FIVE O'CLOCK TEA.
THAT was a sad saying, that " Life would be very tolerable if it were not for its amusements;" but still, one feels inclined to echo it, and to add the more serious reflection, that it would be livable if it were not for its meals. We seem to have inherited all the appetite of our ancestors, without their powers of digestion; but then, it must be remembered that our ancestors contented themselves with two, or at the most three meals a day, while we do not think we have properly done our duty unless we consume four. The 5 o'clock tea is an admirable institution, no doubt ; but its dimensions have swollen out of all proportion with human capacity. What mortal man is there who is capable of assimilating within eight short hours a hearty lunch, a long dinner of most varied courses, and an intermediate refection of muffins, cake, and sandwiches P And yet this is expected of poor, suffering man, and he has to accommodate himself to the exigencies of the situation, and try to create a demand for all that unlimited supply. We would not say that the 5 o'clock tea was not an admirable institution— sometimes. On those long wintry evenings that extend so drearily before and after Christmas ; when the streets are full of wet and cold, of mud and misery ; when the fleeting comfort of our luncheon is already a memory of the past, and the expectation of our dinner so far in the -remote future,—what greater consolation is there for the cheer- less present than the tea-table? The friendly fire that flashes on the silver urn and lights up the friendly face behind it; the cup of tea, not too hot, not too strong, not too anything, but duly sweetened by the sugar and softened with the ful- some cream ; the pretty hands that busy themselves with the -cheerful music of the tea-spoons; the low and gentle voice that accompanies that music with pleasant talk ; and above all —above all—the rich, the soothing, the unctuous muffin. Who -cares about his dinner then, or has any other thought save of enjoying that well-buttered and comfortable present? Some one said that a woman never looked so well as when she was behind a tea-table. There was a great deal of truth in the re- mark : all the womanly virtues thaw and come forth under the influence of the steaming kettle, and are reflected in the shining equipage of the tea-tray. But there should not be too many of them—of the ladies, not the virtues. This is the essential quality of the 5 o'clock tea,—that it is a meal that belongs to the vie intime, and not to the bustling crowd of society; it ought to be held a sacred mystery, to be shared only with a select few of one's intimate friends, and not a fashionable function for the entertainment of indifferent acquaintance. The Parisians, who have borrowed both the meal and its hour from us, thoroughly understand its real meaning and nature, though they apparently misunder- stand its name; and when Gontran receives the invitation,
Venez five-ocloquer chez-moi h six heures," he knows that he will meet the object of his admiration, if not alone, at least in the company of but few and sympathetic friends. That is how it should be. But the " five-o'clock " of London—and in summer too ! It is a perilous thing, not only from the quantity and variety of the fare that is provided, but also from the quantity of the people who are invited to consume it. Our modern hostess, like an ancient Pythagorean, has the
greatest faith in the saving virtue of numbers : she is never quite happy until she has inveigled more people into her house
than it will hold. As far as balls, concerts, and evening parties are concerned, she is welcome to do so; but not at 5 o'clock, not at 5 o'clock tea Weak man is not strong enough at that hour to brave the dangers of a crowded stair- case, nor hungry enough to console himself with a meal that is lunch, tea, and supper rolled into one : he pines for the comparative solitude of his club, or the less fatiguing society of one or two friends, with whom he will have no temptation to spoil his dinner.
Of course this appalling plenty is not the lady's fault. Man, the unaccountable, the irrational, suddenly showed a disinclina- tion for his tea ; he fled into the fastnesses of his club or other haunts ; ceased to frequent " five-o'clocks," and shunned the flowing tea-cup. Matrons and maidens took counsel together how best to lure back the shy quarry. They came to this conclu- sion—to feed the beast. Straightway the tea-tables of Mayfair groaned under an unwonted fare; cold hams, and tongues, and
hot muffins; sandwiches, pates de foie gras, jam, plovers' eggs, cake, caviare, Camembert cheeses, and cream-tarts, all jostled each other on the festive board, and made up a moderate
repast suitable to the hour and the occasion. Then they gave it forth—but this probably was a shameless fiction—that an exalted personage, a very exalted personage, liked what an Irishman would call "trimmings to his tea ;" that he was in the habit of consuming beef and ham with his muffins; and that it was the duty of all good and loyal subjects to make sandwiches of their muffins also. Man came out: he came, he looked, he ate,—and he got dyspepsia and fled back again. What is more, he is still in hiding. You may roam through all the " at-homes " of Mayfair and Bel- gravia at the hour of 5, and you will hardly find a single man. Some few there are, but as a rule those few are so ladylike that they cannot be fairly counted. Maidens and matrons are still left lamenting.
In the immortal " Battle of Limerick "—the one immor- talised by Thackeray—there is a rich and appetising descrip- tion of the " tay-party " that was given to Mr. Smith O'Brien.
After recounting the conveniences and the glories of the house in which it was given, the ballad proceeds :— "'Twould binifit your Bowls To see the butthered rowls, The sugar-tongs and sangwidges and craym galore, And the muffins and the crumpets, And the band of harps and thrumpets, To celebrate the sworry upon Shannon shore."
Society had got as far as the buttered rolls, the sugar-tongs, and the sandwiches; but the band of harps and trumpets was yet untried. The next time that Mrs. So-and-So was at home at 5 o'clock, th ere was the magic word "Music "printed in the corner of the invitation. It might well have been written in the corner : that was the position that it eventually occupied ; it never played more than the second-fiddle in the subsequent pro- ceedings, nor ever emerged from the corner to which it had been relegated. We are a very musical nation ; we say so ourselves, and we ought to be the best judges on the subject. And music has the most extraordinary influence over us : it makes us talk. Perhaps it is well that the drawing-room songs that are now in vogue should be drowned in conversa- tion ; drowning is almost too happy a fate for the feeble wail of
sickly sentiment that is dignified by the name of singing. But it is rather hard upon a real artist—a violinist, let us say—
who is playing good music and throwing his whole soul into it, to overhear, above the din of those many well-bred voices, some such remarks as these :—" Were you at the opera last night ? Oh ! I always go myself ; but then I love music. Eh!
what did you say ? "—and then, petulantly : "I dovish that man would stop scraping that horrid thing ; one can't hear oneself speak." No; music has no place at the 5 o'clock tea any more than the crowd that it is used to attract. This at least may be said of it, that it is better than some attractions that are offered. Recitations by broad daylight and in cold blood ! Why, even the reciter, who is generally a fairly hardened person, might shrink from that ordeal. What must be the feelings of an unhappy man who is expected to listen to him at that hour of the afternoon P Another inducement that is often held out, is the hope of meeting some celebrity who is enjoying the doubtful honour of being lionised by the public. Unfortunately, no one seems to consider an afternoon engagement to be a binding one, and very often the lion is only conspicuous by his absence. In that case, the other guests help to render his absence very .conspicuous indeed, by asking for him at every moment; they have been promised their lion, they want their lion, and they have no consideration for their hostess's feelings. It sometimes happens that he does come, but will not roar ; that is the worst of the pampered lion,—he is an inconvenient beast, and one cannot depend upon him. Invita- tions to tea and court-trains after her Majesty's Drawing- Room : a very pleasant and legitimate entertainment for ladies; but why should a man be required to take part in it ? What does he know about gowns and frills, except that he has to pay for them P Afternoon tea and a missionary meeting form -another painful combination ; one cannot help thinking of that famous tea-meeting when the Reverend Brother Stiggins was asked to oblige, and the elder Mr. Weller folded the -shepherd himself, by the simple process of doubling him up. Afternoon tea and a scientific lecture are incongruous enough. But most painfully incongruous of all is the following invita- tion for a 5 o'clock gathering : " Mrs. — at home. To hear Miss — tell of Marie Bashkirtseff." Marie Bashkirtseff is dead, poor soul, leaving behind her one of the most mournful legacies that ever a woman left to the world, the most private history of her own wilful and wayward life. Surely we might be content with what she has so freely given us. Is it seemly that a crowd of indifferent and unfeeling people should be asked to take their afternoon tea upon her grave P Are we ghouls, that we should do this thing P
Five o'clock tea was never intended to be a peg for an un- wieldy social function : that is the hour of the day which one -ought to give to one's friends, and not to society. Society -should be satisfied with monopolising the rest of the evening. There is no historical precedent for herding together at the tea-table. Mrs. Gamp, when she gave a tea-party, only invited one friend. Dr. Johnson, who loved tea, and would drink twenty-five cups at a sitting, does not appear to have committed these excesses in public. Alas ! when one comes to consider the question, there is not much evidence one way or the other. The history of tea and -tea-drinking has yet to be written. No poet has yet arisen to sing its praises, as Omar Khayyam or Anacreon sang the praise of wine. Dr. Johnson, who loved it not wisely but too well, has hardly a good word to say for it. Cibber can say no 'more than, "Tea! thou soft, thou sober, sage, and venerable liquid." Not a very inviting description : the advertisements -of cocoa are more full of poetic feeling. While as for the poet—was it Cowper ?—who wrote of " the cups that cheer but not inebriate," he was not even original. Bishop Berkeley had already described that nauseous draught, his favourite -tar-water, in those identical words. Here is an excellent opportunity for a poet of temperate convictions, to advance at once the cause of sobriety and his own reputation. Odes in favour of tea should have an immense success among -certain members of the community. In the meantime, some 'of us who may not love it much, but who have at least an infinite respect for it, will "sometimes counsel take, and some- times—tea," with our friends only.
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