively few morsels which, after all, the most heroic
appetite and widest stomachic capacity of mere mortals can enable even an
alderman really to eat. There fell to my lot three delectable things
enough, which I take pains to remember, that the reader may not go away
wholly unsatisfied from the Barmecide feast to which I have bidden him,--
a red mullet, a plate of mushrooms, exquisitely stewed, and part of a
ptarmigan, a bird of the same family as the grouse, but feeding high up
towards the summit of the Scotch mountains, whence it gets a wild
delicacy of flavor very superior to that of the artificially nurtured
English game-fowl. All the other dainties have vanished from my memory
as completely as those of Prospero's banquet after Ariel had clapped his
wings over it. The band played at intervals inspiriting us to new
efforts, as did likewise the sparkling wines which the footmen supplied
from an inexhaustible cellar, and which the guests quaffed with little
apparent reference to the disagreeable fact that there comes a to-morrow
morning after every feast. As long as that shall be the case, a prudent
man can never have full enjoyment of his dinner.
Nearly opposite to me, on the other side of the table, sat a young lady
in white, whom I am sorely tempted to describe, but dare not, because
not only the supereminence of her beauty, but its peculiar character,
would cause the sketch to be recognized, however rudely it might be
drawn. I hardly thought that there existed such a woman outside of a
picture-frame, or the covers of a romance: not that I had ever met with
her resemblance even there, but, being so distinct and singular an
apparition; she seemed likelier to find her sisterhood in poetry and
picture than in real life. Let us turn away from her, lest a touch too
apt should compel her stately and cold and soft and womanly grace to
gleam out upon my page with a strange repulsion and unattainableness in
the very spell that made her beautiful. At her side, and familiarly
attentive to her, sat a gentleman of whom I remember only a hard outline
of the nose and forehead, and such a monstrous portent of a beard that
you could discover no symptom of a mouth, except, when he opened it to
speak, or to put in a morsel of food. Then, indeed, you suddenly became
aware of a cave hidden behind the impervious and darksome shrubbery.
There could be no doubt who this gentleman and lady were. Any child
would have recognized them at a glance. It was Bluebeard and a new wife
(the loveliest of the series, but with already a mysterious gloom
overshadowing her fair young brow) travelling in their honeymoon, and
dining, among other distinguished strangers, at the Lord Mayor's table.
After an hour or two of valiant achievement with knife and fork came the
dessert; and at the point of the festival where finger-glasses are
usually introduced, a large silver basin was carried round to the guests,
containing rose-water, into which we dipped the ends of our napkins and
were conscious of a delightful fragrance, instead of that heavy and weary
odor, the hateful ghost of a defunct dinner. This seems to be an ancient
custom of the city, not confined to the Lord Mayor's table, but never met
with westward of Temple Bar.
During all the feast, in accordance with another ancient custom, the
origin or purport of which I do not remember to have heard, there stood a
man in armor, with a helmet on his head, behind his Lordship's chair.
When the after-dinner wine was placed on the table, still another
official personage appeared behind the chair, and proceeded to make a
solemn and sonorous proclamation (in which he enumerated the principal
guests, comprising three or four noblemen, several baronets, and plenty
of generals, members of Parliament, aldermen, and other names of the
illustrious, one of which sounded strangely familiar to my ears), ending
in some such style as this: "and other gentlemen and ladies, here
present, the Lord Mayor drinks to you all in a loving-cup,"--giving a
sort, of sentimental twang to the two words,--"and sends it round among
you!" And forthwith the loving-cup--several of them, indeed, on each
side of the tables--came slowly down with all the antique ceremony.
The fashion of it is thus. The Lord Mayor, standing up and taking the
covered cup in both hands, presents it to the guest at his elbow, who
likewise rises, and removes the cover for his Lordship to drink, which
being successfully accomplished, the guest replaces the cover and
receives the cup into his own hands. He then presents it to his next
neighbor, that the cover may be again removed for himself to take a
draught, after which the third person goes through a similar manoeuvre
with a fourth, and he with a fifth, until the whole company find
themselves inextricably intertwisted and entangled in one complicated
chain of love. When the cup came to my hands, I examined it critically,
both inside and out, and perceived it to be an antique and richly
ornamented silver goblet, capable of holding about a quart of wine.
Considering how much trouble we all expended in getting the cup to our
lips, the guests appeared to content themselves with wonderfully moderate
potations. In truth, nearly or quite the original quart of wine being
still in the goblet, it seemed doubtful whether any of the company had
more than barely touched the silver rim before passing it to their
neighbors,--a degree of abstinence that might be accounted for by a
fastidious repugnance to so many compotators in one cup, or possibly by a
disapprobation of the liquor. Being curious to know all about these
important matters, with a view of recommending to my countrymen whatever
they might usefully adopt, I drank an honest sip from the loving-cup, and
had no occasion for another,--ascertaining it to be Claret of a poor
original quality, largely mingled with water, and spiced and sweetened.
It was good enough, however, for a merely spectral or ceremonial drink,
and could never have been intended for any better purpose.
The toasts now began in the customary order, attended with speeches
neither more nor less witty and ingenious than the specimens of
table-eloquence which had heretofore delighted me. As preparatory to
each new display, the herald, or whatever he was, behind the chair of
state, gave awful notice that the Right Honorable the Lord Mayor was
about to propose a toast. His Lordship being happily delivered thereof,
together with some accompanying remarks, the band played an appropriate
tune, and the herald again issued proclamation to the effect that such or
such a nobleman, or gentleman, general, dignified clergyman, or what not,
was going to respond to the Right Honorable the Lord Mayor's toast; then,
if I mistake not, there was another prodigious flourish of trumpets and
twanging of stringed instruments; and finally the doomed individual,
waiting all this while to be decapitated, got up and proceeded to make a
fool of himself. A bashful young earl tried his maiden oratory on the
good citizens of London, and having evidently got every word by heart
(even including, however he managed it, the most seemingly casual
improvisations of the moment), he really spoke like a book, and made
incomparably the smoothest speech I ever heard in England.
The weight and gravity of the speakers, not only on this occasion, but
all similar ones, was what impressed me as most extraordinary, not to say
absurd. Why should people eat a good dinner, and put their spirits into
festive trim with Champagne, and afterwards mellow themselves into a most
enjoyable state of quietude with copious libations of Sherry and old
Port, and then disturb the whole excellent result by listening to
speeches as heavy as an after-dinner nap, and in no degree so refreshing?
If the Champagne had thrown its sparkle over the surface of these
effusions, or if the generous Port had shone through their substance with
a ruddy glow of the old English humor, I might have seen a reason for
honest gentlemen prattling in their cups, and should undoubtedly have
been glad to be a listener. But there was no attempt nor impulse of the
kind on the part of the orators, nor apparent expectation of such a
phenomenon on that of the audience. In fact, I imagine that the latter
were best pleased when the speaker embodied his ideas in the figurative
language of arithmetic, or struck upon any hard matter of business or
statistics, as a heavy-laden bark bumps upon a rock in mid-ocean. The
sad severity, the too earnest utilitarianism, of modern life, have
wrought a radical and lamentable change, I am afraid, in this ancient
and goodly institution of civic banquets. People used to come to them,
a few hundred years ago, for the sake of being jolly; they come now with
an odd notion of pouring sober wisdom into their wine by way of
wormwood-bitters, and thus make such a mess of it that the wine and
wisdom reciprocally spoil one another.
Possibly, the foregoing sentiments have taken a spice of acridity from a
circumstance that happened about this stage of the feast, and very much
interrupted my own further enjoyment of it. Up to this time, my
condition had been exceedingly felicitous, both on account of the
brilliancy of the scene, and because I was in close proximity with three
very pleasant English friends. One of them was a lady, whose honored
name my readers would recognize as a household word, if I dared write it;
another, a gentleman, likewise well known to them, whose fine taste, kind
heart, and genial cultivation are qualities seldom mixed in such happy
proportion as in him. The third was the man to whom I owed most in
England, the warm benignity of whose nature was never weary of doing me
good, who led me to many scenes of life, in town, camp, and country,
which I never could have found out for myself, who knew precisely the
kind of help a stranger needs, and gave it as freely as if he had not had
a thousand more important things to live for. Thus I never felt safer or
cosier at anybody's fireside, even my own, than at the dinner-table of
the Lord Mayor.
Out of this serene sky came a thunderbolt. His Lordship got up and
proceeded to make some very eulogistic remarks upon "the literary and
commercial"--I question whether those two adjectives were ever before
married by a copulative conjunction, and they certainly would not live
together in illicit intercourse, of their own accord--"the literary and
commercial attainments of an eminent gentleman there present," and then
went on to speak of the relations of blood and interest between Great
Britain and the aforesaid eminent gentleman's native country. Those
bonds were more intimate than had ever before existed between two great
nations, throughout all history, and his Lordship felt assured that that
whole honorable company would join him in the expression of a fervent
wish that they might be held inviolably sacred, on both sides of the
Atlantic, now and forever. Then came the same wearisome old toast, dry
and hard to chew upon as a musty sea-biscuit, which had been the text of
nearly all the oratory of my public career. The herald sonorously
announced that Mr. So-and-so would now respond to his Right Honorable
Lordship's toast and speech, the trumpets sounded the customary flourish
for the onset, there was a thunderous rumble of anticipatory applause,
and finally a deep silence sank upon the festive hall.
All this was a horrid piece of treachery on the Lord Mayor's part, after
beguiling me within his lines on a pledge of safe-conduct; and it seemed
very strange that he could not let an unobtrusive individual eat his
dinner in peace, drink a small sample of the Mansion House wine, and go
away grateful at heart for the old English hospitality. If his Lordship
had sent me an infusion of ratsbane in the loving-cup, I should have
taken it much more kindly at his hands. But I suppose the secret of the
matter to have been somewhat as follows.
All England, just then, was in one of those singular fits of panic
excitement (not fear, though as sensitive and tremulous as that emotion),
which, in consequence of the homogeneous character of the people, their
intense patriotism, and their dependence for their ideas in public
affairs on other sources than their own examination and individual
thought, are more sudden, pervasive, and unreasoning than any similar
mood of our own public. In truth, I have never seen the American public
in a state at all similar, and believe that we are incapable of it. Our
excitements are not impulsive, like theirs, but, right or wrong, are
moral and intellectual. For example, the grand rising of the North, at
the commencement of this war, bore the aspect of impulse and passion only
because it was so universal, and necessarily done in a moment, just as
the quiet and simultaneous getting-up of a thousand people out of their
chairs would cause a tumult that might be mistaken for a storm. We were
cool then, and have been cool ever since, and shall remain cool to the
end, which we shall take coolly, whatever it may be. There is nothing
which the English find it so difficult to understand in us as this
characteristic. They imagine us, in our collective capacity, a kind of
wild beast, whose normal condition is savage fury, and are always looking
for the moment when we shall break through the slender barriers of
international law and comity, and compel the reasonable part of the
world, with themselves at the head, to combine for the purpose of putting
us into a stronger cage. At times this apprehension becomes so powerful
(and when one man feels it, a million do), that it resembles the passage
of the wind over a broad field of grain, where you see the whole crop
bending and swaying beneath one impulse, and each separate stalk tossing
with the selfsame disturbance as its myriad companions. At such periods
all Englishmen talk with a terrible identity of sentiment and expression.
You have the whole country in each man; and not one of them all, if you
put him strictly to the question, can give a reasonable ground for his
alarm. There are but two nations in the world--our own country and
France--that can put England into this singular state. It is the united
sensitiveness of a people extremely well-to-do, careful of their
country's honor, most anxious for the preservation of the cumbrous and
moss-grown prosperity which they have been so long in consolidating, and
incompetent (owing to the national half-sightedness, and their habit of
trusting to a few leading minds for their public opinion) to judge when
that prosperity is really threatened.
If the English were accustomed to look at the foreign side of any
international dispute, they might easily have satisfied themselves that
there was very little danger of a war at that particular crisis, from the
simple circumstance that their own Government had positively not an inch
of honest ground to stand upon, and could not fail to be aware of the
fact. Neither could they have met Parliament with any show of a
justification for incurring war. It was no such perilous juncture as
exists now, when law and right are really controverted on sustainable or
plausible grounds, and a naval commander may at any moment fire off the
first cannon of a terrible contest. If I remember it correctly, it was a
mere diplomatic squabble, in which the British ministers, with the
politic generosity which they are in the habit of showing towards their
official subordinates, had tried to browbeat us for the purpose of
sustaining an ambassador in an indefensible proceeding; and the American
Government (for God had not denied us an administration of statesmen
then) had retaliated with stanch courage and exquisite skill, putting
inevitably a cruel mortification upon their opponents, but indulging them
with no pretence whatever for active resentment.
Now the Lord Mayor, like any other Englishman, probably fancied that War
was on the western gale, and was glad to lay hold of even so
insignificant an American as myself, who might be made to harp on the
rusty old strings of national sympathies, identity of blood and interest,
and community of language and literature, and whisper peace where there
was no peace, in however weak an utterance. And possibly his Lordship
thought, in his wisdom, that the good feeling which was sure to be
expressed by a company of well-bred Englishmen, at his august and
far-famed dinner-table, might have an appreciable influence on the grand
result. Thus, when the Lord Mayor invited me to his feast, it was a
piece of strategy. He wanted to induce me to fling myself, like a lesser
Curtius, with a larger object of self-sacrifice, into the chasm of
discord between England and America, and, on my ignominious demur, had
resolved to shove me in with his own right-honorable hands, in the hope
of closing up the horrible pit forever. On the whole, I forgive his
Lordship. He meant well by all parties,--himself, who would share the
glory, and me, who ought to have desired nothing better than such an
heroic opportunity,--his own country, which would continue to get cotton
and breadstuffs, and mine, which would get everything that men work with
and wear.
As soon as the Lord Mayor began to speak, I rapped upon my mind, and it
gave forth a hollow sound, being absolutely empty of appropriate ideas.
I never thought of listening to the speech, because I knew it all
beforehand in twenty repetitions from other lips, and was aware that it
would not offer a single suggestive point. In this dilemma, I turned to
one of my three friends, a gentleman whom I knew to possess an enviable
flow of silver speech, and obtested him, by whatever he deemed holiest,
to give me at least an available thought or two to start with, and, once
afloat, I would trust to my guardian-angel for enabling me to flounder
ashore again. He advised me to begin with some remarks complimentary to
the Lord Mayor, and expressive of the hereditary reverence in which his
office was held,--at least, my friend thought that there would be no harm
in giving his Lordship this little sugar-plum, whether quite the fact or
no,--was held by the descendants of the Puritan forefathers. Thence, if
I liked, getting flexible with the oil of my own eloquence, I might
easily slide off into the momentous subject of the relations between
England and America, to which his Lordship had made such weighty
allusion.
Seizing this handful of straw with a death-grip, and bidding my three
friends bury me honorably, I got upon my legs to save both countries, or
perish in the attempt. The tables roared and thundered at me, and
suddenly were silent again. But, as I have never happened to stand in a
position of greater dignity and peril, I deem it a stratagem of sage
policy here to close these Sketches, leaving myself still erect in so
heroic an attitude.
THE END
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