too high a temperature, when the same quantity of the fluid at a lower
temperature would be beneficial. It is astringent and narcotic; but its
effects are various on various individuals, and the cup which refreshes
and invigorates one, depresses or unnaturally excites and damages
the digestive powers of others. Green tea can in no case be useful,
except medicinally, in cases where there has been excessive fatigue of
the mind or body; and even then the dose should be small. Tea, as a
promoter of digestion, or rather, as a comforter of the stomach when
the digestive process has been completed, should not be taken earlier
than from three to four hours after the principal meal. Taken too
early, it disturbs digestion by arresting chymification, and by causing
distension. The astringency of tea is diminished by adding milk, and
its true taste more than its virtue is spoiled by the addition of sugar.
These remarks are applicable to tea in its pure state, and not to the
adulterated messes which come from China, or are made up in England.
If sloe leaves here are made to pass for Souchong, so also is many an
unbroken chest of “tea” landed, which is largely composed of leaves
that are not the least akin to the genuine shrub. Black teas are
converted into green, some say by means of a poisonous dye, others by
roasting on copper; but I do not think this process is extensively
adopted. At one time the chests were rendered heavy by an adulterated
mixture of a considerable quantity of tea, and a not inconsiderable
quantity of earthy _detritus_, strongly impregnated with iron. But our
searchers soon put a stop to this knavery. They just dipped a powerful
magnet into the chest, stirred it about, and, when drawn out, the iron
particles, if any, were sure to be found adhering to the irresistible
“detective.” I have heard that Lady Morgan’s tea-parties, in Dublin,
were remarkable for the excellent qualities both of the beverage and
the company; and also for her Ladyship’s stereotyped joke, of “Sugar
yourselves, gentlemen, and I’ll milk you all.”
Tea-parties, I may observe in conclusion, are not confined in China
to festive occasions. Tea is solemnly drunk on serious celebrations,
with squibs to follow. Thus, for instance, at the funeral of a Buddhist
Priest, there is thought taken for the living as well as for the dead,
for the appetites of mortals as well as for the gratification of
the gods. The latter are presented with various sorts of food, save
animal. It is placed on the altar, and it is eaten at night by the
deities, of course. While the ceremonies preliminary to the interment
are proceeding, a servant enters the temple, and hands tea round to
the reverend gentlemen who are officiating! The interment usually
takes place in the morning, and it is numerously attended; but if,
as the long procession is advancing, the hour of breakfast should
happen to arrive, the corpse is suddenly dropped in the highway, the
entire assembly rush to their respective homes, and not till they
have consumed their tea and toast, or whatever materials go to the
constituting of a Chinese _déjeûner_, do they return to carry the corse
to its final resting-place, and fire no end of squibs over it, in
testimony of their affliction. Which done, more refreshment follows;
and perhaps some of the mourners retire to Chinese taverns, where
inviting placards promise them “A cup of tea and a bird’s nest for
4_d._!”
COFFEE.
The English and French dispute the honour of being the first
introducers of coffee into Western Europe. The Dutch assert that they
_assisted_ in this introduction; and, although coffee was not drunk at
Rome, until long after it had been known to, and tasted by, Italian
travellers at Constantinople, the Church looked with pleasure on a
beverage, one effect of which was to keep both Priests and people awake.
An Arab author of the fifteenth century--Sherbaddin--asserts, that the
first man who drank coffee was a certain Muphti of Aden, who lived in
the ninth century of the Hegira, about A.D. 1500. The popular tradition
is, that the Superior of a Dervish community, observing the effects
of coffee-berries when eaten by some goats, rendering them much more
lively and skittish than before, prescribed it for the brotherhood, in
order to cure them of drowsiness and indolence.
It was originally known by the name of _cahui_ or _kauhi_,--an
orthography which comes near to that of the ingenious Town-Councillor
of Leeds, who, writing out a bill of fare for a public breakfast,
contrived to spell “coffee” without employing a single letter that
occurs in that word,--to wit, _kawphy_!
Sandys, a traveller of the seventeenth century, gives it no very
attractive character. Good for digestion and mirth, he allows it to be;
but he says that in taste as in colour it is nearly as black as soot.
The coffee-houses of England take precedence of those of France, though
the latter have more enduringly flourished. In 1652, a Greek, in the
service of an English Turkey merchant, opened a house in London. “I
have discovered his hand-bill,” says Mr. Disraeli, “in which he sets
forth the virtue of the coffee drink, first publiquely made and sold
in England, by Pasqua Rosee, of St. Michael’s Alley, Cornhill, at the
sign of his own head.” Mr. Peter Cunningham cites a MS. of Oldys in his
possession, in which some fuller details of much interest are given.
Oldys says, “The first use of coffee in England was known in 1657,
when Mr. Daniel Edwards, a Turkey merchant, brought from Smyrna to
London one Pasqua Rosee, a Ragusan youth, who prepared this drink for
him every morning. But the novelty thereof drawing too much company to
him, he allowed his said servant, with another of his son-in-law’s, to
sell it publicly; and they set up the first coffee-house in London,
in St. Michael’s Alley, Cornhill. But they separating, Pasqua kept in
the house; and he who had been his partner obtained leave to pitch a
tent, and sell the liquor, in St. Michael’s churchyard.” Aubrey, in
his Anecdotes, states that the first vendor of coffee in London was
one Bowman, coachman to a Turkey merchant, named Hodges, who was the
father-in-law of Edwards, and the partner of Pasqua, who got into
difficulties, partly by his not being a freeman, and who left the
country. Bowman was not only patronized, but a magnificent contribution
of one thousand sixpences was presented to him, wherewith he made great
improvements in his coffee-house. Bowman took an apprentice, (Paynter,)
who soon learnt the mystery, and in four years set up for himself. The
coffee-houses soon became numerous: the principal were Farres’, the
Rainbow, at the Inner-Temple Gate, and John’s, in Fuller’s Rents. “Sir
Henry Blount,” says Aubrey, “was a great upholder of coffee, and a
constant frequenter of coffee-houses.”
The frequenters of these places, however, were considered as
belonging to the idle and dissipated classes; and the reputation
was not altogether undeserved. Respectable people denounced the
coffee-drinking evils, illustriously obscure and loyal people dreaded
the politics that were discussed at the drinking, and tipsy satirists
hurled strong contempt and weak verse at the new-fangled fashion of
abandoning Canary wine for the Arabian infusion. The fashion, however,
extended rapidly; the more so, that cups were soon to be had at so low
a price, that the shops where they were sold went by the name of “Penny
Universities.” The ladies, who were excluded from public participation
in the bitter enjoyment, made some characteristic complaints against
the male drinkers, and intimated that the indulgence of coffee-drinking
would in time deteriorate, if not destroy, the human race; but the
imbibers heeded not the complaint, their answer to which was that of
Béranger’s gay marital philosopher:--
“_Nous laisserions finir le monde,
Si nos femmes le voulaient bien._”
While the ladies, through their poetical representatives, were
complaining, male philanthropists quickly discerned the social uses of
the cup; and Sir Henry Blount acknowledges, with grateful pleasure,
that the custom, on the part of labouring men and apprentices, of
drinking a cup of coffee in the morning, instead of their ordinary
matinal draught of beer or wine, was chiefly owing to Sir James
Muddiford, “who introduced the practice hereof first in London.”
The Government of the Stuarts, hating free discussion, and not
particularly caring for wit, watched the coffee-houses with much
jealousy, and placed as much restriction upon them as they possibly
could strain the law to. The vexatious proceeding did not secure the
desired result; and the coffee-house wits laughed at the Government.
The wits, however, were not always successful either in their praise
of, or satire against, coffee. Pepys, on the 15th of October, 1667,
went to the Duke’s House, to see the comedy of “Taruga’s Wiles; or,
the Coffee-House,” of which he says, “The most ridiculous, insipid
play that ever I saw in my life; and glad we were that Betterton had
no part in it.” But Pepys was probably not in the true vein to decide
critically that night; for his pretty maid Willett was sitting at his
side; and his wife, who was on the other, spoiled the effect of the
play by her remarks on the girl’s “confidence.” Perhaps one of the most
curious apologies for coffee-houses was that of Aubrey, who declared
that he should never have acquired so extensive an acquaintance but
for “the modern advantages of coffee-houses in this great city, before
which men knew not how to be acquainted but with their own relations
_and societies_.” And Aubrey, who has been called the small Boswell of
his day, “was a man who had more acquaintances than friends.”
Yemen is the accepted birth-place, if we may so speak, of the
coffee-tree. Pietro de la Vallé introduced it into Italy, La Royne
into Marseilles, and Thevenot brought it with him to Paris. In 1643,
a Levantine opened a coffee-house in Paris, in the Place du Petit
Chatelet; but it was Soleiman Aga, Turkish Ambassador in Paris, in
1689, who was the medium through which coffee found its way into the
realm of fashion. Had it been really what some have supposed it to
have been,--the black broth of the Lacedæmonians,--he could have made
it modish by his method of service. This was marked by all the minute
details of oriental fashion,--small cups and foot-boys, gold-fringed
napkins and pages, coffee wreathing with smoke, and Ganymedes wreathed
with garlands, the first all aroma, and the hand-bearers all otto
of roses: the whole thing was too dazzling and dramatic to escape
adoption. But the intolerable vulgar would imitate their betters, and
coffee became as common at taverns as wine, beer, and smoking. It
would have inevitably been abandoned to coarse appetites only, but for
François Procope, a Sicilian, who, in the Rue de l’Ancienne Comédie,
exactly opposite to the old play-house in the Faubourg St. Germain,
opened an establishment expressly for the sale of coffee, but with such
innocent additional articles as ices, lemonade, and the like harmless
appliances, to make pleasant the seasons in their change. The _Café
Procope_ became the immediate resort of all the wits, philosophers, and
refined _roués_ of Paris. There Rousseau wrote or repeated the lines
which brought him into such frequent trouble. There Piron muttered
the verses with which the incitement of devils inspired him. There
Voltaire tried to rule supreme, but found himself in frequent bitter
contest with Palissot and Freron. The _Café Procope_ was the morning
journal, the foreign news-mart, the exchange,--literary, witty, and
emphatically charming. There Lamothe renewed the contest between the
ancient and modern, the classical and the romantic, drama. There the
brilliant Chevalier de St. Georges gave lessons in fencing to the
men of letters; and thence Dorat addressed his amorous missives to
Mademoiselle Saunier. There Marmontel praised Clairon, and the Marquis
de Bièvre tried his calembourgs; and there Duclos and Mercier made
their sketches of society, at once serious and sarcastic. The universal
favour in which coffee is still held in Paris, and the crowds which
still wait on “Andromaque,” sufficiently belie the famous prophecy of
Madame de Sévigné, that “coffee and Racine would have their day.” The
dark infusion reigns without a rival, the _demi-tasse_ follows dinner
oftener than “grace,” Rachel helps to keep Racine alive, and _café_, in
its turn, has the reputation of being _one_ of the favourite stimulants
of the great _tragédienne_.
With regard to the making of coffee, there is no doubt that the
Turkish method of pounding the coffee in a mortar is infinitely
superior to grinding it in a mill, as with us. But after either method
the process recommended by M. Soyer may be advantageously adopted;
namely, “Put two ounces of ground coffee into a stew-pan, which set
upon the fire, stirring the coffee round with a spoon until quite hot,
then pour over a pint of boiling water; cover over closely for five
minutes, pass it through a cloth, warm again, and serve.”
The chemist Laplace explained to Napoleon the results of various
methods of manipulation. “How is it, Sir,” said the Emperor, “that a
glass of water in which I melt a lump of sugar, always appears to me
to be superior in taste to one in which I put the same quantity of
powdered sugar?” “Sire,” said the sage, “there exist three substances,
whose elements are precisely the same; namely, sugar, gum, and starch.
They only differ under certain conditions, the secret of which Nature
has reserved to herself; and I believe that it is possible, that, by
the collision caused by the pestle, some of the portions of the sugar
pass into the condition of gum or starch, and thence arises the result
which has been observed.”
Medical men are widely at issue as to the merits of coffee. All,
however, are agreed that it stimulates the brain, and banishes
somnolency. Voltaire and Buffon were great coffee-drinkers; but I do
not know that we are authorized to attribute the lucidity of the one
or the harmony of the other to the habit in question. Ability would be
cheaply purchased if that were the case; and the “royal road” would
have been discovered where it had never been looked for.
The sleeplessness produced by coffee is not one of an unpleasant
character. It is simply a painless vigilance; but, if often repeated,
it may be exceedingly prejudicial. Brillat de Savarin illustrates the
power of coffee by remarking, that a man may live many years who takes
two bottles of wine daily; but the same quantity of strong coffee would
soon make him imbecile, or drive him into a consumption.
Taken immediately after dinner, coffee aids the dyspeptic, especially
to digest fat and oily aliment, which, without such stimulant, would
undoubtedly create much disturbance. The Turks drink it to modify the
effects of opium. _Café au lait_, that is, three parts milk to one of
coffee, is the proper thing for breakfast; but the addition of milk
to that taken after dinner is a cruelty to the stomach. A Dutchman,
named Nieudorff, is said to have been the first who ventured on the
experiment of mixing milk with coffee. When he had the courage to do
this, the two liquids together were considered something of such an
abomination as we should now consider brown sugar with oysters.
I must not omit to mention, that the favourite beverage of Voltaire,
at the _Café Procope_, was “_choca_,”--a mixture of coffee (with milk)
and chocolate. The Emperor Napoleon was as fond of the same mixture as
he was of Chambertin; and, in truth, I do not know a draught which so
perfectly soothes and revives as that of hot, well-frothed “_choca_.”
Substances mixed with coffee, or substitutes for the berry altogether,
have been tried with various degrees of success. Roasted acorns have
been made to pass for it when ground. There is more chicory than coffee
consumed at the present time in France; and the infusion of the lupin
does duty for it at poor hearths in Flanders; as that of roasted rye
(the nearest resemblance to coffee) does in America. Experimentalists
say, that an excellent substitute for coffee may be made from
asparagus; and Frankfort, alarmed lest the complications of the
“Eastern Question” should deprive it of the facilities for procuring
the berry as heretofore, is gravely consulting as to whether asparagus
coffee may be a beverage likely to be acceptable as a substitute for
the much prized “_demi-tasse_.”
CHOCOLATE.
Ferdinand Cortez went to Mexico in search of gold; but the first
discovery he made was of chocolate. The discovery was not welcomed
ecclesiastically, as coffee was. This new substance was considered a
sort of wicked luxury, at least for Monks, who were among the earliest
to adopt it, but who were solemnly warned against its supposed peculiar
effects. The moralists quite as eagerly condemned it; and in England
Roger North angrily asserted, that “the use of coffee-houses seems
much improved by a new invention, called ‘chocolate-houses,’ for the
benefit of rooks and cullies of quality, where gambling is added to
all the rest, and the summons of W---- seldom fails; as if the devil
had erected a new university, and these were the colleges of its
Professors, as well as his schools of discipline.” The Stuart jealousy
of these localities, where free discussion was amply enjoyed, seems
to have influenced the Attorney-General of James II.; for, although
they may not have been frequented, he says, by “the factious gentry
he so much dreaded,” he adds, “This way of passing time might have
been stopped at first, before people had possessed themselves of some
convenience from them of meeting for short dispatches, and passing
evenings with small expenses.” Of what chiefly recommended these
places, the stern official thus made a grievance.
Chocolate (or, as the Mexicans term it, _chocolalt_) is the popular
name for the seeds of the cocoa, or, more correctly, the _cacao_,
plant, in a prepared state, generally with sugar and cinnamon. The
Mexicans improve the flavour of the inferior sorts of cacao seeds by
burying them in the earth for a month, and allowing them to ferment.
The nutritious quality of either cacao or chocolate is entirely owing
to the oil or butter of cacao which it contains. Cacao-nibs, the best
form of taking this production, are the seeds roughly crushed. When
the seed is crushed between rollers, the result is flake cacao. Common
cacao is the seed reduced to a paste, and pressed into cakes. The cheap
kinds of chocolate are said to be largely adulterated with lard, sago,
and red-lead,--a pernicious mixture for healthy stomachs; but what must
it be for weak stomachs craving for food at once nutritious and easy of
digestion? The “patent” chocolates of the shops are nothing more than
various modes of preparing the cacao seeds.
The ladies of Mexico are so excessively fond of chocolate, that they
not only take it several times during the day, but they occasionally
have it brought to them in church, and during the service. A cup of
good chocolate may, indeed, afford the drinker strength and patience
to undergo a bad sermon. The Bishops opposed it for a time, but they
at length closed their eyes to the practice. I am afraid there is no
chance of the fashion being introduced into England. The advantages
would be acknowledged; but then there would be a savour of Popery
detected about it, that would inevitably cause its rejection. The
Church herself found a boon in this exquisite supporter of strength.
The Monks took it of a morning before celebrating Mass, even in Lent.
The orthodox and strong-stomached raised a dreadful cry at the scandal;
but Escobar metaphysically proved, that chocolate made with water did
not break a fast; thus establishing the ancient maxim, “_Liquidum non
frangit jejunium._”
Spain welcomed the gift of chocolate made her by Mexico with as
much enthusiasm as she did that of gold by Peru; the metal she soon
squandered, but chocolate is still to be found in abundance in the
Peninsula: it is an especial favourite with ladies and Monks, and it
always appears on occasions when courtesy requires that refreshments
be offered. The Spanish Monks sent presents of it to their brethren
in French monasteries; and Anne of Austria, daughter of Philip II.
of Spain, when she brought across the Pyrenees her hand, but not her
heart, to the unenergetic Louis XIII., brought a supply of chocolate
therewith; and henceforth it became an established fact. In the days
of the Regency it was far more commonly consumed than coffee; for it
was then taken as an agreeable aliment, while coffee was still looked
upon as a somewhat strange beverage, but certainly akin to luxury. In
the opinion of Linnæus it must have surpassed all other nutritious
preparations, or that naturalist would hardly have conferred upon it,
as he did, the proud name of _Theobroma_, “food for the gods!”
Invalids will do well to remember, that chocolate made with vanilla
is indigestible, and injurious to the nerves. Indeed, there are few
stomachs at all that can bear chocolate as a daily meal. It is a highly
concentrated aliment; and all such cease to act nutritiously if taken
into constant use.
We will now look into some of those famous resorts of by-gone days,
where coffee and chocolate were prepared, and wit was bright and
spontaneous.
THE OLD COFFEE-HOUSES.
The “Grecian” appears to have been the oldest of the better-known
coffee-houses, and to have lasted the longest. It was opened by
Constantine, a Grecian, “living in Threadneedle-street, over against
St. Christopher’s Church,” in the early part of the last half of the
seventeenth century. Its career came to a close towards the middle of
the nineteenth century; namely, in 1843, when the Grecian Coffee-house,
then in Devereux-court, Strand, where it had existed for very many
years, was converted into the “Grecian Chambers,” or lodgings for
bachelors.
Constantine not only sold “the right Turkey coffee berry, or
chocolate,” but gave instructions how to “prepare the said liquors
gratis.” The “Grecian” was the resort rather of the learned than the
dissipated. The antiquarians sat at its tables; and, despising the
news of the day, discussed the events of the Trojan war, and similar
lively, but remote, matters. The laborious trifling was ridiculed by
the satirists; and it is clear that there were some pedants as well
as philosophers there. It was a time when both sages and sciolists
wore swords; and it is on record that two friendly scholars, sipping
their coffee at the “Grecian,” became enemies in argument, the subject
of which was the accent of a Greek word. Whatever the accent ought
to have been, the quarrel was acute, and its conclusion grave. The
scholars rushed into Devereux-court, drew their swords, and, as one
was run through the body and killed on the spot, it is to be supposed
that he was necessarily wrong. But the duel was the strangest method
of settling a question in grammar that I ever heard of. Still it was
rather the scholars than the rakes who patronized the “Grecian;” and
there were to be found the Committee of the Royal Society, and Oxford
Professors, enjoying their leisure and hot cups, after philosophical
discussion and scientific lecturing; and even the Privy Council Board
sometimes assembled there to take coffee after Council.
The “coffee-houses,” which were resorted to for mere conversation as
well as coffee, began on a first floor; they were the seed, as it
were, whence has arisen the political and exclusive “club” of the
present day. The advantages of association were first experienced in
coffee-houses; but at the same time was felt the annoyance caused by
intrusive and unwelcome strangers. The club, with its ballot-box to
settle elections of members, was the natural result.