The Regency Library

Simond Excerpt Three

pages 47-67.

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            March 5.-It is difficult to form an idea of the kind of winter days in London; the smoke of fossil coals forms an atmosphere, perceivable for many miles, like a great round cloud attached to the earth. In the town itself, when the weather is cloudy and foggy, which is frequently the case in winter, this smoke increases the general dingy hue, and terminates the length of every street with a fixed grey mist, receding as you advance. But when some rays of sun happen to fall on this artificial atmosphere, its impure mass assumes immediately a pale orange tint, similar to the effect of Claude Lorraine glasses,--a mild golden hue, quite beautiful. The air, in the mean time, is loaded with small flakes of smoke, in sublimation,--a sort of flower of soot, so light as to float without falling. This black snow sticks to your clothes and linen, or lights on your face. You just feel something on your nose, on your cheek,--the finger is applied mechanically, and fixes it into a black patch!

            England is rich in pictures. The whole Orleans gallery, and many other collections, came here during the revolution. These treasures have been divided and scattered all over the kingdom. We have not yet seen any thing of them; there has not been really sufficient light during the short days. The British school of painting has not existed above forty years. Sir Joshua Reynolds may be considered as the founder of it, and was the first president of the Royal Academy. He exalted an inferior branch of the art above its usual rank,--portrait-painting became under his hand historical. He seems as if he had surprised nature in action, and a characteristic action, and had fixed it on his canvas at one stroke, with perfect resemblance, but a resemblance which moves and thinks. It is impossible to imagine any thing more perfect than his children, with their playful, graceful, awkwardness, the arch simplicity and innocence of their smile. His colouring, which does not appear to have ever had much strength, fades away, and disappears rapidly;--many of his pictures are now only black and white. He is said to have been fond of trying experiments in colours, and thought he had found the secret of rendering them more lasting. Sir Joshua Reynolds, far from being "gueux comme un peintre," lived, like Reubens, in affluence; receiving the best society of London,--the highest, the most learned and agreeable; and left after him a fortune of L.50,000 sterling, raised on the vanity of his countrymen, rather than on their love for the arts. They might have praised his talents,--but would not have rewarded them, if he had not painted their portraits. His price, in the last part of his life, was 200 guineas for a full-length. His discourses at the Royal Academy, which have been published, do him as much honour as his pictures. This great example could not fail of being followed,--and all the English artists are portrait-painters. It must be acknowledged they excel in that line. I have visited some of them. Mr. Lawrence and Mr. Philips have a bold, free, and vigorous manner; Mr. Owen a correct design, and good composition. There are many others of great merit. Mr. Nollekins is a sculptor, (of portraits likewise): we saw in his workshop a funeral group, so excellent as to make us regret that his talents were not always so employed. It commemorates a woman who died in child-bed. She is sitting on the ground, her back supported by a standing figure of a woman, who bends over her, and points above; the dead child lies on the lap of the dying mother, who holds its hand in hers. Pain of body and anguish of mind,--the terrors of death itself,--are vanishing with life, leaving only a kind of heavenly serenity, the faint expression of which seems also ready to abandon the earthly form. All is simplicity in the attitude; truth and feeling in the expression. We saw there also a fine Venus by the same artist;--the heads of Fox and Pitt in marble,--very like we are told; neither of them looking like great men; but the countenance of Fox is at least that of a good-natured man; the other looks harsh and proud. The ex-minister, Mr. Canning, was sitting there for his bust, to be placed, I suppose, by the side of his master's.

            The English are accused of having neglected the fine arts, and acknowledge very readily the truth of the charge. One of their artists, Mr. Shee, has published a well-written pamphlet-his view of the evil, and its remedy. He wants, if I recollect rightly, that government should appropriate a certain sum for the purpose of purchasing pictures annually, painted by artists, natives or not, residing in England, chosen by a committee of fit judges. Government has at present, I believe, other calls for its money. But there is a society lately formed for the same object; they have provided some convenient rooms in Pall Mall, lighted by sky-lights, for the reception of modern pictures; the public is admitted at two shillings a head, and a person is always on the spot to treat with those who wish to buy any of the pictures. Those purchased remain there till the end of the exhibition, which lasts about four months. The purchaser of any picture has his entrance free the remainder of the time. A very considerable revenue, raised by this means, is applied to the purchase of modern pictures for the society. This institution will certainly create a great emulation among artists; and those who have superior talents will be enabled to quit the sordid portrait, and to be historians and poets without fear of starving. I must own, however, that I have seen very few pictures there that were above mediocrity; bad design,--ignorance of the human form and anatomy,--colouring poor and purplish. The heads, however, are fine in general; and these striking countenances, thus starting out of the canvas, put me to the mind of the man in "Le Tableau Parlant," who thrusts his living head through a hole in a picture. Landscapes of merit are much more common than historical pictures. There is more originality,--more knowledge of nature in this branch of art,--more beau idéal,--more poetry, here than in France.

            The exquisite perfection of English engravings had given me a corresponding idea of the art of painting; but this elder branch is much inferior to the other. Landscapes, especially, are engraved here with a degree of finish,--a softness,--a richness of colouring, if I might be allowed the expression, which it seems impossible to surpass. This art having become a great article of trade, furnishes an early reward to talents; bread first, and fame afterwards. The little proficiency made in the arts, the sciences, and all that requires much study, great labour, and sacrifices, by most of those who are born to an independent fortune, shews sufficiently that the first step in the career is urged by hard necessity.

            There is a species of composition, which has been brought here to a high degree of excellence,--subjects taken in common and modern life. The personages are not always boors, sailors, or soldiers, in camps and taverns, as in the Flemish school;--or shepherds and shepherdesses à-la- Virgile-but real peasants or tradesmen, with their proper appendages, and placed in natural situations, interesting and characteristic, without caricature, and often with much dramatic effect. The British Institution has several good pictures in this style. I shall notice one which pleased me particularly. You see a room occupied by a shoemaker and his family. He is at work, seated on a bench in the front of the picture; shirt-sleeves tucked up-squared elbows-a shoe in one hand, on his closed knees,--a heavy hammer in the other, hard at work; his son by him, his back turned, works at the same trade. Behind them, at a table, the mother shells beans; the daughter, seated at the same table, is binding shoes. A child on a low chair, a bowl in his hand, eating carelessly, as if he had had enough and playing with the cat. In the middle of all this the door opens; a young man in his holiday dress, with a nosegay at his button-hole, hat off, and scratching his head, with an awkward embarrassed air, advances a few steps, and is about to tell the object of his visit. The father stops short in the middle of his work, and half raising his head, shews a wrinkled forehead,--care-worn,--a sharp and impatient eye-and, altogether, a countenance ill-calculated to encourage the gallant. The girl, without interrupting her work, but deeply blushing, uneasy, and anxious, casts a side-glance at what is going on. The mother looks complacently, and the young brother laughs in his sleeve with suppressed archness, while the child continues playing with the cat, without taking any concern in the scene, which is called, as may be imagined, "The Asking in Marriage." The drawing and composition are perfect; the colouring rather dull, but true; the expression is nature itself, and neither too high nor too low. All the details of furniture, utensils, and ornaments, are finished with the greatest care, and with the greatest minuteness; and, although perfectly distinct, not obtrusive, nor distracting the attention from the principal figures. The artist is Mr. Crossé of Dusseldorf, who has been fifteen years in London without much reputation, but I should think has now secured one. Another artist, Mr. Wilkie, has reached in a few years the highest honours of this kind. I have not seen any thing of his yet. He is from Scotland, very young, and in bad health, but extremely well-informed and respectable.

            I have noticed some other pictures of considerable merit at the British Institution, but descriptions of pictures are generally tiresome and insufficient. I have described Mr. Crossé's, merely to give an idea of that style which appears to be, compared to historical painting, what memoirs are to history. I prefer memoirs, as giving the moral or human history, instead of the history of diplomacy and wars, which has no interest nor variety, and contains only that sort of information, of which one volume affords as much as an hundred. There is a false lustre attached to rank and power, which lends an imaginary importance to characters and actions insignificant in themselves. They are not always great men who effect great things;--much is due to the means which chance has placed in their hands. With the same effort you may throw a stone farther than a feather; and it may not perhaps be much more difficult to manage an empire than a shop. At any rate, I prefer Mr. Crossé's or Mr. Wilkie's humble subjects, to most of those with which history or fable might have furnished them.

            An English dinner is very different from a French one; less so, however, than formerly,--the art of cookery being in fact now half French. England was always under great obligations to its neighbours in that respect; and most of the culinary terms are French, as well as those of tactics. It is singular, that the same animal which, when living, has an English name, has a French one when slaughtered. A sheep becomes mutton; an ox, beef; a hog, pork. I overheard, the other day, an old Frenchman, who has lived thirty years among the English, tell one of his children who happened to have dirty hands, to go and wash them, adding by way of reproof, "Go, you are a little pork." Such misapplication of words shock like discords in music, or ill-assorted colours, the more as they come nearer without being right, and are extremely ludicrous.

            The master and mistress of the house sit at each end of the table,--narrower and longer than French tables,--the mistress at the upper end;--and the places near her are the places of honour. There are commonly two courses and a dessert. I shall venture to give a sketch of a moderate dinner for ten or twelve persons. Although contemporary readers may laugh, I flatter myself it may prove interesting to future ages,--for

 First Course:

 Oyster Sauce.               Fowls.                          Vegetables.

Fish.                             Soup.                           Roasted or Boiled Beef

            Spinage            Bacon                          Vegetables

 Second Course

 Creams.                       Pastry                           Cauliflowers.

Ragoût à la                   Cream.                                     Game.

Françoise.

 Celery.                         Macaroni.                                 Pastry.

             Walnuts.                                                           Raisins and Almonds.

 Third Course

 Apples.                                    Cakes.                                     Pears.

             Raisins & Almonds                                                       Oranges.

             The soup is always a consommè, succulent, and high-seasoned. Vegetables, on the contrary, are exhibited in all the simplicity of nature, like hay to horses, only a little boiled instead of dried. Such a dinner as I have described is now perhaps a little antiquated. Among people of fashion the master and mistress generally abandon the ends of the table,--which indeed has often no end, being round; there are more made-dishes or French ragouts; they are served in succession hot and hot, and vegetables do not appear quite in naturalibus. Good old English families have frequently no soup at all, and the dishes are only roast and boiled.

             This plum-pudding, celebrated by Voltaire, is quite a national dish, and my French readers will thank me for the receipt of it, which they will find in a note* The German mineralogists have given the name of pudding-stein to a ponderous and hard stone, composed of fragments bound together by a common cement. I do not know whether the pudding is derived from the stone, or the stone from the pudding, and either might be considered as a reflexion; but to my taste plum-pudding is excellent.

            The wine generally drank is Port, high in colour, rough, and strong,--Madeira, and Sherry; Bourdeaux wine, usually called here Claret, Burgundy, Champagne, and other French wines, are luxuries. Few of these wines come to England without some heightening of brandy. People generally taste of fewer dishes here than at Paris, each dining generally on one or two. You are not pressed to eat or drink. The ordinary beverage during the dinner is small-beer, porter rarely, and sparkling ale, which is served in high shaped glasses like Champagne glasses; water, acidulated by the carbonic gas, is frequently used; few drink wine and water mixed. The crystal vessels, called decanters, in which wine is brought on table, are remarkably beautiful. Formerly it was the invariable custom to drink every body's health round the table; and although less general now, it is by no means entirely abolished. It was done in this way: One of the guests challenged another, male or female; this being accepted by a slight inclination of the head, they filled respectively, each watching the motions of his adversary, then raised their glasses, bowing to each other, and in this attitude, looking round the table, they had to name every one of the company successively. This ceremony finished, the two champions eyed each other gravely, and carrying their glasses to their lips, quaffed their wine simultaneously. As one challenger did not wait for another, and each guest matched himself without minding his neighbours, the consequence was, circular glances, calls of names, and mutual bows, forming a running-fire round the table, crossing in every direction. It was then the invariable custom to introduce guests to each other by name, and it was quite necessary to recollect these names, in order to drink their healths at table. This custom of introducing is losing ground every day; and in fact the height of fashion is, to banish ever thing like géne and ceremony. This is certainly very well; but some people go a little farther, and, under pretence of ease, every appearance of mutual good-will is excluded. Voltaire has said somewhere, "qui n'est que juste est dur." I would add, qui n'est que franc est brutal. True politeness, I presume, is merely benevolence in small things, which costs so little, and requires so few sacrifices, that it is not worth while to dispense with it: When politeness promises no more, it is consistent with perfect sincerity. The manners of those who have that sort of politeness resemble each other in all countries, while the arbitrary politeness of fashion is more local. Fashionable people in England are very apt to be insolent,--in France probably impertinent.

            Soon after dinner the ladies retire, the mistress of the house rising first, while the men remain standing. Left alone, they resume their seats, evidently more at ease, and the conversation takes a different turn,--less reserved,--and either graver or more licentious:

             Politics are a subject of such general interest in England, both for men and women, that it engrosses the conversation before, as much as after the retreat of the ladies; the latter, indeed, are still more violent and extravagant than the men, whenever they meddle at all with politics, and the men out of Parliament, I think, more than those in Parliament. Women, however, do not speak much in numerous and mixed company. The political topics most usually agitated relate to the measures of administration; and the ministers are infallibly blamed or praised for the same things and for every thing, as the person who speaks happens to belong to one or the other party. This ministerial controversy, however, is carried on with sufficient good-humour; but there is another branch of politics which is hardly ever introduced without producing more heat and earnestness of debate,--that is, parliamentary reform; a nice and intricate question, which few of the disputants understand, and they are the more positive and violent on that very account. As to ministers, it is quite another thing; the disputants on this point know exactly how the matter stands; those who support them are in general supposed to be in duty bound to do so,--and there is no disputing on a point of duty.

            The minister Walpole, who is thought to have understood the manipulation of his art better than any one, and to have known how to manage mankind, used to say, that he was sure to keep his guests at table in good-humour, by leading the conversation to eating and women;--they were all of one mind on these subjects.-The recipe has lost nothing of its efficacy, and the matter is at this day discussed con amore. Old men and young all join in it; and make themselves amends, over the bottle, for the restraint necessary before women.

            There are some customs here not quite consistent with the scrupulous delicacy of which the English pique themselves. Towards the end of dinner, and before the ladies retire, bowls of coloured glass full of water are placed before each person.  All (women as well as men) stoop over, sucking up some water, and returning it, perhaps more than once, and, with a spitting and washing sort of noise, quite charming,--the operation frequently assisted by a finger elegantly thrust in the mouth! This done, and the hands dipped also, the napkins, and sometimes the table-cloth, are sued to wipe hand and mouth. This, however, is nothing to what I am going to relate. Drinking much and long leads to unavoidable consequences. Will it be credited, that, in a corner of the very dining-room, there is a certain convenience of furniture, to be used by any body who wants it. The operation is performed very deliberately and undisguisedly, as a matter of course, and occasions no interruption of the conversation. I once took the liberty to ask why this convenient article was not placed out of the room, in some adjoining closet; and was answered that, in former times, when good fellowship was more strictly enforced than in these degenerate days, it had been found that men of weak heads or stomachs took advantage of the opportunity to make their escape shamefully, before they were quite drunk; and that it was to guard against such an enormity that this nice expedient had been invented. I have seen the article in question regularly provided in houses where there were no men, that is, no master of the house; the mistress, therefore, must be understood to have given the necessary orders to her servants,--a supposition rather alarming for the delicacy of an English lady. Yet I find these people up in arms against some uncleanly practices of the French; for instance, spitting on the floor, the carpet, &c. &c. or spreading in full view a snuff-taking handkerchief, with an innocence of nastiness quite inconceivable. To take a lump of sugar with their fingers, is another offence the French are apt to give, but of a lighter dye. Dr. Johnson was once exposed to an abomination of the latter sort during his tour in France, and the astonishment and wrath of the Doctor are faithfully recorded somewhere.

            It may be a matter or curiosity in France to know how the people of London are lodged. Each family occupy a whole house, unless very poor. There are advantages and disadvantages attending this custom. Among the first, the being more independent of noise, the dirt, the contagious disorders, or the danger or your neighbour's fires, and having a more complete home. On the other hand, a suite of apartments all on one floor, even of a few rooms only, looks much better, and is more convenient. These narrow houses, three or four stories high,--one for eating, one for sleeping, a third for company, a fourth under ground for the kitchen, a fifth perhaps at top for the servants,--and the agility, the ease, the quickness with which the individuals of the family run up and down, and perch on different stories, give the idea of a cage with sticks and birds. The plan of these houses is very simple, two rooms on each story; one in the front, with two or three windows looking on the street, the other on a yard behind, often very small; the stairs generally taken out of the breadth of the back-room. The ground-floor is usually elevated a few feet above the level of the street, and separated from it by an area, a sort of ditch, a few feet wide, generally from three to eight, and six to eight feet deep, inclosed by an iron railing; the windows of the kitchen are in this area. A bridge of stone or brick leads to the door of the house. The front of these houses is about twenty or twenty-five feet wide; they certainly have rather a paltry appearance;--but you cannot pass the threshold without being struck with the look of order and neatness of the interior. Instead of the abominable filth of the common entrance and common stairs of a French house, here you step from the very street on a neat floor-cloth or carpet, the wall painted or papered, a lamp in its glass bell hanging from the ceiling, and every apartment in the same style:--all is neat, compact, and independent, or, as it is best expressed here, snug and comfortable,--a familiar expression, rather vulgar perhaps, from the thing itself being too common.

            On the foot pavement before each house is a round hole, fifteen or eighteen inches in diameter, covered with an iron grate; through that hole the coal-cellar is filled without endangering the neatness of the house. The streets have all common sewers, which drain the filth of every house. The drains preclude that awkward process by which necessaries are emptied at Paris, poisoning the air of whole streets, during the night, with effluvia, hurtful and sometimes fatal to the inhabitants. Rich houses have what are called water-closets; a cistern in the upper story, filled with water, communicates by a pipe and cock to a vessel of earthen ware, which it washes. The rent of the house of the class described, which is of the middling or low kind, varies in different parts of the town, from L. 80 to L. 200 sterling, including the taxes, which are from L. 20 to L. 50. The following sketch will give an idea of one of the best houses. This is the first story. Below, on the ground-floor, the front room, 24 feet by 30 is the eating room; the one 18 by 22 is the servants' hall. This house was bought by the present proprietor for L. 16,000 sterling, but had cost nearly double in building. The rent of houses a little inferior is L. 400 or L. 500 sterling a-year, including taxes; but there are houses the rent of which is L. 1000 a-year. The best houses are occupied by the proprietors themselves. The establishment of such a house as is described above, is from four to six male servants, and probably as many women; --the wages of the former, L. 40 sterling, dress included; and of the latter, L. 10 to L. 12; and the whole annual expense L. 4000 to L. 6000 sterling. Butcher-meat is as follows: Beef and mutton, 8d; veal, 1s to 1s 6d.; butter, 1s. 10d.; bread, 3d the pound; a good cow, L. 18 to L. 20 sterling; a good horse, L. 50 to L. 100 sterling.

             *Plum-pudding is a mass of paste, formed of equal quantities of crums of bread or of flour, of firm fat from the kidneys of beef, of dried raisins properly stoned, and of corinths, a sort of dried grape which comes from the Mediterranean. Eggs and a small quantity of milk are also added; and to improve the whole, a little citron, spices, and brandy. All this, well mixed, is tied in a piece of linen cloth, and boiled for five or six hours in a pot full of water, but suspended so as not to touch the bottom, which might burn it. The longer it is boiled the better; and this precious faculty of not suffering any thing from waiting, has made it be named emphatically Hunter's Pudding,--Pudding de Chasseur. The cloth is taken from it before serving. The pudding forms a large ball, which is cut into slices, upon which each pours a sauce composed of butter, sugar, and wine.

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