THE MODERN DINNER-TABLE.
The appointments of the modern dinner-table strikingly indicate
that growth of luxury of which the immediate past has been so
fruitful. Up to twenty years ago a dinner, even in the house of a
merchant prince, was a plain affair. There was a white tablecloth
of double damask; there were large, handsome napkins; there was a
rich service of solid silver, and perhaps some good china.
Flowers, if used at all, were not in profusion; and as for
glasses, only a few of plain white, or perhaps a green or a red
one for claret or hock, were placed at the side of the plate.
Of course there were variations and exceptions to this rule, but
they were few and far between. One man, or often one maid-servant,
waited at the table; and, as a protection for the table-cloth,
mats were used, implying the fear that the dish brought from the
top of the kitchen-range, if set down, would leave a spot or
stain. All was on a simple or economical plan. The grand dinners
were served by caterers, who sent their men to wait at them, which
led to the remark, often laughed at as showing English stupidity,
made by the Marquis of Hartington when he visited New York at the
time of our war. As he looked at old Peter Van Dyck and his
colored assistants, whom he had seen at every house at which he
had dined, he remarked, "How much all your servants resemble each
other in America!" It was really an unintentional sarcasm, but it
might well have suggested to our _nouveaux riches_ the propriety
of having their own trained servants to do the work of their
houses instead of these outside men. A degree of elegance which we
have not as a nation even yet attained is that of having a
well-trained corps of domestic servants.
A mistress of a house should be capable of teaching her servants
the method of laying a table and attending it, if she has to take,
as we commonly must, the uneducated Irishman from his native bogs
as a house-servant. If she employs the accomplished and
well-recommended foreign servant, he is too apt to disarrange her
establishment by disparaging the scale on which it is conducted,
and to engender a spirit of discontent in her household. Servants
of a very high class, who can assume the entire management of
affairs, are only possible to people of great wealth, and they
become tyrants, and wholly detestable to the master and mistress
after a short slavery. One New York butler lately refused to wash
dishes, telling his mistress that it would ruin his finger-nails.
But this man was a consummate servant, who laid the table and
attended it, with an ease and grace that gave his mistress that
pleasant feeling of certainty that all would go well, which is the
most comfortable of all feelings to a hostess, and without which
dinner-giving is annoyance beyond all words.
The arrangement of a dinner-table and the waiting upon it are the
most important of all the duties of a servant or servants, and any
betrayal of ignorance, any nervousness or noise, any accident, are
to be deplored, showing as they do want of experience and lack of
training.
No one wishes to invite his friends to be uncomfortable. Those
dreadful dinners which Thackeray describes, at which people with
small incomes tried to rival those of large means, will forever
remain in the minds of his readers as among the most painful of
all revelations of sham. We should be real first, and ornamental
afterwards.
In a wealthy family a butler and two footmen are employed, and it
is their duty to work together in harmony, the butler having
control. The two footmen lay the table, the butler looking on to
see that it is properly done. The butler takes care of the wine,
and stands behind his mistress's chair. Where only one man is
employed, the whole duty devolves upon him, and he has generally
the assistance of the parlor-maid. Where there is only a
maid-servant, the mistress of the house must see that all
necessary arrangements are made.
The introduction of the extension-table into our long, narrow
dining-rooms has led to the expulsion of the pretty round-table,
which is of all others the most cheerful. The extension-table,
however, is almost inevitable, and one of the ordinary size, with
two leaves added, will seat twelve people. The public caterers say
that every additional leaf gives room for four more people, but
the hostess, in order to avoid crowding, would be wise if she
tested this with her dining-room chairs. New York dinner-parties
are often crowded, sixteen being sometimes asked when the table
will only accommodate fourteen. This is a mistake, as heat and
crowding should be avoided. In country houses, or in Philadelphia,
Boston, Washington, and other cities where the dining-rooms are
ordinarily larger than those in a New York house, the danger of
crowding, of heat, and want of ventilation, is more easily
avoided; but in a gas-lighted, furnace-heated room in New York the
sufferings of the diners-out are sometimes terrible.
The arrangements for the dinner, whether the party be ten or
twenty, should be the same. Much has been said about the number to
be invited, and there is an old saw that one should not invite
"fewer than the Graces nor more than the Muses." This partiality
to uneven numbers refers to the difficulty of seating a party of
eight, in which case, if the host and hostess take the head and
foot of the table, two gentlemen and two ladies will come
together. But the number of the Graces being three, no worse
number than that could be selected for a dinner-party; and nine
would be equally uncomfortable at an extension-table, as it would
be necessary to seat three on one side and four on the other. Ten
is a good number for a small dinner, and easy to manage. One
servant can wait on ten people, and do it well, if well-trained.
Twenty-four people often sit down at a modern dinner-table, and
are well served by a butler and two men, though some luxurious
dinner-givers have a man behind each chair. This, however, is
ostentation.
A lady, if she issue invitations for a dinner of ten or twenty,
should do so a fortnight in advance, and should have her cards
engraved thus:
_Mr. and Mrs. James Norman
request the pleasure of
Mr. and Mrs. John Brown's company at dinner
on Thursday, February eighth,
at seven o'clock._
These engraved forms, on note-paper, filled up with the necessary
time and date, are very convenient and elegant, and should be
answered by the fortunate recipient immediately, in the most
formal manner, and the engagement should be scrupulously kept if
accepted. If the subsequent illness or death of relatives, or any
other cause, renders this impossible, the hostess should be
immediately notified.
A gentleman is never invited without his wife, nor a lady without
her husband, unless great intimacy exists between the parties, and
the sudden need of another guest makes the request imperative.
The usual hour for dinner-parties in America is seven o'clock; but
whatever the hour, the guests should take care to be punctual to
the minute. In the hall the gentleman should find a card with his
name, and that of the lady whom he is to take in, written on it,
and also a small _boutonniere_, which he places in his
button-hole. On entering the drawing-room the lady goes first, not
taking her husband's arm. If the gentleman is not acquainted with
the lady whom he is to take in to dinner, he asks his hostess to
present him to her, and he endeavors to place himself on an
agreeeble footing with her before they enter the dining-room.
When the last guest has arrived, dinner is ready, and the butler
makes his announcement. The host leads the way, with the lady to
whom the dinner is given, and the hostess follows last, with the
gentleman whom she wishes to honor.
The people who enter a modern dining-room find a picture before
them, which is the result of painstaking thought, taste, and
experience, and, like all works of art, worthy of study.
The first thought of the observer is, "What a splendid bit of
color!" The open-work, white tablecloth lies on a red ground, and
above it rests a mat of red velvet, embroidered with peacock's
feathers and gold lace. Above this stands a large silver salver or
oblong tray, lined with reflecting glass, on which Dresden swan
and silver lilies seem floating in a veritable lake. In the middle
of this long tray stands a lofty vase of silver or crystal, with
flowers and fruit cunningly disposed in it, and around it are
placed tropical vines. At each of the four corners of the table
stand four ruby glass flagons set in gold, standards of beautiful
and rare designs. Cups or silver-gilt vases, with centres of cut
glass, hold the bonbons and smaller fruits. Four candelabra hold
up red wax-candles with red shades, and flat, glass troughs,
filled with flowers, stand opposite each place, grouped in a
floral pattern.
At each place, as the servant draws back the chair, the guest sees
a bewildering number of glass goblets, wine and champagne glasses,
several forks, knives, and spoons, and a majolica plate holding
oysters on the half shell, with a bit of lemon in the centre of
the plate. The napkin, deftly folded, holds a dinner-roll, which
the guest immediately removes. The servants then, seeing all the
guests seated, pass red and black pepper, in silver pepper-pots,
on a silver tray. A small, peculiarly-shaped fork is laid by each
plate, at the right hand, for the oysters. Although some ladies
now have all their forks laid on the left hand of the plate, this,
however, is not usual. After the oysters are eaten, the plates are
removed, and two kinds of soup are passed--a white and a brown
soup.
During this part of the dinner the guest has time to look at the
beautiful Queen Anne silver, the handsome lamps, if lamps are used
(we may mention the fact that about twenty-six candles will well
light a dinner of sixteen persons), and the various colors of lamp
and candle shades. Then the beauty of the flowers, and, as the
dinner goes on, the variety of the modern Dresden china, the
Sevres, the Royal Worcester, and the old blue can be discussed and
admired.
The service is _
la Russe_; that is, everything is handed by the
servants. Nothing is seen on the table except the wines (and only
a few of these), the bonbons, and the fruit. No greasy dishes are
allowed. Each lady has a bouquet, possibly a painted reticule of
silk filled with sugar-plums, and sometimes a pretty fan or ribbon
with her name or monogram painted on it.
At his right hand each guest finds a goblet of elegantly-engraved
glass for water, two of the broad, flat, flaring shape of the
modern champagne glass (although some people are using the long
vase-like glass of the past for champagne), a beautiful Bohemian
green glass, apparently set with gems, for the hock, a ruby-red
glass for the claret, two other large white claret or Burgundy
glasses, and three wine-glasses of cut or engraved glass.
Harlequin glasses, which give to the table the effect of a bed of
tulips, are in fashion for those who delight in color and variety.
The hostess may prefer the modern napery, so exquisitely
embroidered in gold thread, which affords an opportunity to show
the family coat of arms, or the heraldic animals--the lion and the
two-headed eagle and the griffin--intertwined in graceful shapes
around the whole edge of the table and on the napkins.
As the dinner goes on the guest revels in unexpected surprises in
the beauty of the plates, some of which look as if made of solid
gold; and when the Roman punch is served it comes in the heart of
a red, red rose, or in the bosom of a swan, or the cup of a lily,
or the "right little, tight little" life-saying boat. Faience,
china, glass, and ice are all pressed into the service of the
Roman punch, and sometimes the prettiest dish of all is hewn out
of ice.
We will try to see how all this picture is made, beginning at the
laying of the table, the process of which we will explain in
detail in the next chapter.