_Old Pocket Spoons—Costume—Cutlers and Tailors. Pockets—their Origin,
History and Influence—Derived from the Poke. Pocketing Sleeves.
Valets. Ladies’ Pockets—Reticules—Capacity and Strange Contents of Old
Pockets—Material and Manufacture. Curious Old Folding
Spoon—Conjectures respecting its owner. Forks—Of Uncertain Origin and
Date—Ancient Egyptians at Dinner—Boarding Schools—Washing before and
after Meals, and why—Anglo Saxons at Dinner—Forks denounced by the
Clergy—Combined with the Spoon—Historical Notices of them._
PLATE V. _Figs. 1_ and _2_ are French spoons of the sixteenth century.
The style of _Fig. 2_ (a shell and wreathed handle) is occasionally
adopted in modern specimens. _Fig. 1_—of silver gilt, and designed for
the pocket. It consists of three distinct pieces, which joined together,
form a spoon as in the figure, but when separated each serves a
different purpose. The lower part of the handle forms a _fork_, the
prongs of which fit into loops soldered on the back of the bowl; the
upper extremity unscrews, and when taken off, presents a toothpick. A
little above the bowl there is a joint by which, on removing a small
ring that covers it, the whole may be folded up so as to occupy a very
small space.
‘Folding spoons,’ as they were named, were not rare in the 16th and 17th
centuries. In the Progresses of Elizabeth we read of a golden one, and
numerous specimens are still extant. They were, we believe, like clasp
or folding knives, one of the results of a change in costume. Does the
reader smile at this, and ask what they could have to do with dress? At
the first glance we admit the connection is not obvious; nevertheless
they really were, and are, as much allied to POCKETS, as ever were
long-handled ones to ruffs. In other words, if pockets had never been
known, folding spoons like folding knives had never been made.
When knives had no joint at the junction of the handle and blade, they
were worn pendant in sheaths at the side, as cooks, stevedores and
sailors still wear them. Rich men and scholars sometimes attached them
to silver or gilt chains that went round the neck. Chaucer thus carried
his penknife, as seen in some of his portraits. Ladies now wear watches
much in the same way, and so do gentlemen reading glasses. But when the
tunic and toga gave place to the coat, and the modern vest superseded
the doublet, multitudes of portable implements were expressly designed
for and named after the novel receptacles which the new garments brought
into vogue—as pocket-books, pocket-glasses, pocket-knives, pocket-combs,
&c. &c. Then came in also snuff-boxes in place of the old bottle, with
hundreds of other pocket devices, which a dealer alone can
enumerate—devices that never were thought of before. Where pockets have
been made for one thing, a thousand things have been contrived for
pockets. To the _tailor_, therefore, manufacturers of small articles in
hardware, tortoise shell, ivory and pearl, are more indebted than they
probably imagine. As for spoons, it is clear the same artist had a hand
in bringing jointed ones into fashion, just as mantuamakers once caused
the handles of ordinary ones to be lengthened.
One might almost suspect collusion between knights of the file and those
of the scissors! Did ancient Sheffield workmen furnish contemporary
shapers of apparel with bodkins, needles and thimbles, with shears and
smoothing irons _gratis_, on condition of bringing pockets into fashion,
and multiplying their variety? The offer of such a bribe would have been
a proof of far-seeing sagacity, since every species of pocket, from
those of an overcoat to the latent watch-fob, has made fortunes for
fancy cutlers, for ages, and will make them for ages to come.
POCKETS.—In noticing pocket-spoons, perhaps we are expected to say
something on pockets. Of all tasks, such an one would be to our taste;
but it would be digressing too far to enter on so diverting, instructive
and copious a subject; or even give a sketch of these curious
contrivances, of which it is supposed the classical ancients knew
nothing. Still it is scarcely proper to pass them wholly without notice,
since their connection with spoons is already apparent, and must as we
proceed become more so. Shades of Demosthenes and Cicero, of Quintilian
and Burke! what a subject for eloquence and sublimity is here! One
fraught with materials for the richest paper ever read before a society
of Chiffonniers—one charged, like pockets themselves, with entertaining
miscellanies with gems and gimcracks, treasures and trifles, antiques
and uniques! A dish flavored with spices, one over which the eyes of
literary gourmands would glisten and their pulse throb quicker as they
seated themselves to enjoy it!
We know not how sufficiently to admire the ingenuity displayed in the
origin and disposition on the person of these flexible little cupboards,
for hiding what we wish to conceal, securing what we are anxious to
preserve and for having always at hand what may every moment be wanted.
To deduce their descent from the primitive girdle, oriental sash,
philosopher’s red scrip, pilgrim’s wallet, and beggar’s unctuous
pouch—to trace them through every shape and disguise, and enumerate the
diverse uses to which they have been put, would indeed be a feast of
good things and of queer things. But, alas! no literary cuisinier can
now procure the necessary ingredients. Such has been the inconsistency
of historians that the annals of pockets have never been written, while
memorials of old pocket-makers have been suffered to perish. Some
valuable matter may of course yet be collected, and among other sources
from Newgate calendars—from the lives and exploits of scientific
analyzers of pockets—a class of men profoundly versed in their
capacities, secret locations, approaches and uses. This branch of
biography, we opine, must be studied ere a standard and luminous
treatise on the subject can be written.
The history of a pocket would be a journal of the owner’s thoughts—a
record of his motives; for in this adjunct to his dress lies coiled up
the spring of his actions—the secret power that moves him. ‘The pocket’
is every thing to man—from it comfort and consequence proceed. He who
hunting the dark recesses of one finds nothing, is nobody; but to the
pocket of the rich annuitant all do reverence. Strange that this little
sack should be the fount of men’s hopes and despair, the source of their
sorrows and pleasures, the subject of their thoughts by day and dreams
by night—they flourish with it and sicken as it dries up. When it
expands so does their joy; when it shrinks their pleasures are fled. The
highest enjoyment is to fill it—the deepest distress to feel it void.
All the excitement in the world is about pockets! One party putting
their hands in, and the other striving to keep them out—some going
deeper than the owners think right, and others appealing to the law to
make them submit. Yonder fat publishers laugh at the profit they make,
and here sits a lean author, shedding tears over the pittance they give
him. The former are at peace with themselves and the world; the latter
is at war with his tailor and dreads the sight of his butcher and baker.
A history of pockets would make startling disclosures and correct many
errors. Some would be found empty which rumor crams full, while in
others supposed not to contain a maravedi a plum lies concealed.
Abolish pockets and the world will stand still, for every man lives by
putting his hand into his neighbor’s. It is his business—the only one by
which he gets breads. To facilitate this reciprocal attention to each
other’s purses, merchants meet on ’Change, shops are furnished, stores
erected, markets established and ships put afloat. For this, worshippers
of Mercury adore him, and disciples of St. Nicholas pray. All the
inequalities in human condition arise from the various modes of
performing the operation: to do it adroitly is the science and
apparently the sole purpose of life. Few minds can comprehend the
multiplicity of devices by which pockets are exhausted, replenished and
made to run over; nor is the genius yet born who can unravel them
all:—but a truce to such thoughts and let us glance for a moment at
pockets themselves.
Their name, as every body knows, is derived from the _poke_—a sack for
carrying grain to feed cattle, and sometimes small animals to
market—hence the expression “to buy a pig in a poke.” Reduced in
dimensions, it was adopted for holding victuals for men, and
subsequently implements to eat with. It soon assumed a great variety of
shapes, sizes and names. As a wallet both ends were closed, with an
entrance through a slit in the middle, so that when slung over the
shoulder, one moiety of the contents was suspended before and another
behind—a species of biped saddle-bags. As a simple purse it was still
more reduced and carried in the hand like a satchel or hung over the
wrist. The next form was by far the most common, and we may safely infer
the most useful—that of the _pouch_. This ancient and most favored of
all forerunners of pockets was located at a different part of the
person. Suspended from the girdle by strings or over the shoulders by a
strap, it hung at the hips, either on the right side or left, (though
sometimes in front,) so that the hand could enter, remain in, or be
withdrawn, without inconvenience and with little effort. It is to the
pouch we are indebted for outside coat pockets and ‘poches des
culottes.’
As a bag or purse, the material was commonly linen or silk, and the
mouth drawn close with strings; but as a pouch it was leather, sometimes
prepared with the fur on, and the entrance left _open_—a serious
inconvenience, since the opening became wider as the contents
increased—inviting the notice of inquisitive people, and leading the
patriarchs of pickpockets into constant temptation; moreover, in wet
weather rain dripped in from upper parts of the dress, as into a gutter
from the eaves of a house. These evils were removed by the invention of
covers or _flaps_—an ingenious device for turning off water and shutting
out from public gaze the treasures within.
The epoch of flaps is not well ascertained, but their antiquity is
beyond cavil. In old cuts they are not always distinguishable, because
artists were ignorant of the importance of delineating them distinctly.
Clovis, who flourished in the fifth century, is represented with a purse
or pouch at his girdle, very like a modern lady’s work bag. In 1285 we
find a French gentleman with one shaped like the curved blade of an axe
or a leather-cutter’s knife. Another specimen of the same century is
plain, six or seven inches deep and nearly as many broad. A Parisian of
A. D. 1400, sports one of a hemispherical shape, handsomely fluted or
crimped; but these, belonging to fashionable people, deviated from
flapped pouches of the commonalty. [See _Art du Tailleur, par Gausault_,
published by the Academy in Arts et Metières, and numerous examples of
the Anglo-Saxon pouch in Strutt.] Leather pouches were staple articles
of the shoemaker or cordwainer’s art. In the ‘Orbis Pictus’ of
Commenius, the professor of those mysteries is at work, making them with
pointed and other fashionable formed flaps and bodies. They were
universally worn by people in the middle ranks of life, down to the
seventeenth century, and by the poor in the eighteenth. We believe they
are not yet wholly laid aside.
The next improvement was to secure the flaps. This was sometimes
accomplished by a simple button: careful people had often two, and at
one time three were quite common, just as outside coat pockets were
fitted fifty years ago. These were indeed literal pouches fastened near
that part of the person where they formerly hung, and with covers larger
than those of a cartridge-box. Flaps were often edged with wrought
borders and adorned with a row of gilt buttons. The pouch was sometimes
provided with a minute padlock, like those used with valises, a
precaution for keeping strangers’ hands out, which we do not remember
having seen adopted by tailors.
As coats, vests, and culottes rose into favor, wallets and pouches died
off; but they left ere they vanished a prolific brood of hybrids behind.
These are now classified under the generic names of the garments to
which they belong; as cloak, coat, waistcoat and overcoat pockets,
pockets for jackets, pantaloons, &c. Some are named from their location;
as outside, inside, right and left handed pockets; and others again
after the articles they are intended to hold. One is devoted to the
handkerchief, a second to the gloves, a third to an eye or ogling glass,
a fourth to a tooth pick, pencil case and knife. Some are for money and
memoranda, watches, snuff boxes, small change, and indescribable
sundries. Professional men have professional pockets; as surgeons,
mechanics, and sportsmen; the first for their instruments, the second
for rules and measuring tapes, the third for ammunition and game.
Pockets for the last article are as capacious as knapsacks, and when
full often weigh down the owner, like Issachar’s ass under a couple of
panniers. Ere pockets were invented, sportsmen were content with less
elaborate arrangements. Strutt has engraved the figure of an Anglo-Saxon
gentleman, scouring the fields without a hat or any covering to his
head; his arms are a quiver and bow, while his game (which he shot
flying) are strung round his belt, forming a picturesque fringe composed
of brant, snipe and quail.
Instead of the solitary pouch of our forefathers, pockets have become so
very numerous that it is difficult to tell how many some gentlemen
carry; always a pair, but often from three to five in the coat, two to
four in the vest, as many in the pants, while in stormy weather an equal
number in the great coat or surtout—and yet these are not enough, since
we often see people stow away in their hats what they cannot find room
for any where else—imitating prudent skippers who pile freight on deck
for want of room in the hold. A person is now enveloped in pockets; they
are suspended so thickly about him, that he would formerly have been
taken for an itinerant ‘pochetier,’ or a merchant of new-fashioned
‘escarcelles.’
As fashion is governed by whim, some whimsical pockets have come into
fashion—as the ‘pocketing sleeves’ of the eleventh and twelfth
centuries. These did not resemble the modern ‘bishop sleeve,’ but were
long pendant pokes, which hung from men’s arms like orioles’ nests, and
from ladies’ wrists like carpet bags. Modifications of them are yet worn
by Spanish and Portuguese monks. Head, in his notes on the Pampas,
mentions supping at an apology for an inn with a travelling priest.
After finishing the meal, the reverend gentleman thrust his hand “into
the large sleeve of his white serge gown and pulled out some cigars.”
Old writers state that these pockets were usually searched before their
wearers could be admitted into kings’ houses, and in some cases before
retiring; the conveniences which they presented for concealing things
surreptitiously acquired, gave rise to some strange petty larcenies.
Richard Brathwait, in his ‘Rules for the government of the house of an
Earle,’ charges the usher of the dining hall to give a sharp look out,
lest those who wait at table pocket the victuals; ‘and I very well like
the order I have seene in some noble houses, that neither yeoman,
groome, nor gentleman’s man, must be suffered to wait in a cloake, but
in their livery coates, [garments fitted close to the body,] for so were
they easier to be seene if they carried forthe any meat that they ought
not to doe.’ Hence there was after all nothing very extraordinary in
Hudibras securing bread, black-puddings and cheese in his trunk hose, or
Sancho stowing away in similar cavities boiled capons and sausage. Those
who kept porters’ lodges, [entrances to castles,] Brathwait observes,
“should be men tall and stronge; they are to looke diligently that none
filch and carry out at the gates meate or any thing else.” For the same
reason Roman slaves who served at table were clothed only in tunics and
girt with a towel. Visitors used their own napkins which a servant
carried to the feast and took back, and in it generally part of the
victuals—sometimes they were detected carrying off articles of plate.
So much for men’s pockets: those of the ladies are more interesting
affairs; but having been admonished to let them alone, at least to
refrain from all remarks on modern ‘poches des dames,’ we shall only
take a peep at such as our grandmothers wore. Indeed it would require a
more inquisitive disposition than ours to detect, and more assurance to
describe the devices by which young ladies avoid carrying the enormous
pouches in fashion a century ago. We have neither the requisite
knowledge nor nerve. To be sure, we have occasionally seen belles, when
preparing for shopping, thrust their money between the glove and palm of
the hand, and others use cuffs of the pelisse for the purpose; while in
cold weather they carry small parcels in muffs. Billets-doux and
souvenirs are concealed in the bosom—a favorite place for favorite
things—a convenient one too for papers of thread, and other things of
that sort, in the absence of a work-bag—as Grecian and Roman ladies well
knew.
But there never was half the subtlety employed in concealing the pockets
of females as those of the ruder sex. The French lady’s apron is
provided with two pockets in front, as if inviting inspection.
Originally devised by ‘une marchande’ as a substitute for the till, it
was found so convenient for other things besides change as to become
adopted by those who had nothing to sell. The famed reticule is carried
in the hand, in every one’s sight, and even laid like the bonnet aside
when its owner is not disposed to walk out. Its materials and
decorations are surprisingly varied; sometimes formed of net work (hence
its name) of links of silver or steel, like flexible armor of old; now
made of shells, of seeds and glass beads, of rich colored velvets and
silks, and enriched with lace. In public promenades, swinging to and fro
from the arms, these beautiful things reflect rays tinctured with azure,
crimson and gold, reminding one of the plumage of tropical birds in the
sun.
In articles of taste ladies take the lead—reticules are examples; for in
them pockets have got back to the old pendant pouch. Having run through
the entire circle of fashion, they have reached the point where they
began, and are ready to run it again. This is an advance which the male
sex has not attained; as in other circles, the beaux are here doomed to
follow the belles.
But we are forgetting our promise to let pockets of living ladies alone,
and notice simply such as belonged to frugal housewives in days gone by.
Of a truth, theirs _were_ pockets!—receptacles, redolent of other
perfumes than camphor or musk, and replete with other things than ladies
now carry. Characteristic of rude times, they were doomed to hard
service. At first they were made of the most durable of woven fabrics,
but so great was the wear and tear that eventually well tanned leather
superseded every other material. In shape many of them resembled an
inverted heart, but more were like a violin and in size a violoncello.
Into one of these capacious _cul de sacs_ a dozen reticules might have
been put, a muff thrown in, and room be left. Let those who doubt this,
if any such there be, enquire of an ancient farmer’s wife, and they will
doubt no more.
Besides doing duty as a purse or money drawer, we have known one hold a
clasp-knife for paring apples and ripping up seams, half a dozen silver
spoons, supposed to be safe no where else; a bunch of keys, bits of
ginger, cinnamon, and straggling cloves, metallic tractors, a box of
salve, a pincushion, thimble, scissors, a leather case well stocked with
bodkins, needles, tape and hanks of thread. The marbles of the owner’s
favorite boy were thus secured each day, till he returned from school. A
set of knitting needles with their sheath found lodgings there, and
often folded in a half formed stocking, with the ball of yarn to finish
it. There were other matters, but we forbear to specify them. It would
be difficult to do so, because into this _omnium gatherum_ all things
were placed for which no other place was found—a kind of moving closet,
into which, in sweeping round a house, the odds and ends were
swept—things so various and select as would suffice to stock a curiosity
shop.
It will at once be understood that pockets such as these were not
suspended to any part of the attire: no gingham gown, nor silk, nor
cotton stuff could long support the load without being rent to tatters.
No! they were strapped round the person independently of the dress—a
necessary precaution! They were worn at the right side, except the fair
owner was an ambidexter, when they took the left. In large households a
lady preferred _two_, thus dividing the load and making one half balance
the other; at the same time preventing the wearer from the risk of being
dragged down on one side and becoming deformed in the spine. It was at
one time common to wear them on the outside of the gown, when they were
generally ornamented with stars, rings and lovers’ knots, in various
colored leather. Sometimes the owner or the donor’s name was wrought in
‘chain stitch,’ and like samplers with a motto underneath.
Justice to a class of scientific artists, now no more, requires us to
state that these pockets were not the work of women. The severe labor to
which they were subjected when in use, required a corresponding amount
to be expended on their fabrication: this, as in the case of shoes,
saddlery, and other departments of the leather trade, was deemed too
great for females; hence housewives were indebted for their pockets, as
well as corsets, to old ‘stay makers.’
A marked relationship in the dress of the sexes is ever observable. If
the costume of one sex be neat, elegant, or bizarre, so is that of the
other. They partake of each other’s character, and are assimulated,
though in a way not easily described; but look at works of costume from
Roman times to our own, and this curious fact will be apparent. It is so
to some extent even with pockets. When those of our grandmothers were
all but fathomless, our grandfathers had theirs made of equal
dimensions. When ladies wore high caps and copious gowns tucked out
behind, gentlemen had their hair worked up in crests like cockatoos, and
clad themselves in coats whose skirts were not like ours,
“swallowtailed,” but broad and projecting, _a la_ fan-tailed pigeons.
Let us now return to spoons: _Fig. 3_, _Plate V._ is another old pocket
or folding one. The original, lying before us, is of silver. Like the
one already described, its handle forms a fork. Having been purchased by
a silversmith with other worn out plate, its history is unknown. From
the style of the workmanship and other more obvious marks of antiquity,
it would seem to date from a much earlier period than _Fig. 1_. The bowl
is 2¾ inches long and 1¾ wide, and of a moderate depth; the length of
bowl and handle when united, 6½ inches. Folded, the whole is comprised
in less room than an ordinary snuff box. The jointed handle is shown
separately at _Fig. 4_. The lower part, where united to the fork, is
plain and square—a portion of which is removed on one side, leaving a
recess into which the small shank of the fork is received; so that when
the little sliding and ornamented tube is slipped over both, a perfect
fork is made. _Fig. 5_—the back of the bowl, showing five oblong loops,
through which the prongs were pushed when the owner wished to transfer
liquid food to his lips.
An interesting feature, and one indicative of considerable antiquity, is
the _death’s head_, and round it the well known admonition, ‘_memento
mori_,’ engraved on the bowl—the initials of the melancholy owner
standing on each side like armorial supporters to this graveyard
emblazonry. The letters and writing are rudely executed, much more so
than appears in the cut.
Possibly the implement belonged to some pious recluse who doomed himself
to self-torture, and took this mode of mortifying his flesh—causing an
image of the grim monster to stare him in the face with every mouthful
he swallowed—a device by which the horrors of the charnel house were
associated with the dining table! Quite a refinement on the practice of
the ancient Egyptians—a people naturally lively and jocose, and whom the
priests, as guardians of their morality, had considerable difficulty to
keep within bounds. At convivial parties, Herodotus informs us (ii. 78)
a coffin containing a perfect image of a dead person was carried round
to every guest, the bearer requesting him to look on, and remember he
would soon resemble it—an ingenious contrivance to keep people sober—but
the owner of the spoon went further; he actually put into his mouth a
grinning death’s head when he tasted his food, and repeated the
operation with every morsel he ate. Custom is all powerful, or such a
mode of taking dinner would stay some people’s stomachs ere dinner
began.
Numerous were the inventions in past ages for conquering rebellious
appetites. Most of them had relation to abstinence; as with the Yogees
and other sects of India, of which some individuals, though watched
closely, were never seen to eat, and were therefore esteemed most holy.
There is certainly nothing like fasting for subduing the passions, and
it is really astonishing how far it has been carried. Red lettered
eremites, in whose constitutions a craving for food predominated,
heroically endured the constant pangs of hunger and thirst, with the
view of fairly starving the wicked ones out. Some limited themselves to
two or three spoonfuls of thin pottage a day, and with it actually
‘mixed dirt’ to punish the palate, or sprinkled in ‘grit’ to set the
teeth on an edge! They sorrowed because they could not exist without
eating. From some accounts it would seem as if each spoonful was
accompanied to the mouth with a groan, while streams of tears often made
it run over! No wonder that such men checked indulgence in themselves
and other people by engraving emblems of death on table utensils.
Perhaps it will be said, severe disciplinarians used simple spoons of
wood or horn, while the one under consideration, being of silver, was
not suited to a sorrowful penitent. True; hence if it really belonged to
a monastery, it perhaps had a place in the abbot’s buffet. These men, we
know, ‘lived well,’ bodily as well as spiritually; they were no
strangers to creature comforts. ‘Table d’Abbe’ was a proverbial
expression for a splendidly furnished board. They were served in plate,
and with considerable state too; so were lady abbesses also; but we
cannot think this spoon was ever owned by a nun—no female could of
choice love to contemplate (in the ornament on the back) the figure her
face was destined to make, nor did any one ever wish her beauty to fade.
The lady of the cloister no more than her sister of the ball room was
ever insensible to personal charms or indifferent about her appearance
in the eyes of mankind.
With the implement, then, we may suppose some superior of a convent
moderately cherished his body, especially on meagre days; and as an
exterior sign of interior grace had a symbol of mortification cut on
the outside of the bowl. Perhaps many a lesson on fasting was given to
his attendants with this spoon in his hand—serious homilies on the
evils of good cheer, and the blessings heaven bestows on the
abstemious—blessings, we may presume, evinced in the shining face, the
_en bon point_ and comely appearance of his reverence. But other
thoughts were indulged and other scenes enacted when his table was
cleared, and the spoon, with the dishes, found their way to the
kitchen or refectory, where the lay brethren dined, out of his sight
and out of his hearing! Verily, all the stories extant about
monasteries and monks would be well nigh eclipsed by a week’s
table-talk held in the presence of an old abbot’s spoon.
Possibly some reader exclaims, ‘this is all well enough, if the
implement ever had a place in a convent—it more likely was owned by a
layman; the initials imply as much, while the female bust on the handle
was not by any means appropriate for a priest either to handle or look
on.’ There is some force in these remarks. Well, let us see to whom it
could have belonged—not to an Englishman certainly, since neither the
maker’s nor the government stamp is impressed on it. It is from
continental Europe, and if made to order was designed for a gentleman
acquainted with mythology and versed in the classics. The handle,
representing a nymph and twisted serpents, indicates this. Now who could
he be? The initials are A. L.—perhaps Alphonso Ledesma, the Spanish
poet, who died in 1623; or Andrea Lanzano, the Italian painter; but
poets and painters are generally poor, and many, like Cervantes and
Morland, never owned any plate; we shall therefore conclude that Andrew
Laguna, the rich and favorite physician of Charles V. once owned it. If
such _was_ the fact, this spoon was, probably often in the company of
the most famous men of the age. It may have been even handled by
Columbus himself, after returning from his immortal adventure.
Other readers may think the implement was originally made for the
_special_ use of an individual: very possible, and on second thoughts we
may be sure none but a niggard, afraid of his victuals, or a miser like
Elwes could have made a practice of putting such an one into guests’
hands.
After all it is no great matter who the owner was. It has obviously
existed through two, possibly three or even four centuries, and has seen
much service. Many are the mouths it has opened, the palates it has
tickled, the stomachs it has comforted, the tongues it has silenced, and
peradventure blistered by hastily leaving scalding pottage in the mouth.
But alas! where now are the eyes that once glistened over it, the wits
seated at tables it has graced? Having outlived them all, it appears in
a land of strangers; a wanderer in another hemisphere. Could this
venerable relic give an account of its former proprietors, tell us who
and what they were, how they lived and where they died, how it came
among and why parted from them—could it describe their persons, tempers,
and conditions, the friends they entertained and the families they
visited—few novels would surpass, perhaps none equal the story in
interest.
FORKS.—As the handles of some old spoons were separable from the bowls,
so as to be used as _forks_, we may as well devote the concluding pages
of this chapter to the latter. The transition from pocket-spoons to
pocket-forks is easy enough, but when both implements are joined
together, their descriptions should not be apart.
There is something singular in the history of forks. Though of modern
date, as little is known of their origin as that of spoons. The author
of one is as much lost to fame as the inventor of the other. It is
certain that people of the ancient world took dinner without forks. All
raised victuals to their mouths as orientals do now; hot and thin
liquids with spoons, and butcher’s meat with the fingers. Even in the
advanced state of society and manners under the Pharaohs, Egyptians held
cooked joints and roasted fowls in one hand while shaving off slices
with a knife in the other. In one of the paintings copied by Rossilini
representing a feasting party, a gentleman flourishes a joint of venison
or lamb, two are eating fish which they retain in their fingers, while a
fourth is actually separating the wing of a goose with the same
instruments. This may have been an exception to the general practice,
though if so, why it should have been selected for record on eternal
tablets of stone, it is not easy to divine. These tablets present the
most ancient pictures in existence of feasts. It is not till some four
thousand years later we meet with table forks. These are not found
portrayed in sculptures, nor paintings or engravings till the 17th
century, yet pictorial delineations of Roman, Asiatic, Norman, and
Anglo-Saxon domestic life abound.
The absence of forks at Jewish tables is sufficiently evident from the
affecting declaration of the Savior: ‘He that dippeth his hand with me
in the dish, the same shall betray me’—the identical mode of eating
still followed in Palestine. We know from Roman writers, that to take
food from a dish without unnecessarily immersing the fingers, was a part
of the education of youth of both sexes. Ovid has versified the lesson:
“Your meat genteelly with your fingers raise;
And, as in eating there’s a certain grace,
Beware, with greasy hands, lest you besmear your face.”
The same advice was imparted to boys and girls of ancient Greece. It is
now impressed upon their offspring by the polite Persian, Turk and
Hindoo. Boarding schools are of extreme antiquity, (ii. Kings, iv. 38.)
and Pharaonic as well as Jewish proprietors taught young masters and
misses to behave not unseemly at table. Chaucer mentions a school at
Bow, where girls were initiated in the arts of fashionable life; among
other acquirements they were taught how to avoid putting their hands too
deep in the dish. Somewhat similar advice was given to European ladies
in the seventeenth century, and Quixote praises Sancho for his
attainments in this branch of politeness.
It was the want of forks which gave rise to the old practice of washing
before and after meals—one for which the ceremonious Pharisees were so
tenacious, and with which they combined many ridiculous superstitions.
The custom was demanded by decency, when plates were not in use and each
person at dinner thrust his hand into one common dish. What could be
more offensive to natural propriety than an individual fishing up from
that dish gobbets of flesh with fingers only washed with the soup! To
the decent as well as the delicate, the sight must ever be abhorrent. A
subsequent ablution was as necessary to personal comfort as the first
was to the company’s enjoyment of their food. When pocket handkerchiefs
were not in vogue, what else could a lady or gentleman do while their
fingers were streaming with the fluid material of a ragout, or coated
with the glutinous remains of a bowl of rich cuscous? They must either
have wiped them dry on the hair of their heads, or rubbed off what they
could on their garments. The process of washing the hands, and the
utensils employed, are described at page 83, as used in Europe in the
sixteenth century. Later still the custom was common. In Commenius’
Visible World there is a cut representing a feast. The guests being
brought in, wash their hands by holding them over a basin presented by a
servant, who pours out water from an ewer. The reader who is desirous of
beholding orientals dining on the favorite ragout may consult the cuts
in Lane’s Modern Egyptians, and illustrated works on Eastern manners. If
he wishes to see how occidentals formerly managed roasted joints let him
cast his eyes on the cut below, copied from Strutt:
[Illustration:
ANGLO-SAXON NOBLES OR PRINCES AT DINNER.
]
Three Anglo-Saxon nobles or princes at dinner! Their rank is indicated
by being served on the knee. The number was one most preferred in
classical eras for convivial parties. These, it was said, ought never to
consist of fewer persons than the Graces nor more than the Muses. The
round table is covered by an ample cloth upon which are placed bowls or
deep dishes, but no plates. One of the party only is supplied with a
spoon; he seems in the act of calling to his attendant, perhaps for
soup. His associates amuse themselves with solider things; one is
engaged in separating a slice from a joint presented on the rod on which
it was roasted. To facilitate the operation, he grasps one end of the
spit while the waiter holds fast the other. The gentleman with a beard
appears indetermined whether to follow the example or first finish the
fish in his hand.
Here is ocular proof how indispensable was the washing of hands _after_
dinner, and this old painting is in all essential points a mere
fac-simile of others which might be produced, of earlier and later
dates. The reader may find specimens in D’Agincourt’s History of the
Arts. Plate 71 shows a royal party at a table furnished much in the same
style as the foregoing. To assist digestion and gratify two senses at
once, a fiddler stands by, playing a favorite air. The date is about the
11th century. But so late as the middle of the 17th century, it was
common for carvers to _handle_ flesh meats at table. In 1641 a festival
was held at Paris by the _Savetiers_. One gentleman grasps the shank of
a leg of mutton while cutting it up, to supply the plate of a lady
beside him. It is hence obvious that the unbecoming practice of ‘licking
the fingers,’ attributed as a crime to ancient turnspits, was not
unknown to their betters—that kings as well as cobblers were guilty of
it daily.
The attendants in the cut wear tunics, and apparently are girt with
towels. Each holds a trencher, the essential requisite of an Anglo-Saxon
page. He was never allowed to wait at table without it; a good reason
for which is furnished by the illustration: held under the smoking
joint, it caught the dripping gravy and such pieces of meat as a guest
when carving might let fall. [The rich subject of _spits_ must be left
for future papers which the Society of Chiffonniers intend to issue.]
Perhaps some readers imagine the want of forks was sensibly felt in old
times, and that they were eagerly adopted as soon as they appeared. No
such thing. We regret to say their introduction was violently opposed,
and a storm of abuse poured on the heads of their users. Even the
clergy, who ought to have known better, preached against them as a
wicked innovation. Among others, the Benedictines of St. Maur declared
them inconsistent with the scriptural mode of living, as exemplified by
the patriarchs, prophets, and especially by the great exemplar and his
apostles—an abominable violation of primitive manners! But
notwithstanding the denunciation of table forks by friars and monks, the
very people among whom the pope had his seat were the first to receive
them. They were first domesticated in Italy in the 16th century, but
were certainly known there before, either as luxuries or curiosities.
As early as the 11th and 12th centuries they were occasionally used by
the wealthy. Peter Damiani, who died A. D. 1073, mentions in one of his
letters a lady of Constantinople, married to a doge of Venice, and who,
among other strange fancies, required rain water to wash in, and used a
_golden_ fork to eat with. But this does not determine the date or place
of their invention. It does not appear that they were quite novel things
then—nay, a silver fork has been found at Pompeii; so that they were not
absolutely unknown to some of the fashionables of antiquity.
Forks are mentioned in a charter of Ferdinand I. of Spain, A. D. 1101.
In the wardrobe account of Edward I. king of England, ‘a pair of knives
with sheathes of silver enameled, and a forcke of chrystal’ are
specified. In 1595, Queen Elizabeth dined at Kew, at the house of Sir
John Pickering, who presented her with a rich fan, the handle of which
was set with diamonds; an artificial nosegay composed of jewels, “and to
grace him the more, she, of herself, took from him a salt, a spoone, and
a forcke of fair agatte.” At the same period they were looked on as
curiosities in France. Brathwait, who wrote his ‘Rules’ in the early
part of the reign of James I. is silent on forks, though full on the
minutest matters. The groom of the pantry was “to keepe the saltes,
spoones, and knives very faire and cleane.”
It was owing to their being made portable that eventually brought forks
into vogue. Travellers, gentlemen, delicate ladies, young beaux, and all
who disliked to feed out of dishes into which the fingers of a company
were unceremoniously thrust, carried their eating apparatus in a case or
cadenas. The eighty-second proposition of the Marquis of Worcester’s
famous Century of Inventions is a proof in point;—“A knife, spoon, or
fork, in an _usual_ portable case, may have the like conveyance in their
handles;” i.e. secret devices might be concealed in them. Nichols
mentions knives with ‘conceytes’ in the handles—a toothpick for example,
as in a spoon already described. Great ingenuity was displayed in things
of this kind and not a little pride indulged in them by the wearers—like
the conceited fop in Gil Blas who carried his gloves and handkerchief in
the hilt of his sword. The oldest forks were generally of silver. Henry
IV. of France had one of steel. Heylin attributes their introduction
into England to young men of fashion, but errs, we think, in ascribing
them to the Chinese: “The use of silver forks with us, by some of our
spruce gallants taken up _of late_, came from China to Italy, and from
thence to England.”—[_Cosmog._ p. 865.]
In the cut of a feast in Commenius, besides trenchers, cups, glasses,
knives, and other table furniture, there are “=little forks=,” not much
unlike those figured on Plate VI. which date from an earlier period. In
1611, Coryatt, the eccentric English traveller was ridiculed by writers
and wits for using forks. Their introduction into Britain has been
erroneously ascribed to him. They were previously known there as we have
seen, but the book of his travels made the public more familiar with
them:
“I observed,” he says “a custom in all those Italian cities and townes
through the which I passed, that is not used in any other country that I
saw in my travels; neither do I think that any other nation of
Christendome doth use it, but only Italy. The Italian and most strangers
that are commorant [dwelling] in Italy, do alwaies at their meales _use
a little forke_, when they cut their meate. For while with their knife,
which they hold in one hand, they cut the meate out of the dish, they
fasten their forke, which they hold in the other hand, upon the same
dish. So that whatsoever he be, that sitting in the company of any
others at meale, should unadvisedly touch the dish of meate with his
fingers, from which all at the table doe eat, he will give occasion of
offense unto the company, as having transgressed the lawes of good
manners; insomuch that for his error he shall be at least brow-beaten,
if not reprehended in words. This forme of feeding, I understand, is
generally used in all places in Italy, their forkes being for the most
part made of yron or steele, and some of silver; but these are used only
by gentlemen. The reason of this their curiosity is, because the Italian
cannot by any means have his dish touched with fingers, seeing all men’s
fingers are not alike cleane—hereupon I myself thought good, to imitate
the Italian fashion, by this forked cutting of meate, not only while I
was in Italy, but also in Germany, and oftentimes in England since I
came home: being once quipped for that frequent using of my forke, by a
certain learned gentleman, a familiar friend of mine, one Master
Laurence Whitaker, who in his merry humour doubted not to call me
_furcifer_, only for using a forke at feeding.”
In the preceding extract, we have a view of Italian gentlemen ‘feeding’
in the beginning of the 17th century. In the following passage we obtain
an insight into British manners during the middle of it:—“A gentlewoman
being at table, abroad or at home, must observe to keep her body
straighte, and lean not by any means upon her elbowes—nor by ravenous
gesture discover a voracious appetite. Talke not when you have meate in
your mouth; and do not smacke like a pig—nor eat spoonemeat so hot that
the tears stand in your eyes. It is very uncourtly to drink so large a
draught that your breath is almost gone, and you are forced to blow
strongly to recover yourselfe. Throwing down your liquor as, into a
funnel, is an action fitter for a juggler than a gentlewoman. In carving
at your own table, distribute the best pieces first, and it will appear
very decent and comely to _use a forke_; so touch no piece of meat
without it.” This elegant extract is from ‘_The Accomplished Lady’s Rich
Closet of Rarities_.’ London, 1653.
To conclude: That forks were known in Spain when Cervantes wrote, is
obvious from the address of Quixote to Don Antonio in praise of Squire
Pansa: ‘In truth, Sancho’s temperance and cleanliness in eating deserve
to be engraved on plates of brass, to remain an eternal memorial for
ages to come. I must confess when he is hungry, he seems to be somewhat
of a glutton, for he eats fast and chews on both sides of his mouth; but
for cleanliness he always strictly observes it. When he was a governor
he learned to eat so nicely that he took up grapes and even the grains
of pomegranates with the point of a FORK.’