HONOURED SIR AND MEMBER,--Once more an honour is being bestowed upon
us. Mr. A. Pitcairn-Knowles, the representative of three journals of
world-wide reputation, will be present at our general meeting on
Friday next, and will give an account of this gathering in one or
perhaps in all of those papers. We have, therefore, decided to
commence the meeting at an earlier hour. We shall assemble at 8.30
p.m., and open the entertainment with a grand prize competition, and
we urgently beg you to put in an appearance, as the reputation of
our club depends to a great extent upon the success of the fête. As
true smokers you should look upon it as your duty to join us at 8.30
p.m. sharp, on Friday, the 11th inst. Accept, honoured Sir and
Member, the greetings of your devoted committee.--(For the
President) The Second Secretary, L. MONBALLIU.
[Illustration: THE GORGEOUS BANNER OF THE BRUGES SMOKING CLUB.
_From a Photograph._]
Such were the contents of a printed notice in Flemish sent out to all
members of the Bruges Smoking Club, as a result of my expressing a desire
to the indefatigable secretary of this most famous of all Belgian
“Rookersclubs” to witness one of their quaint smokers’ competitions.
I am glad to be able to state that the invitation issued to the Bruges
devotees of the fragrant weed had the desired effect, and when I reached
the cosy Graenenburg Estaminet of the Grande Place I found the obliging
secretary and the genial president of the Smokers’ Club preparing for a
record attendance, which, judging from the number already present, seemed
assured. My introduction to the assembly was looked upon as needless,
since everyone present was acquainted with the reason for my admission
within the precincts of the club, and the most strenuous efforts were made
to render my visit to the Graenenburg an agreeable one.
In response to the invitation of the secretary, I ascended a steep
staircase leading from the café to a room reserved for the club. It was
there that the solemn function of admitting new members took place, and
general regrets were expressed that my visit had not been made upon a day
which would have presented an opportunity for witnessing such a ceremony.
As it was, I had to content myself with an inspection of the paten, to
which, on such an occasion, the would-be member had to press his lips
after taking an oath in the following words: “I pledge myself solemnly to
be a faithful and honest member of the club, and to conform strictly to
the rules.” Previously to installation, he had to furnish proof of his
suitability for election by smoking a pipe in the presence of the
committee.
[Illustration: A CURIOUS AND VERY ANCIENT PIPE-RACK IN THE POSSESSION OF
THE BRUGES SMOKING CLUB.
_From a Photograph._]
Although I had not the good fortune to be present at such an inauguration,
time did not hang heavily on my hands while waiting for the smokers to
prepare for the contest.
[Illustration: THE JUDGES WEIGHING OUT THE COMPETITORS’ ALLOWANCES OF
TOBACCO AND FILLING THE PIPES.
_From a Photograph._]
Glancing around the room I noticed with interest a large shield adorning
the wall, upon which was arranged an assortment of most curious pipes,
representing all corners of the globe. In fact, the place was a veritable
museum of pipes, giving silent testimony of the character and degree of
culture attained, as well as of the individual taste of smokers of almost
every nation of the world. The lordly meerschaum, elaborately carved; the
Turkish chibouque; the “hubble-bubble,” in which the fumes pass through
water; the long German pipe, with its china bowl adorned with a gay
picture; the Indian’s pipe of peace--all, their functions finished, now
hang side by side in idle repose. A huge pipe carved from the stump of a
tree and a pipe with a sea-shell for a bowl were conspicuous among the
curiosities of the collection.
After my inspection of the museum the labour of deciphering the rules of
the club, in Flemish, came as a less welcome task, but the secretary,
always ready to be of service, aided my efforts, and I was able to
discover the real objects of the association.
A casual observer might be somewhat surprised to find that a society of
this kind should require numerous laws and regulations, but a glimpse at
the workings behind the scenes of a Belgian “Rookersclub” furnishes
convincing proof that the number of rules is in no way excessive,
considering the importance of the institution, for the strictest
discipline is a _sine quâ non_ in a well-conducted “Rookersclub.”
Many are the duties of the members and the regulations for competitions.
No applicant can be elected unless he has reached the age of eighteen.
Cigars and cigarettes are tabooed, the pipe being looked upon as the only
justifiable means of satisfying that craving which makes us slaves to the
weed. The chief object of the club being to teach, through its disciples,
the world at large the use of tobacco and to guard against its abuse, it
wisely refrains from over-indulgence, and asks no more from its members
than that they should “smoke at least one pipe at every club meeting.”
[Illustration: THE CONTEST IN FULL SWING.
_From a Photograph._]
The picture the words “smoking competition” call up to the mind’s eye of
the uninitiated, of competitors sitting in a room made almost unbearable
by the dense volumes of smoke they are vigorously puffing from their
pipes, is as far from the reality as it is possible to imagine. When I
stepped into the spick and span Café Graenenburg I was certainly under the
impression that I was conversant with the science of smoking, though I
must own I had up to that time been willing to accept with blind faith its
dictionary definition as “a continuous drawing in and puffing out of the
fumes of burning tobacco,” which is, I assume, what nine hundred and
ninety-nine out of a thousand of my fellow-smokers look upon as the
desideratum of their enjoyment.
[Illustration: “SMOKE, PLEASE!” A COMMITTEEMAN DEMANDING PROOF THAT A
COMPETITOR’S PIPE IS STILL ALIGHT.
_From a Photograph._]
Now, however, after half the term usually allotted for mankind’s existence
upon this earth had run out, the truth dawned upon me that I had hitherto
been chasing shadows, and would have to learn all over again. Smoking was,
I began to realize, not the simple, easy pastime I had considered it to
be, but an art which one might only expect to master after careful study,
silent pondering, and steady practice. In this humble frame of mind I lost
no time in repairing to an expert for instruction in the management of a
pipe, so that all fatal mistakes should be avoided at the outset of my
second schooling; and now that I am on the high road towards experiencing
hitherto dimly-conceived moments of unalloyed bliss, let me impart my
experience as a valuable secret to those who lie under the same mistaken
impression which I once fostered. In the words of my preceptor: “The true
art of smoking consists in reducing the combustion to a minimum, and yet
never allowing the pipe to go out while a particle of tobacco remains in
the bowl. The object is not to smoke quickly or much--we are not
locomotives bent upon producing force, but men on the quest of solace and
enjoyment.”
But now let us see the outcome of his doctrine, as displayed by the
members of the “Rookersclub” on the occasion of my visit to their
meeting-place.
The preliminary arrangements for the battle of pipes having been
completed, I was led back to the café, where the committee were busily
engaged at a table putting the finishing touches to their work. Before
them lay the empty pipes, all of equal length and size. Tobacco taken out
of a jar was being apportioned into little heaps to be weighed on a small
pair of scales. As each competitor’s share, consisting of exactly
forty-five grains, left the scales to replenish the pipe awaiting it, the
eyes of the judge roved anxiously from the balance to the hands of the
colleague to whom the filling of the bowls had been entrusted. Unerring
fairness characterized the operations of the committee. Around another
table the competitors were seated indulging in “bocks” while waiting to
take part in the struggle for supremacy in serious smoking.
At last a general wave of excitement showed that the proceedings were
about to begin. The pipes were placed in the hands of their claimants, the
matches put within easy reach, and the president, in his capacity of
judge, called for attention.
“You have two minutes in which to light your pipes!” he announced, watch
in hand; then, presently, “One minute!” “Half a minute!” “One quarter of
a minute!” These successive announcements were followed by the ringing of
a bell, and then, almost simultaneously, twenty hands holding burning
matches were raised to set the pipes alight. All but one or two, whom
anxiety to be in time had slightly flurried, delayed setting the match to
the tobacco until the very last moment. One unfortunate competitor
procrastinated too long, and was promptly disqualified before he could
apply the light. No time had been wasted in removing the matches from the
table, and as soon as the time-limit had been reached every one but the
disappointed straggler was beginning very slowly to draw short puffs. At
this critical moment, when all the rivals were applying themselves with
slow caution to the initial whiffs, on which the final issue frequently
depends, so complete a silence reigned that one might have heard the
proverbial pin drop. It is said by many that the secret of success is
found in the way of lighting, but as to which is the correct _modus
operandi_ there exists a great diversity of opinion, for while one expert
will attribute his success to the fact that he lights the tobacco nearest
the side of the bowl, another equally practised smoker believes in
applying the match to a central spot. Be that as it may, there is no
denying the fact that to ensure obtaining a satisfactory start both
experience and intelligence are essential factors.
[Illustration: “IN DISTRESS.”
_From a Photograph._]
But to return to our friends of the “Rookersclub.” Ten minutes had
elapsed, and all were still in the running except the disappointed man who
had been ejected at the outset. Some had become quite communicative,
trusting to their pipes to look after themselves while they exchanged
views on politics. Others, not losing for one moment their sense of the
importance of the occasion, kept the stems between their teeth, without
allowing their tense expressions to relax into the faintest suspicion of a
smile. One competitor in particular looked as if he were made of wax, even
the chaffing of his colleagues failing to upset his gravity. He had been
pointed out to me as a winner of many prizes and the fortunate possessor
of a temperament any smoker might envy.
“Ting-a-ling” went the bell, the announcement of the extinction of a
pipe--the first defeat--and this early failure was received with general
merriment.
[Illustration: AN OPEN-AIR CONTEST IN THE COUNTRY.
_From a Photograph._]
[Illustration: A MEETING OF CHAMPIONS.
_From a Photograph._]
But hark! The bell was heard again. This time the victim was a man who had
been trying to give me some faint idea of the magnitude of the feats he
intended to accomplish, his loquacity being undoubtedly the cause of his
premature downfall. As he made his exit amid roars of laughter I attempted
to assuage his mortification by promising to convince myself on a future
occasion of the grounds for his self-praise. He was forced to the
indignity of becoming a looker-on, and tried to find consolation by
critically regarding the performance of each candidate. Each time the
judge’s bell gave the signal for the departure of another competitor he
had some infallible theory to expound in regard to the unsuccessful
smoker’s faults and follies, and upon those who still possessed a winning
chance he generously showered well-meant, but unsolicited, counsel.
Slowly but surely the tobacco of the remaining competitors burnt itself
out, and every quarter of an hour, when the clock of the world-famed
belfry on the opposite side of the square pealed forth one of its
melodious airs, the number of the possible victors had diminished.
After the lapse of about three-quarters of an hour the judge’s bell set up
a continuous tinkle. It was now time for those who acted as controllers to
keep a sharp look-out, and every now and then the order “Smoke, please,”
could be heard, as a committee-man pointed at the bowl of an apparently
extinguished pipe, whereupon the faintest cloud of smoke would rise into
the air from the clay of the cunning laggard, or the bell would announce
another failure.
[Illustration: TOASTING THE WINNER AT A COUNTRY COMPETITION.
_From a Photograph._]
Presently the fiftieth minute arrived, and the number of smokers had
dwindled down to six. Opinions differed as to which would “live” to bear
the palm. Among the favourites was the amiable secretary himself, one of
the most skilful of the Bruges “Rookers,” who, strange as it may seem, is
practically a non-smoker when outside the precincts of the club. In the
president of the club he possesses a most formidable rival, who enjoys the
reputation of being able to win one of the first prizes whenever he
chooses to do so.
An hour and five minutes had passed when the secretary and three other
members were found to be the sole survivors. Then the unexpected happened.
The secretary was seen to be in distress. His efforts to entertain a guest
of the club--I had been given the honour of sitting beside him--had
diverted his attention from his difficult task; and once more the bell
made itself heard as he laid down his pipe, unable to respond to the
judge’s request of “Smoke, please.”
One hour and ten minutes had run their course, and only two men were
competing. The excitement became intense as the members gathered round the
two valiant champions to get a close view and offer encouragement to the
one or the other. To outward appearance both were calm and confident. They
allowed the tiniest cloud of smoke to escape at intervals from their
pipes, and it looked as if these motionless and imperturbable men might
survive long enough to eclipse the famous club-record achieved by a
champion who succeeded in making sixty grains of tobacco last as long as
one hundred and twenty minutes.
[Illustration: A SUCCESSFUL COMPETITOR RECEIVING A MONEY PRIZE.
_From a Photograph._]
But suddenly one of the rivals became agitated. He was beginning to
realize that the end of his resources was last approaching, for the spark
in his pipe became more and more difficult to keep alive. Anxiously he
blew into the stem, but only with the wasteful result of dispersing a tiny
particle of fire, the last that remained, as it proved, for the pipe was
empty. Sadly he laid down his clay, leaving the victory to his opponent.
The latter smoked on with an unmoved countenance, allowing not the
smallest sign of elation to escape him, as he continued to foster, by an
almost imperceptible inhalation, the tiny spark in the clay bowl which had
now become the sole object of attention in the crowded room. A hasty
movement on the part of the victor as if to settle himself more
comfortably in his chair to prepare for a long-dreamt-of record, a
slightly more animated whiff to counteract the effect of this incautious
action, and the mischief was done--the smoker drew an extinguished pipe
from his mouth. He had won, sure enough, but only by twelve short seconds.
“One hour twenty-one minutes and thirty-three seconds,” announced the
judge. “And to think that I might have held on another half-hour with a
little more care!” sighed the disappointed winner.
Then followed the ceremony of presenting the prizes, the successful
candidates being allowed to make their choice of rewards in the order in
which they were placed. A bread-basket, a pocket-knife, a flower-vase, and
other useful and ornamental souvenirs were handed over to the fortunate
ones, after which victors and vanquished assembled once more around the
long table to enjoy a pipe in the ordinary way, without restraint or
restriction.
Nowhere in Belgium are competitions of the kind I have described conducted
in a more correct and business-like manner than in Bruges; in fact, the
“Brugsche Rookersclub” can be considered in every respect as
authoritative and exemplary in matters pertaining to the world of
“pipenrookers,” as the smoker of the pipe is called in Flanders. It is
among the quaint Flemish people that smoking clubs and smoking
competitions enjoy more widespread popularity than in any other part of
King Leopold’s little dominion, and nearly every village, no matter how
small, can boast of a “Rookersmaatschappij,” which almost unpronounceable
word is the equivalent for what we term “smokers’ club.” In the country
districts it is the custom to compete for money prizes, and to decorate
the winner with some floral adornment, which is pinned on his breast as a
visible proof of the honour he has achieved. Many of the _estaminets_,
which thrive in countless numbers in thirsty Flanders, endeavour to
stimulate the desire of customers for refreshment by organizing a
“Prijskamp in Het Rooken,” and offering prizes to those who best
understand the art of making a little tobacco go a very long way.
[Illustration: THE JUDGE DISTRIBUTING ARTIFICIAL FLORAL FAVOURS AMONG THE
PRIZE-WINNERS.
_From a Photograph._]
Smoking for prizes is a curious way of killing time and may not appeal to
the Anglo-Saxon, who prefers to devote his leisure to more active and
health-giving occupations, but it possesses certain advantages over other
pastimes which must be taken into consideration. It is not costly, it is
not dangerous, it is sociable, and, as my kind hosts of the “Brugsche
Rookersclub” were at pains to convince me, it is a form of rivalry from
which much excitement can be gained. But above all it teaches one the use,
as distinguished from the abuse, of tobacco, which is undoubtedly the best
_raison d’être_ for smokers’ clubs and smokers’ contests in a country
whose army of smokers forms no less than a third of its entire population,
and whose annual consumption of tobacco is six and a quarter pounds per
head. This is more than three times the amount consumed in the United
Kingdom, and six times as much as in Italy. In fact, little Belgium’s
appreciation of tobacco reaches limits unattained in any other part of the
world.
[Illustration]
The Adventures of “Wide World” Artists.