Читать книгу: «Household Organization», страница 6

I know some old Bristol china butter boats of such simple but elegant form, that the curves of the nautilus shell are hardly more graceful. Yet these things had been banished to a kitchen dresser until I implored their release; and now, in the present Bristol china mania, they are promoted to a drawing-room table, a place quite as unsuitable as was the kitchen dresser.

Among useful decorations for the sideboard, some of the prettiest I have seen are the Venetian curved bottles for holding oil and vinegar. They are fixed in a glass stand, and as the curved necks of the flask-shaped bottles bend over across each other, by taking up the stand either oil or vinegar may be poured out without spilling the other condiment, and the flasks require no stoppers, as their curve is sufficient to keep out the dust, though occasionally a glass dolphin is stuck in the mouth of each bottle. This simple yet ingenious contrivance is far prettier than our somewhat vulgar cruet-stand. Moorish brass salvers add colour and brightness to the sideboard, in families where silver salvers and presentation plate are not matters of course.

A simple style of dinner is more elegant, as well as more healthful, than one more elaborate. Let it vary with each day rather than with every course: the dinner will thus preserve a character of its own, better than where this is frittered away among so many dishes that you cannot remember off what you have dined.

There is a medium between this fidgety menu and the monster joints we sometimes burden ourselves with. It requires judgment to take the right line. We need not attempt, in our everyday dinner, to realize Disraeli's ideal of dining: "eating ortolans to the sound of soft music." But we may try to make our dinner an enjoyment as well as a refreshment; and although our set banquets may be rare, taste and attention will impart to every meal something of the character of a feast.

Stress must be laid on the importance of having every article of food in its due season.

Independently of the hygienic value of the change of diet so supplied, which is in itself a substitute for many tonic and alternative medicines, attention to this point will give us luxuries when we may reasonably afford them.

Salmon is as nice when it is a shilling a pound as when it is four times that price, and venison is by no means an expensive viand if the market be watched. If we only think of ribs of beef and legs of mutton, we shall only get beef and mutton. But if we take Nature for our guide, we need not deny ourselves the most gratifying and healthful variety. It is essential that we should eat the fresh fruits as they are ripe, and this rule is equally necessary as regards vegetables.

Indeed, in summer we should accustom ourselves to think more of the vegetable food than of meat; to arrange our dinner in this department primarily, considering what dainty dishes we may concoct of flour and vegetables fried, boiled, and baked, dressed with oil or milk, herbs or spices, incidentally adding the meat – in fact, reversing our usual order of proceedings, where we construct our dinner plan of solid meat, only throwing in vegetables or fruit by way of garnish. But what I wish to dwell on now is not so much the quantity of vegetable produce we ought to consume, as the necessity of its seasonableness.

When our cooks, be they noble, gentle, or simple, have come to study the medicinal properties of plants – how they act upon the different organs of the body, and so on – they will see how beautifully they are adapted by the great Provider to our bodily requirements, according to the weather and other circumstances, and how often what grows best in any situation or soil is the aliment best suited to our own growth in that situation.

If we attended more to this point, our digestions would have sufficiently varied exercise to keep them in healthy working order, and we should hear less about what does or does not agree with people. It is of more consequence that our digestions should be permitted to work at regular hours, than that they should have an over-easy diet. This, indeed, is absolutely injurious to them.

Persons sometimes feel ill, and whatever they may happen to have fed upon is loaded with the responsibility, and that article of diet is cut off for ever from their list, and its hygienic benefit lost to the constitution. The blame is never laid on irregularity, want of air, exercise, or occupation, excitement or perhaps temper, or upon circumstances generally. Either the weather or the food, irrespective of the quantity taken, is charged with every ill.

If we took care to make pictures of our dishes of fruit, they would afford us two delightful sensations instead of one. To do this it is not needful to have heaps of fruits, or pyramids of pines. A plum on a leaf, an orange on a china tile, with a branch of flowers laid across it, make exquisite pictures.

See how we appreciate the form and grace of a single flower in a specimen glass, so that we cannot now endure to see the mass of crushed flowers we used to call a nosegay; the very word, so descriptive of the bundle, being done away with the thing itself. The old nosegay gave us the scent and gay colours of the flowers, but their tender grace had fled. Now they are delightful to their very stems.

Provident housekeepers have so impressed upon our minds the necessity of caring for the future, that we have been taught to make jam of our most delicious fruits, denying ourselves their fresh beauty and fragrance at our tables, while we roast ourselves over preserving pans in the hottest days of July. This, besides being martyrdom, is a work of supererogation, as the fruit is nicer fresh, and to buy it for the sake of keeping it is absurd, as it can but be eaten once. It is a very reasonable practice in the case of persons possessing large fruit-gardens, as much might otherwise be spoiled; but in our town households it is trouble taken in vain.

We all know the difference it makes to our dinners whether they are served up hot, or only lukewarm; and this alone gives a sufficient reason why we should insist upon the kitchen being close to the dining-room. Where there is no possibility of making a door of immediate communication, we should try our utmost to get a slide-window between the two rooms, so that the dishes, and indeed the whole paraphernalia that necessarily moves from kitchen to dining-room, may be placed on a slab at the said window on one side, and taken in at the other side.

If two persons are engaged in performing this work, one dishing up and placing on the window slab, and the other putting the things on the dining-table, it will be very expeditious, but it may be quite easily managed by one person. The slide-window, either a sash or a sliding-door, saves much running to and fro.

I will conclude my remarks upon dining-room furniture with a few words about plate.

The bulk of the plate in daily use in the houses of the upper middle-class is electro-silver, and it is very admissible, being strong, durable, and agreeable to use; and when made in the ordinary fiddle or threaded patterns is useful without being pretentious. But when it expands into Albert patterns, king's patterns, and the like – when, in short, it claims intrinsic value, and pretends to be silver – it becomes vulgar immediately, because it represents a snobbish feeling which is bent on making a show with a sham. We cannot all afford silver plate, though doubtless we should all like it, but all of us wish to have the most agreeable medium with which to eat our food, and for this purpose electro is as good as silver.

It is better, in purchasing, to buy the best quality, as it is so much more durable, and it always looks better.

For dessert knives and forks, those with mother-of-pearl handles are the best; the colour is so pleasant, and they are very easily cleaned.

Should you happen to be the fortunate possessor of old plate, let nothing induce you to do as many weak persons are talked into doing: exchange it for modern patterns.

Modern plate is seldom of even moderately good design. The object of the manufacturer seems to be to crowd upon it as lumpy an embossed ornament as possible, to make it massive, and remind us of so much per ounce. This was not the motive of the old silversmiths, who more frequently engraved than embossed their ornaments. Most of the old engraved silver is delightful, and it is very light.

The Queen-Anne plate, now so keenly sought, is of admirable workmanship and good design, though the edges are rather thin and sharp for comfort in use.

It is worth while having nice electro dish-covers, as the ugly tin ones sometimes seem to have such a very miserable appearance. It will not be necessary to possess many, and they will come to no harm in our elegant kitchen. They may be either hung up or stood on the dresser; the former way is preferable, and rings to suspend them by are easily attached. Dish-covers should be warmed before they are put on, as a cold metal cavern chills a leg of mutton almost to the marrow.

Real silver ornaments for the dinner-table are very precious, but failing these, we may make our tables very elegant with Parian, glass, or even wicker ornaments; and the most interesting of any adornments are vases and dishes painted on porcelain by members of the family. I am sorry to see so many small vulgarities introduced in the shops in the way of menu holders, and other so-called ornaments.

Grotesque is all very well, but it should show a light, delicate play of fancy; and things comic are very amusing when they are not vulgar. But the degenerate caricatures we see about now, mark a tendency to flatter the lowest order of taste, which, if followed, will inevitably drag our conversation down with it. These silly table-decorations began with caricatures of the men who carry the sandwich placards up and down the streets, and daily I see them acquiring all the bad style of common burlesques, or of the cheap valentines.

THE DRAWING-ROOM

Social pressure – Agreeable evening parties – Troubles of party-giving – Musical parties – Flowers on a balcony – Window-gardening – Crowded drawing-rooms – The library or study – Gas, candles, and candlesticks – Original outlay on furniture – Different styles of furniture – Raffaelesque decorations – Carpets, curtains, and chair coverings – Portières – Window blinds – Rugs – Care required in buying furniture – Ornaments – Dusting – Chiffoniers useless – Portfolio stand – Mirrors.

This section of our subject involves our relations with society; and here not even our vanity can make us believe that modern customs are really improvements.

What chance has any lady of our time of emulating the graceful manner in which Madame Récamier held her salon, although she may have as much learning as Madame de Staël?

We are too heavily weighted, our social intercourse is too complicated, too much clogged with ceremony, to move easily; and where our highest faculties should be allowed full play, we find so much hard work and consequent fatigue, that we look upon every dinner and evening party in the light of an uphill road with a difficult team to drive.

We all know and applaud the French manner of visiting. Receiving friends on a stated day of the week, simply enjoying their society, and exerting the intellectual faculties instead of merely opening the purse for their entertainment.

Why have we so seldom the courage to follow this example?

It is because we fear to show less well to the eyes of our acquaintance if our own habits seem less expensive than theirs. A low purse-pride is at the bottom of it all. Our dress must be costly and perpetually changing, our servants and establishment must be displayed, if we are ourselves smothered beneath their weight.

So we give up our precious daylight to morning calls, as we ridiculously call those visits of ceremony which are paid in the afternoon. These afford us no pleasure, while they are an infliction to the people called upon. Do not most of us know the feeling of relief that we have after paying a round of visits, when, on finding, as the day was fine, the greater number of our friends from home, we return with an empty card-case, and say, with the complacency of self-satisfied persons who have done their duty, "There, that is done and need not be done again for a month." Whereas we are sorry when even our slight acquaintances "regret they cannot accept" our invitations to an evening party, when we might enjoy their company, and they the society of each other, at the same time, and at a reasonable hour for enjoyment.

Our "at homes" are on a radically wrong principle. We crowd our rooms, we insist on late hours and fullest dress, and our pleasure in consequence becomes a toil.

But how agreeable is the easy evening gathering in a cheerful and early lighted drawing-room, where few or many welcome guests drop in, knowing it to be our "at home" day. Where we talk and sip tea, play and sing, or amuse ourselves, if clever, with paper games – capital promoters of laughter and whetstones to the wits – and go away as early as we please. All to be over by half-past ten, at any rate, in order not to interfere with early rising next morning. I have found nothing, not even guinea lessons from eminent masters, more conducive to family improvement in music than this way of enjoying society, since one is obliged to have a few new things always at one's fingers' ends ready to perform; and in homely little parties like these, young girls "not yet out" may pass many pleasant evenings under their mother's wing, with real advantage to themselves.

The simpler the dress worn by the ladies who are "at home," the better the taste shown. Here again we may learn much from the French, who perfectly understand the art of demi-toilette.

Our theatres and concert-rooms are filled night after night by people who pay to be entertained. They never take food in their pockets, and the passing to and fro of sellers of refreshment is felt to be a nuisance. Why should people who have dined late be supposed to want supper, unless they have been dancing, or are sitting up later than is good for them? And the proof that they do not want it is in the very little they take of it, except some stout elderly ladies who prepared for it before they came, and who consequently have felt too low all the evening to be moderately cheerful.

People who dine early always make a solid tea about six o'clock. It is only the bourgeois class who love their hot suppers, and the taste stamps them.

How can we use hospitality one towards another without grudging, when, instead of being able to rejoice that a friend is sharing our daily pursuits and repasts, we must spend a fortune in jellies, pastry, and unwholesome sweets, whenever we invite our friends inside our doors; when we are compelled to import from the confectioner piles of plates, dishes, and hired cutlery, turn our houses into scenes of confusion for a week, and feed our children upon what have been aptly called "brass knockers," the remains of the feast? No wonder most of us dread giving a party! No; I would have special banquets on special occasions – Christmas, comings of age, marriages, silver, and above all golden, weddings, welcomes from abroad, and other joyful days. But our enjoyment of society need not be limited to such observances as these, but rather the crop of friendship increased by attentive cultivation.

"Has friendship increased?" asks wise Sir Arthur Helps. "Anxious as I am to show the uniformity of human life, I should say that this, one of the greatest soothers of human misery, has decreased."

Lady Morgan, an experienced leader of society, used to tell me, "My dear, give them plenty of wax-candles and people will enjoy themselves;" to which I add, manage the music well, and teach your daughters to help you, and cultivate musical young men, keeping, however, the law in your own hands.

Almost the only art we have not spoiled by machinery is music – for we do not consider the barrel-organ in the light of music.

Perhaps it is because in this art we had scope for invention, not finding a good thing ready made to our hands by the Greeks, which we might imitate mechanically, and become slaves of its tradition. Possibly it is a blessing in disguise that the music of the ancients is lost to us, for having no models we have no fetters.

There is, however, in music, less liberty for the performer than for the master-inventor; and this is as it should be: we interpret his greater mind. Wilful music is seldom pleasing.

What Ruskin says about truth of line in drawing applies equally to music: In the rapid passages of a presto by Beethoven, the audience at St. James's Hall would know if Hallé played one single note out, even if he slightly touched the corner of a wrong black key; for our ears have been wonderfully trained. And the time must be as accurate as the tone, and the proper degree of light and shade must be expressed, or you are no master. What must it be to be the creator of the music which it is so difficult even to copy!

Yet in our drawing-rooms we permit people to talk all the time music is being played, showing respect neither to the composition nor to the performer. This should not be, and abroad this ill-bred custom has not obtained.

There is, however, something to be said on the other side. The music we hear in society is frequently either flimsy and not worth studying; or it is too difficult for the capacity of the performer, perhaps having been learnt in too idle a manner, in which case conversation shields the composer.

But the chief cause of the distressing rudeness complained of, is that there is too much music at a party, and it is not well arranged. Glees are got up and fail deplorably; harps and flutes are not in tune with other instruments; people accompany songs they have never seen before; and much time and talk are consumed in wishing for absent tenor or bass voices. A little good music would have been delightful; the noise of so many imperfect efforts is only a bore.

In our parties we carelessly lose Nature's purest delights: those which appeal most strongly to our finest perceptions. Is it not true enjoyment to sit among the roses on a balcony listening to a sweet voice within singing an air of Schubert or Mozart? And if the charm be enhanced by moonlight, it is a pleasure for the gods!

It is true that roses will not flourish on London balconies, the coal-smoke being so injurious to them; but pinks, and many other fragrant flowers, grow well and easily, without the cost of frequent renewal required for roses. The general use of window gardens, and the due encouragement of greenery over our houses, would tend much to improve our vitiated atmosphere, and we may have the gratification of feeling that we are doing good to our neighbours while we cultivate plants for our own benefit. Perhaps, by-and-by, a tax may be charged upon every empty window-sill.

The front and back of every house would make a good-sized bit of garden, only it will be perpendicular instead of horizontal. We ought all to grow our own pears trained against the walls, as these ripen as well in town as in the country; and most of us might dwell under our own vines and fig-trees.

A balcony, however small it may be, is an extra room, and frequently it is a good play-room for children if kept clean and well syringed. No training is better for children than the culture of flowers – it unites work and play with every advantage of both. It is an education in itself. Mr. Gladstone calls the love of flowers a peculiarly English taste. He seems to have forgotten the special fondness for plants shown by the French and Belgians; though the Dutch tulip mania reminds one somewhat of a commercial speculation. His remarks on the children's flower-show held at Grosvenor House merit particular attention. He observes that owing to the increased value of land, large masses of the population are removed from contact with nature, and at this period it is important that every family should learn that they possess a resource in the cultivation of flowers both in their cottages and windows, and at every point where contact with the open air may be obtained. He hopes that with the needful improvements in the dwellings of the poor, some means may be devised for fostering cottage horticulture and cottage floriculture.

Wind and scorching sunshine are the great adversaries to window gardening, but both of these evils may be obviated by simple contrivances in the way of screens.

Very few plants can be cultivated in our sitting-rooms with advantage either to themselves or to our furniture. They are greatly injured by gas, as well as by the dry heat of our fires, while they cause a dampness in the atmosphere which speedily produces mildew and other ill effects of moisture.

We should bear in mind, in furnishing a drawing-room, that the guests are the principal part of the furniture, and leave sufficient space for the number we wish our room to hold. A drawing-room as empty as one of Orchardson's pictures may be overcrowded by twenty people.

The walls may be adorned to profusion with objects of taste, without their inconveniently occupying space; but tiny tables and flower-pot stands are often in jeopardy.

In a room crowded with furniture the guests cannot circulate – one because there is not space enough to pass between a lady's dress and the small table with a vase upon it that is so likely to be upset; another because an ottoman just before her keeps her a prisoner on the sofa where she was planted on entering the room – until ladies are thankful to do a little something inaudible at the piano as a pretext for moving, and gentlemen are only too glad to be required to force a passage in the service of a lady. And this not merely in the absurd and terrible crush at an "at home" in the London season, but at a simple evening party anywhere.

It is often agreeable to have several afternoon tea-tables in the drawing-room, as the ladies can pair off at each, and become pleasantly acquainted while serving each other. But in the case of large musical "at homes," it is better to have refreshments served in the dining-room, as the clatter of spoons and the bustle of waiting disturbs the music; besides injury being often done by ice plates left about, tea spilt, and crumbs trodden into the carpet.

We will now leave the subject of parties and study the drawing-room in its ordinary appearance as the sitting-room of the family out of working hours. A drawing-room should be used, and look as if it were used, and if used properly it need never be dirty nor in disorder. A library, or study, greatly aids the drawing-room by preventing its too indiscriminate use. Indeed, where boys and girls have school-work to prepare, this is almost a matter of necessity, as there is neither rest nor comfort for their elders while lessons are going on; and if other members of the family occupy themselves much in writing or painting, it is a great hindrance to have to remove their paraphernalia every time the table is required for some other purpose.

The room may be called a study, morning-room, or library, according to its purpose, bearing in mind that although the name is more high sounding, a library with few books is only ridiculous. And when there are many and good books, the room must be held in great respect, and those who use it trained to extreme neatness and order. I find it a good plan to instal my eldest son as responsible librarian at a small salary; he sees that the younger children put away their books after them.

A gas-standard lights a study better than anything else for general use, though "the Queen's reading lamp" is good for weak eyes.

The standard must be firm on its base, so as not easily to upset; it is less in the way if it stands on the floor rather than on the table, and it should be capable of being raised to the height of six feet, or lowered to any point. It ought to be easily movable in any direction, and the tube long enough to admit of its being placed in any part of the room. The only kind of tubing that really prevents a disagreeable smell escaping from the gas is the snake tubing. I had at first a kind that was dearer than the ordinary india-rubber tubing, but, although assured by the gasfitter that it would be inodorous, I was obliged to change it for the snake, for which I paid twelve shillings, and have had no trouble since.

We all know that wax candles are the nicest and most becoming light for a drawing-room; but they are dear, and candlesticks, however elegant, require frequent cleaning. The commoner kind of candles are greasy, and grease is very troublesome when it drops about, though wax and sperm are readily removed by warming the spots. There is a kind of candle called the dropless candle which answers very well to its name.

Paraffin, and almost all patent candles, fill the air with burnt smoke, and this, to many people, is insufferable.

Sperm candles are preferable to any others for general use at the piano and for bed-rooms. And candles need not be an expensive item when a house is well fitted with gas, as much music practising may be done by daylight and gaslight; while in bed-rooms we ought not to require much length of candlelight.

There is no need of more than one candle to be carried about, and that is for the person who turns off the gas to go upstairs with.

An Italian lucerna is a picturesque object for this purpose; oil is burnt in it – colza will do, though they burn olive oil in Italy, and it gives double the light of colza. On no account use petroleum, or any of the mineral oils. Besides their horrible smell and associations, all the kinds are more or less explosive, and for the little use for which we should require lamps, the difference in cost is trifling.

One occasionally sees curious and quaint old iron or bronze candlesticks, and it is well to seize the opportunity of purchasing such treasures; but if not fortunate enough to get a better thing, it is easy to procure one of those funny little brass candlesticks, in the shape of a frying-pan, so commonly used in the Belgian hotels.

As there are no servants in our model establishment, tallow candles need never be bought, and no candlebox will be required, nor any kitchen candlesticks, to be stuck periodically in a row in the fender to melt their grease and solder, and lose their extinguishers and snuffers.

So we see, even in this small instance, how a young couple beginning to furnish will want few of these superfluities, and, not being compelled to buy common things for servants, may afford things of choice quality for themselves, and to these they may add others as time goes on.

Take, for another example, the breakfast-cups; they may at first buy two very pretty cups and saucers for their own use, and a third equally pretty for their lady friend, or help, as they may like to call her; and either title is honourable, only one seems kinder than the other.

And so they need not purchase what is called a whole set, or, more shopmanly, a "suite," comprising a dozen of almost everything, whose chief merit is in its completeness, of which we tire; and this merit is destroyed when on breaking one of the two bread-and-butter plates we find it is a last year's pattern, and cannot be matched at the shop without its being specially made for us.

How much more we should be attached to a pretty thing if we could say of it: "Don't you remember we bought that cup when So-and-So came to stay with us?" Such associations endow everyday objects with life.

The original outlay throughout the house may proceed in like manner, and spare rooms may be furnished after the other rooms.

This would enable more young people to marry, and they need not go to a shop whose advertisements recommend them to furnish on the three years' system, by the end of which time they will have paid double the value of their furniture, and most of it will probably be discarded, or broken in pieces.

Perhaps a day may come when nobody will heed an advertisement, and only look at a circular when they write memoranda on its clean side. Then our postmen will be spared the bulk of their work, which makes it a perpetual Valentine's-day for them.

It is too visionary to hope that our eyes may cease to be distressed by posters blazing everywhere, or that nearly half of every book or newspaper we buy may not be made up of advertisements.

But no more on this irritating topic, as I would only counsel those about to furnish not to be too much tempted with novelties, especially patent novelties.

Some of us are beginning to tire of the mediævalism which was the natural reaction from the preposterous designs of the wall-papers, curtains, and other furniture which disguised our rooms – the ridiculous carpets with such patterns as orange-blossoms tied with white satin favours ("So sweet for a bride"), and rugs with huge blue roses.

But we have now gone too far the other way, and made all our houses like "High" churches, not permitting even the simplest unconventional design to interfere with the severity of our Gothic taste. This is a mistake; for as our houses ought not to be turned into Greek temples, as they were in the time of the first French Empire, as little should they be decorated like Gothic churches.

Many styles, and many beautiful yet diverse objects, may be made to harmonize by tasteful arrangement; and this freer latitude is well adapted to our varied moods and our many-sided lives. Few people of moderate means can carry out one style in its entirety.

I have seen a very handsome drawing-room fitted up perfectly in the Louis Quatorze style, and spoiled by some German bead-mats on the table; and some of the most beautiful upholstery I ever saw, of Neo-Greek designs painted on straw-coloured satin, covering chairs of purely Greek form, looked droll on a Brussels carpet with fuchsias upon it.