The Art of Entertaining Part 6

Silence is only commendable in a neat's tongue dried-- _Merchant of Venice._

BRAISED LAMB AND BEEF.

What say you to a piece of lamb and mustard?--a dish that I do love to feed upon.--_Taming of the Shrew._

LOBSTER SALAD.

Sallat was born to do me good.--_Henry IV._

And so on. The Bible affords others, well worth quoting:--

OYSTERS.

He brought them up out of the sea.--_Isaiah._ And his mouth was opened immediately.--_Luke_ i. 64.

BEAN SOUP.

"Jacob gave Esau bread and pottage of lentils."

FISH, STRIPED Ba.s.s.

We remember the fish we did eat freely.--_Numbers._ These with many stripes.--_Deuteronomy._

STEINBERGER CABINET.

Thou hast kept the good wine until now.--_John_ ii. 10.

BOILED CAPON.

Accept it always and in all places.--Acts xxiv. 3.

PIGEON BRAISE.

Pigeons such as he could get.--_Leviticus._

SUCCOTASH.

They brought corn and beans.--_Samuel._

QUAIL LARDED.

Even quail came.--_Exodus._ Abundantly moistened with fat.--_Isaiah._

LETTUCE SALAD.

A pleasant plant, green before the sun.--_Isaiah._ Pour oil upon it, pure oil, olive.--_Leviticus._ Oil and salt, without prescribing how much.--_Ezra_ vii. 22.

ICE CREAM.

Ice like morsels.--_Psalms._

CHEESE.

Carry these ten cheeses unto the captain.--_Samuel._

FRUITS.

All kind of fruits.--_Eccles._

COFFEE.

Last of all.--_Matthew_ xxi. 37.

They had made an end of eating.--_Amos_ vii. 2.

CIGARS.

Am become like dust and ashes.--_Job_ x.x.x. 19.

And so on. Written conundrums are good stimulants to conversation, and dinner cards might be greatly historical, not too learned. A legend of the day, as Lady Day, or Michaelmas, is not a bad promoter of talk. Or one might allude to the calendar of dead kings and queens, or other celebrities, or ask your preferences, or quote something from a memoir, to find out that it is a birthday of Rossini or Goethe. All these might be written on a dinner card, and will open the flood gates of a frozen conversation.

Let each dinner giver weave a net out of the gossamer threads of her own thoughts. It will be the web of the Lady of Shalott, and will bid the shadows of pleasant memory to remain, not float "forever adown the river," even toward "towered Camelot" where they may be lost.

Some opulent dinner giver once made the dinner card the vehicle of a present, but this became rather burdensome. It was trying and embarra.s.sing to carry the gifts home, and the poorer entertainer hesitated at the expense. The outlay had better come out of one's brain, and the piquing of curiosity with a contradiction like this take its place:--

"A lady gave me a gift which she had not, And I received the gift, which I took not, And if she take it back I grieve not."

But there is something more required to form the intellectual components of a dinner than these instruments to stimulate curiosity and give a fillip to thought. We must have variety.

Mrs. Jameson, the accomplished author of the "Legends of the Madonna"

gives the following description of an out-of-door dinner, which should embolden the young American hostess to go and do likewise:--

"Yesterday we dined _al fresco_ in the Pamfili Gardens, in Rome, and although our party was rather too large, it was well a.s.sorted, and the day went off admirably. The queen of our feast was in high good humour and irresistibly charming, Frattino very fascinating, T. caustic and witty, W. lively and clever, J. mild, intelligent and elegant, V. as usual quiet, sensible, and self-complacent, L. as absurd and a.s.siduous as ever.

"Everybody played their part well, each by a tacit convention sacrificing to the _amour propre_ of his neighbour, each individual really occupied with his own peculiar _role_, but all apparently happy and mutually pleased. Vanity and selfishness, indifference and _ennui_ were veiled under a general mask of good humour and good breeding, and the flowery bonds of politeness and gallantry held together those who knew no common tie of thought or interest.

"Our luxurious dinner, washed down by a competent proportion of Malvoisie and champagne, was spread upon the gra.s.s, which was literally the flowery turf, being covered with violets, iris, and anemones of every dye.

"For my own peculiar taste there were too many servants, too many luxuries, too much fuss; but considering the style and number of our party, it was all consistently and admirably managed. The grouping of the company, picturesque because unpremeditated, the scenery around, the arcades and bowers and columns and fountains had an air altogether poetical and romantic, and put me in mind of some of Watteau's beautiful garden pieces."

Now in this exquisite description Mrs. Jameson seems to me to have given the intellectual components of a dinner. "The hostess, good-humoured and charming, Frattino very fascinating, T. caustic and witty, W. lively and clever, J. mild, intelligent, and elegant, V. as usual quiet, sensible, and self-complacent, L. as absurd and as a.s.siduous as ever."

There was variety for you, and the three last were undoubtedly listeners. In the next paragraph she covers more ground, and this is most important:--

"Each by a tacit convention sacrificing to the _amour propre_ of his neighbour."

That is an immortal phrase, for there can be no pleasant dinner when this unselfishness is not shown. It was said by a witty Boston hostess that she could never invite two well-known diners-out to the same dinner, for each always silenced the other. You must not have too many good talkers. The listeners, the receptive listeners, should outnumber the talkers.

In England, the land of dinners, they have, of course, no end of public, semi-official, and annual dinners,--as those of the Royal Literary Fund, the Old Rugbians, the Artists Benevolent Fund, the Regimental dinners, the banquets at the Liberal and the Cobden Club, and the nice little dinners at the Star and Garter, winding up with the annual fish dinner.

Now of all these the most popular and sought after is the annual dinner of the Royal Academy. Few gratifications are more desired by mortals than an invitation to this dinner. The president, Sir Frederic Leighton, is handsome and popular. The dinner is representative in character; one or more members of the Royal Family are present; the Church, the Senate, the Bar, Medicine, Literature and Science, the Army, the Navy, the City,--all these have their representatives in the company.

Who would not say that this would be the most amusing dinner in London? Intellect at its highest water mark is present. The _menu_ is splendid. But I have heard one distinguished guest say that the thing is over-freighted, the s.h.i.+p is too full, and the crowd of good things makes a surfeit.

Dinners at the Lord Mayor's are said to be pleasant and fine specimens of civic cheer, but the grand nights at the Middle Temple and others of the Inns of Court are occasions of pleasant festivity.

We have nothing to do with these, however, except to read of them, and to draw our conclusions. I know of no better use to which we can put them than the same rereading which we gave Mrs. Jameson's well-considered _menu_: "Each individual really occupied with his own _role_, but all apparently happy and mutually pleased. Variety and selfishness or indifference or _ennui_ well veiled under a general mask of good humour and good breeding, and the flowery bands of politeness and gallantry holding together those who knew no common tie of thought and interest." It requires very civilized people to veil their indifference and _ennui_ under a general mask of good humour.

To have unity, one must first have units; and to make an agreeable dinner-party the hostess should invite agreeable people, and her husband should be a good host; and here we must again compliment England. An Englishman is churlish and distant, self-conscious and prejudiced everywhere else but at his own table. He is a model host, and a most agreeable guest. He is the most genial of creatures after the soup and sherry. Indeed the English dinner is the keynote to all that is best in the English character. An Englishman wishes to eat in company.

How unlike the Spaniard, who never asks you to dinner. However courtly and hospitable he may be at other times and other hours of the day, he likes to drag his bone into a corner and gnaw it by himself.

The Frenchman, elegant, _soigne_, and economical, invites you to the best-cooked dinner in the world, but there is not much of it. He prefers to entertain you at a cafe. Country life in France is delightful, but there is not that luxurious, open-handed entertaining which obtains in England.

In Italy one is seldom admitted to the privacy of the family dinner.

It is a patriarchal affair. But when one is admitted one finds much that is _simpatica_. The cookery is good, the service is perfect, the dinner is short, the conversation gay and easy.