If my friends would but follow the present prevailing1 fashion, I think they ought to give me a testimonial for the paper on Dinner-giving Snobs3, which I am now writing. What do you say now to a handsome comfortable dinner-service of plate (NOT including plates, for I hold silver plates to be sheer wantonness, and would almost as soon think of silver teacups), a couple of neat teapots, a coffeepot, trays, &c., with a little inscription4 to my wife, Mrs. Snob2; and a half-score of silver tankards for the little Snoblings, to glitter on the homely5 table where they partake of their quotidian6 mutton?
If I had my way, and my plans could be carried out, dinner-giving would increase as much on the one hand as dinner-giving Snobbishness7 would diminish:— to my mind the most amiable8 part of the work lately published by my esteemed9 friend (if upon a very brief acquaintance he will allow me to call him so), Alexis Soyer, the regenerator10 — what he (in his noble style) would call the most succulent, savoury, and elegant passages — are those which relate, not to the grand banquets and ceremonial dinners, but to his ‘dinners at home.’
The ‘dinner at home’ ought to be the centre of the whole system of dinner-giving. Your usual style of meal — that is, plenteous, comfortable, and in its perfection — should be that to which you welcome your friends, as it is that of which you partake yourself.
For, towards what woman in the world do I entertain a higher regard than towards the beloved partner of my existence, Mrs. Snob? Who should have a greater place in my affections than her six brothers (three or four of whom we are pretty sure will favour us with their company at seven o’clock), or her angelic mother, my own valued mother-inlaw?— for whom, finally, would I wish to cater11 more generously than for your very humble12 servant, the present writer? Now, nobody supposes that the Birmingham plate is had out, the disguised carpet-beaters introduced to the exclusion13 of the neat parlour-maid, the miserable14 ENTREES15 from the pastrycook’s ordered in, and the children packed off (as it is supposed) to the nursery, but really only to the staircase, down which they slide during the dinner-time, waylaying16 the dishes as they come out, and fingering the round bumps on the jellies, and the forced-meat balls in the soup,— nobody, I say, supposes that a dinner at home is characterized by the horrible ceremony, the foolish makeshifts, the mean pomp and ostentation17 which distinguish our banquets on grand field-days.
Such a notion is monstrous18. I would as soon think of having my dearest Bessy sitting opposite me in a turban and bird of paradise, and showing her jolly mottled arms out of blond sleeves in her famous red satin gown: ay, or of having Mr. Toole every day, in a white waistcoat, at my back, shouting, ‘Silence FAW the chair!’
Now, if this be the case; if the Brummagem-plate pomp and the processions of disguised footmen are odious19 and foolish in everyday life, why not always? Why should Jones and I, who are in the middle rank, alter the modes of our being to assume an ECLAT20 which does not belong to us — to entertain our friends, who (if we are worth anything and honest fellows at bottom,) are men of the middle rank too, who are not in the least deceived by our temporary splendour, and who play off exactly the same absurd trick upon us when they ask us to dine?
If it be pleasant to dine with your friends, as all persons with good stomachs and kindly21 hearts will, I presume, allow it to be, it is better to dine twice than to dine once. It is impossible for men of small means to be continually spending five-and-twenty or thirty shillings on each friend who sits down to their table. People dine for less. I myself have seen, at my favourite Club (the Senior United Service), His Grace the Duke of Wellington quite contented22 with the joint23, one-and-three, and half-pint of sherry, nine; and if his Grace, why not you and I?
This rule I have made, and found the benefit of. Whenever I ask a couple of Dukes and a Marquis or so to dine with me, I set them down to a piece of beef, or a leg-of-mutton and trimmings. The grandees24 thank you for this simplicity25, and appreciate the same. My dear Jones, ask any of those whom you have the honour of knowing, if such be not the case.
I am far from wishing that their Graces should treat me in a similar fashion. Splendour is a part of their station, as decent comfort (let us trust), of yours and mine. Fate has comfortably appointed gold plate for some, and has bidden others contentedly26 to wear the willow-pattern. And being perfectly27 contented (indeed humbly28 thankful — for look around, O Jones, and see the myriads29 who are not so fortunate,) to wear honest linen30, while magnificos of the world are adorned31 with cambric and point-lace, surely we ought to hold as miserable, envious32 fools, those wretched Beaux Tibbs’s of society, who sport a lace dickey, and nothing besides,— the poor silly jays, who trail a peacock’s feather behind them, and think to simulate the gorgeous bird whose nature it is to strut34 on palace-terraces, and to flaunt35 his magnificent fan-tail in the sunshine!
The jays with peacocks’ feathers are the Snobs of this world: and never, since the days of Aesop, were they more numerous in any land than they are at present in this free country.
How does this most ancient apologue apply to the subject in hand?— the Dinner-giving Snob. The imitation of the great is universal in this city, from the palaces of Kensingtonia and Belgravia, even to the remotest corner of Brunswick Square.
Peacocks’ feathers are stuck in the tails of most families. Scarce one of us domestic birds but imitates the lanky36, pavonine strut, and shrill37, genteel scream. O you misguided dinner-giving Snobs, think how much pleasure you lose, and how much mischief38 you do with your absurd grandeurs and hypocrisies39! You stuff each other with unnatural40 forced-meats, and entertain each other to the ruin of friendship (let alone health) and the destruction of hospitality and good-fellowship — you, who but for the peacock’s tail might chatter41 away so much at your ease, and be so jovial42 and happy!
When a man goes into a great set company of dinner-giving and dinner-receiving Snobs, if he has a philosophical43 turn of mind, he will consider what a huge humbug44 the whole affair is: the dishes, and the drink, and the servants, and the plate, and the host and hostess, and the conversation, and the company,— the philosopher included.
The host is smiling, and hob-nobbing, and talking up and down the table; but a prey45 to secret terrors and anxieties, lest the wines he has brought up from the cellar should prove insufficient46; lest a corked47 bottle should destroy his calculations; or our friend the carpet-beater, by making some BEVUE, should disclose his real quality of greengrocer, and show that he is not the family butler.
The hostess is smiling resolutely49 through all the courses, smiling through her agony; though her heart is in the kitchen, and she is speculating with terror lest there be any disaster there. If the SOUFFLE should collapse50, or if Wiggins does not send the ices in time — she feels as if she would commit suicide — that smiling, jolly woman!
The children upstairs are yelling, as their maid is crimping their miserable ringlets with hot tongs51, tearing Miss Emmy’s hair out by the roots, or scrubbing Miss Polly’s dumpy nose with mottled soap till the little wretch33 screams herself into fits. The young males of the family are employed, as we have stated, in piratical exploits upon the landing-place.
The servants are not servants, but the before-mentioned retail52 tradesmen.
The plate is not plate, but a mere53 shiny Birmingham lacquer; and so is the hospitality, and everything else.
The talk is Birmingham talk. The wag of the party, with bitterness in his heart, having just quitted his laundress, who is dunning him for her bill, is firing off good stories; and the opposition54 wag is furious that he cannot get an innings. Jawkins, the great conversationalist, is scornful and indignant with the pair of them, because he is kept out of court. Young Muscadel, that cheap dandy, is talking Fashion and Almack’s out of the MORNING POST, and disgusting his neighbour, Mrs. Fox, who reflects that she has never been there. The widow is vexed55 out of patience, because her daughter Maria has got a place beside young Cambric, the penniless curate, and not by Colonel Goldmore, the rich widower56 from India. The Doctor’s wife is sulky, because she has not been led out before the barrister’s lady; old Doctor Cork48 is grumbling57 at the wine, and Guttleton sneering58 at the cookery.
And to think that all these people might be so happy, and easy, and friendly, were they brought together in a natural unpretentious way, and but for an unhappy passion for peacocks’ feathers in England. Gentle shades of Marat and Robespierre! when I see how all the honesty of society is corrupted59 among us by the miserable fashion-worship, I feel as angry as Mrs. Fox just mentioned, and ready to order a general BATTUE of peacocks.
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prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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snob
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| n.势利小人，自以为高雅、有学问的人 | |
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snobs
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| （谄上傲下的）势利小人( snob的名词复数 )； 自高自大者，自命不凡者 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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quotidian
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| adj.每日的，平凡的 | |
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snobbishness
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| 势利； 势利眼 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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regenerator
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| n.收革者，交流换热器，再生器；蓄热器 | |
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cater
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| vi.(for/to)满足，迎合；(for)提供饮食及服务 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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exclusion
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| n.拒绝，排除，排斥，远足，远途旅行 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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entrees
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| n.入场权( entree的名词复数 )；主菜 | |
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waylaying
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| v.拦截，拦路( waylay的现在分词 ) | |
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ostentation
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| n.夸耀，卖弄 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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eclat
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| n.显赫之成功，荣誉 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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grandees
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| n.贵族，大公，显贵者( grandee的名词复数 ) | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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strut
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| v.肿胀，鼓起；大摇大摆地走；炫耀；支撑；撑开；n.高视阔步；支柱，撑杆 | |
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flaunt
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| vt.夸耀，夸饰 | |
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lanky
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| adj.瘦长的 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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hypocrisies
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| n.伪善，虚伪( hypocrisy的名词复数 ) | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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humbug
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| n.花招，谎话，欺骗 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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corked
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| adj.带木塞气味的，塞着瓶塞的v.用瓶塞塞住( cork的过去式 ) | |
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cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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tongs
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| n.钳；夹子 | |
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retail
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| v./n.零售；adv.以零售价格 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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corrupted
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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