As yet carriages seem not to have been used in travelling, which was performed on horseback or on foot. During the century of which we are speaking, especially after the accession of Henry VI. to the English throne, the roads were extremely insecure, the country being infested by such numerous bands of robbers that it was necessary to travel in considerable companies, and well armed. From this circumstance, and from the political condition of the age, the retinue of the nobility and gentry presented a very formidable appearance; and such as could only afford to travel with one or two servants generally attached themselves to some powerful neighbour, and contrived to make their occasions of locomotion coincide with his. We find several allusions to the dangers of travelling in the Paston Letters. In a letter dated in 1455 or 1460 (it is uncertain which), Margaret Paston desires her husband, then in London, to pay a debt for one of their friends, because, on account of the robbers who beset the road, money could not be sent safely from Norfolk to the capital. A year or two earlier, we hear of a knight of Suffolk riding with a hundred horsemen, armed defensively and offensively, besides the accompaniment of friends. As travelling, however, became frequent, it led to the multiplication of places of entertainment on the roads, and large hostelries and inns were now scattered pretty thickly over the country, not only in all the smaller towns, but often in villages, and sometimes even in comparatively lonely places. In the manuscript of the French Boccaccio in the Imperial Library (No. 6887), there is a picture (copied in our cut No. 275) representing a publican serving his liquor on a bench outside his door.

The tavern was the general lounge of the idle, and even of the industrious, during their hours of relaxation; and in the towns a good part of the male population who had not domestic establishments of their own appear to have lived at the taverns and eating-houses, the allurements of which drew them into every sort of dissipation, which ended in the ruin of men’s fortunes and health. The poet Occleve, in his reminiscences of his own conduct, describes the life of the riotous young men of his time. The sign which hung at the tavern door, he says, was always a temptation to him, which he could seldom resist. The tavern was the resort of women of light character, and was the scene of brawls and outrages; by the former of which he was frequently seduced into extravagant expenditure, but his want of courage, he confesses, kept him out of the latter. Westminster gate was then celebrated for its taverns and cooks’ shops, at which the poet Occleve’s lavishness made him a welcome guest:— Wher was a gretter maister eek than y,
Or bet acqweyntid at Westmynsler yate,
Among the taverneres namely (especially)
And cookes? Whan I cam, eerly or late,
I pynchid nat at hem in myne acate (purchase of provisions),
But paied hem as that they axe wolde;
Wherfore I was the welcomer algate (always),
And for a verray (true) gentilman yholde.
Here he spent his nights in such a manner that he went to bed later than any of his companions, except perhaps two, whose time of going to bed he says that he did not know, it was so late, but he asserts that they loved their beds so well that they never left them till near prime, or six o’clock in the morning, which thus appears, at the beginning of the fifteenth century, to have been considered an excessively late hour for rising.

The tavern was also the resort of women of the middle and lower orders, who assembled there to drink, and to gossip. It has been already stated that, in the mysteries, or religious plays, Noah was represented as finding his wife drinking with her gossips at the tavern when he wanted to take her into the ark. The meetings of gossips in taverns form the subjects of many of the popular songs of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, both in England and France. It appears that these meetings of gossips in taverns were the first examples of what we now call a pic-nic, for each woman took with her some provisions, and with these the whole party made a feast in common. A song of perhaps the middle of the fifteenth century, printed in my collection of “Songs and Carols,” edited for the Percy Society, gives us rather a picturesque description of one of these gossip-meetings. The women, having met accidentally, the question is put where the best wine was to be had, and one of them replies that she knows where could be procured the best drink in the town, but that she did not wish her husband to be acquainted with it:— I know a drawght of mery-go-downe,
The best it is in all thys towne;
But yet wold I not, for my gowne,
My husbond it wyst, ye may me trust.
The place of meeting having thus been fixed, they are represented as proceeding thither two and two, not to attract observation, lest their husbands might hear of their meeting. “God might send me a stripe or two,” said one, “if my husband should see me here.” “Nay,” said Alice, another, “she that is afraid had better go home; I dread no man.” Each was to carry with her some goose, or pork, or the wing of a capon, or pigeon pie, or some similar article— And ich (each) off them wyll sumwhat bryng,
Gosse, pygge, or capons wyng,
Pastés off pigeons, or sum other thyng.
Accordingly, on arriving at the tavern, they call for wine “of the best,” and then Ech off them brought forth ther dysch;
Sum brought flesh, and sume fysh.
Their conversation runs first on the goodness of the wines, and next on the behaviour of their husbands, with whom they are all dissatisfied. In one copy of the song, a harper makes his appearance, whom they hire, and dance to his music. When they pay their reckoning, they find, in one copy of the song, that it amounts to threepence each, and rejoice that it is so little, while in another they find that each has to pay sixpence, and are alarmed at the greatness of the amount. They agree to separate, and go home by different streets, and they are represented as telling their husbands that they had been to church. This is no doubt a picture of a common scene in the fifteenth century. Among the municipal records of Canterbury, there is preserved the deposition of a man who appears to have been suspected of a robbery, and who, to prove an alibi, describes all his actions during three days. On one of these, Monday, he went after eight o’clock in the evening to a tavern, and there he found “wyfes” drinking, “that is to say, Goddardes wyfe, Cornewelles wyfe, and another woman,” and he had a halfpennyworth of beer with them. This was apparently at the beginning of the reign of Henry VIII.

It has been intimated before, that literature and reading had now become more general accomplishments than formerly. We can trace among the records of social history a general spreading of education, which showed an increasing intellectual agitation; in fact, education, without becoming more perfect, had become more general. I have already given figures of the implements of writing at an earlier period. In one of the compartments of the tapestry of “Nancy” (of the latter part of this century), engravings of which have been published by M. Achille Jubinal, we have a figure of a scribe (cut No. 276) with all his apparatus of writing,—the pen, the penknife, and the portable pen-case with ink-stand attached. But the most curious article which this scribe has in use is a pair of spectacles. Spectacles, however, we know had been in existence long before this period. A century earlier, Chaucer’s “Wife of Bath” observed rather sententiously:— Povert ful often, whan a man is lowe,
Maketh him his God and eek himself to knowe.
Povert a spectacle is, as thinketh me,
Thurgh which he may his verray frendes se.
Lydgate, addressing an old man who was on the point of marrying a young wife, tells him to Loke sone after a potent (staff) and spectacle;
Be not ashamed to take hem to thyn ease.
John Baret, of Bury St. Edmunds, in 1463, left by will to one of the monks of Bury, his ivory tables (the tabulæ for writing on), and a pair of spectacles of silver-gilt:—“Item: To daun Johan Janyng, my tablees of ivory, with the combe, and a payre spectacles of sylvir and ovir-gilt.” This shows that already in the middle of the fifteenth century, a pair of spectacles was not an uncommon article.

CHAPTER XXI.
CHANGES IN ENGLISH DOMESTIC MANNERS DURING THE PERIOD BETWEEN THE REFORMATION AND THE COMMONWEALTH.—THE COUNTRY GENTLEMAN’S HOUSE.—ITS HALL.—THE FIREPLACE AND FIRE.—UTENSILS.—COOKERY.—USUAL HOURS FOR MEALS.—BREAKFAST.—DINNER, AND ITS FORMS AND CUSTOMS.—THE BANQUET.—CUSTOM OF DRINKING HEALTHS.

The Reformation brought with it, or at all events it was coeval with, a general revolution in society. Although the nobility still kept up much of their ancient state, feudalism was destroyed during the reigns of the first two Tudors, while the lower and middle classes of the population were rising in condition and in the consciousness of their own importance, and with this rise came an increase of domestic comforts and social development. It was on the ruins of the monastic property, confiscated by Henry VIII., that the English gentlemen gained their highest position, and, by their independence of the old aristocracy, they assisted in finally breaking its power, and thus gave a new character to English society, which at the same time was experiencing influences that came successively from without. Till the reign of Elizabeth, and after her accession to the throne, there was a close connection with the Netherlands and Germany, and we imported most of our novelties and fashions from our Protestant neighbours on the continent; whilst, from Elizabeth’s reign onwards, and with little intermission to the present time, France has been our principal model for imitation. This is a point which is the more necessary to be observed in treating of this subject, because during the period between the Reformation and the Commonwealth, the art of engraving in this country had been carried to little perfection, and was comparatively rarely practised, and we are obliged to look for our pictorial illustrations of manners to the works of foreign artists.

In towns, domestic architecture experienced no great change in the course of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Small narrow streets, with buildings chiefly of the class we term half-timber houses—the best of which had their lower story of stone, while those above, each projecting beyond the one below it, consisted of a timber framework filled up with bricks—occupied the greater part of the town, and gave it a compact appearance which was quite inconsistent with our modern notions of sanitary arrangement. In the interior the rooms were generally small and dark, but domestic comfort seems not to have been so much overlooked as we are in the habit of supposing. Our cut No. 277, taken from an engraving in the English edition of Barclay’s “Ship of Fools,” 1570, gives us a good representation of the general appearance of houses in a town at that period. In the country a greater change had taken place in all but the houses of the peasantry. The older castles had become obsolete, and, with the increasing power and efficiency of the laws, it was no longer necessary to consult strength before convenience. The houses of the gentry were, however, still built of considerable extent, and during the sixteenth century the older domestic arrangements were only slightly modified. Now, however, instead of seeking a strong position, people chose situations that were agreeable and healthful, where they might be protected from inclemency of weather, and where gardens and orchards might be planted advantageously. Thus, like the earlier monastic edifices, a gentleman’s house was built more frequently on low ground than on a hill.

In the sixteenth century, the hall continued to hold its position as the great public apartment of the house, and in its arrangements it still differed little from those of an earlier date; it was indeed now the only part of the house which had not been affected by the increasing taste for domestic privacy. We have many examples of the old Gothic hall in this country, not only as it existed and was used in the sixteenth century, but, in some cases, especially in colleges, still used for its original purposes. One of the simplest, and at the same time best, examples is found in the Hospital of St. Cross, near Winchester, and a sketch of the interior, as represented in our cut No. 278, will serve to give a general notion of the arrangements of this part of the mansion in former days. As the hall was frequently the scene of festivities of every description, a gallery for the musicians was considered one of its necessary appendages. In some cases, as at Madresfield in Worcestershire, a gallery ran round two or more sides of the hall; but generally the music gallery occupied one end of the hall, opposite the dais. Under it was a passage, separated from the hall by a wooden screen, usually of panel-work, and having on the opposite side the kitchen and buttery. In the large halls, the fireplace still frequently occupied the centre of the hall, where there was a small, low platform of stone. This is distinctly seen in the preceding view of the interior of the hall of St. Cross. In our cut No. 279 we give another example of this kind of fireplace, from the hall at Penshurst in Kent, where it is still occupied by the iron dogs, or andirons, that supported the fuel. It may be observed that these latter, in the north of England and in some other parts, were called cobirons.

The implements attached to the fireplace had hitherto been few in number, and simple in character, but they now became more numerous. In the inventories previous to the sixteenth century they are seldom mentioned at all, and the glossaries speak only of tongs and bellows. In the will of John Baret of Bury, made in 1463, “a payre of tongys and a payre belwys” are mentioned. John Hedge, a large householder of the same town in 1504, speaks of “spytts, rakks, cobernys, aundernnys, trevettes, tongs, with all other iryn werkes moveabyll within my house longying.” This would seem to show that cobirons and andirons were not identical, and it has been supposed that the former denomination belonged more particularly to the rests for supporting the spit. The schoolmaster of Bury, in 1552, bequeathed to his hostess, “my cobbornes, the fire pany (? pan), and the tonges.” If we turn to the north, we find in the collection of wills published by the Surtees Society a more frequent enumeration of the fire implements. William Blakeson, prebendary of Durham, possessed in 1549 only “a payre of cobyrons and one payre of tongys.” In 1551, William Lawson, of Newcastle-on-Tyne, had in his hall “one yryn chymney, and a poor, with one paire of tonges,” which are valued at the rather high sum of thirty shillings. This is the first mention of the iron chimney, or grate, but it occurs continually after the middle of the sixteenth century. In 1557, the “iron chymney” of the parish clerk of St. Andrew’s in Newcastle was valued at twenty shillings. The fire implements in the hall of the farm-house at West Runcton near Northallerton, in 1562, were “j. cryssett, ij. rachyncrokes, j. pair of tonges, one paire off cobyrons, j. speitt, one paire off potes.” We find the cresset frequently included among the implements attached to the fireplace. The racking-crook was the pothook. In 1564, John Bynley, minor canon of Durham, had in his hall “one iron chimney, with a bake (back), porre (a por, or poker), tongs, fier shoel (fire shovel), spette (spit), and a littell rake pertening thereto.” The fire-irons in the hall of Margaret Cottam, widow, of Gateshead, in 1564, were “one iron chimney, one porr, one payre of toynges, gibcrokes, rakincroke, and racks.” The gibcrokes was probably a sort of pothook or jack. Nearly the same list of articles occurs frequently in subsequent inventories. In 1567, a housekeeper of Durham had among other such articles “a gallous (gallows) of iron with iiij. crocks.” The gallows was, of course, the cross-bar of iron, which projected across the chimney, and from which the crooks or chains with hooks at the end for sustaining pots were suspended; as the gallows turned upon hinges, the pot could be moved over the sire, or from it, at pleasure, without being taken from the hook, and as the crooks, of which there were usually more than one, were of different lengths, the pot might be placed lower to the fire or higher from it, at will. From the character of some of these adjuncts to the fireplace, it is evident that the hall fire was frequently used for cooking. The sixteenth century was the period at which ornamentation was carried to a very high degree in every description of household utensil, and to judge from the valuation of some of these articles in the inventories, they were no doubt of elegant or elaborate work. Numerous examples of ornamental ironwork, specially applied to fire-dogs or andirons, will be found in Mr. M. A. Lower’s interesting paper on the ironworks of Sussex; and many others, still more elaborate, are preserved in some of our old gentlemen’s houses in different parts of the country; but this ornamentation was carried to a far higher degree in the great manufactories on the continent, from whence our countrymen in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries obtained a large portion of their richer furniture. The figure in the middle of the group of fire-irons represented in our cut No. 280, is an example of a fire-dog of this elaborate description, preserved in the collection of count Brancaleoni, in Paris, whence also the other articles in the cut are taken. Most of them explain themselves; the implement to the right is a somewhat singularly formed pair of tongs; that immediately beneath the fire-dog is an instrument for moving the logs of wood which then served as fuel. As a further example of the remarkable manner in which almost every domestic article was at this period adorned, we may point out a box-iron, for ironing linen, &c. (cut No. 281), which is also preserved in one of the French collections; such an article was of course not made to be exposed to the action of the fire, and this circumstance gave rise to the contrivance of forming it into a box, with a separate iron which was to be heated and placed inside.

The fire-irons, as we find them enumerated in writings or pictured in engravings, appear to have formed the same list, or nearly so, though of course differing in form and ornament according to the varying fashions of the day, until at a considerably later period they were reduced to the modern trio of shovel, poker, and tongs. The single pothook, with a contrivance for lengthening it and shortening it, is shown in our cut No. 282, taken from one of the remarkable wood engravings in “Der Weiss Kunig,”—a series of prints illustrative of the youthful life of Maximilian I. of Germany, who ascended the imperial throne in 1493. The engravings are of the sixteenth century, and the form of the fireplace belongs altogether to the age of the Renaissance. The gallows, with its pothooks or crokes of different lengths, appears in our cut No. 283, taken from Barclay’s “Ship of Fools,” the edition of 1570, though the design is somewhat older. The method of attaching the crooks to one side of the fireplace, when not in use, is exhibited in this engraving, as also the mode in which other smaller utensils were attached to the walls. In this latter instance there are no dogs or andirons in the fireplace, but the pot or boiler is simply placed upon the fire, without other support. There were, however, other methods of placing the pot upon the fire; and in one of the curious wooden sculptures in the church of Kirby Thorpe, in Yorkshire, representing a cook cleaning his dishes, the boiler is placed over the fire in a sort of four-legged frame, as represented in the annexed cut No. 284.

Early in the seventeenth century the fireplace had taken nearly its present form, although the dogs or andirons had not yet been superseded by the grate, which, however, had already come into use. This later form of the fireplace is shown in our cut No. 285, taken from one of an interesting series of prints, executed by the French artist, Abraham Bosse, in the year 1633. It represents a domestic party frying fritters in Lent. One of the dogs is seen at the foot of the opening of the fireplace.

In the sixteenth century, the articles of furniture in the hall continued to be much the same as in the century preceding. It continued to be furnished with hangings of tapestry, but they seem not always to have been in use; and they were still placed not absolutely against the wall, but apparently at a little distance from it, so that people might conceal themselves behind them. If the hall was not a very large one, a table was placed in the middle, with a long bench on each side. There was generally a cupboard, or a “hutch,” if not more, with side tables, one or more chairs, and perhaps a settle, according to the taste or means of the possessor. We hear now also of tables with leaves, and of folding tables, as well as of counters, or desks, for writing, and dressers, or small cupboards. The two latter articles were evidently, from their names, borrowed from the French. Cushions were also kept in the hall, for the seats of the principal persons of the household, or for the females. The furniture of the hall of William Lawson, of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, in 1551, consisted of one table of wainscot, valued at twenty shillings, two double counters, valued together at thirty shillings, a drawer and two forms, estimated at five shillings, two cushions and two chairs, also valued at five shillings, five other cushions, valued at twelve shillings, two carpet cloths and a cupboard cloth, valued together at ten shillings, and the hangings in the hall, estimated to be worth fifty shillings. This seems to have been a very well furnished hall; that of Robert Goodchild, parish clerk of St. Andrew’s in Newcastle, in 1557, contained an almery (or large cupboard), estimated at ten shillings; a counter “of the myddell bynde,” six shillings; a cupboard, three shillings and fourpence; five basins and six lavers, eight shillings; seventeen “powder (pewter) doblers,” seventeen shillings; six pewter dishes and a hand-basin, five shillings; six pewter saucers, eighteen pence; four pottle pots, five shillings and fourpence, three pint pots and three quart pots, three shillings; ten candlesticks, six shillings; a little pestle and a mortar, two shillings; three old chairs, eighteen pence; six old cushions, two shillings; and two counter-cloths. Much of the furniture of English houses at this time was imported from Flanders. Jane Lawson, in the year last mentioned, had in her hall at Little Burdon in Northumberland, “Flanders counters with their carpets.” She had also in the hall, a long side table, three long forms and another form, two chairs, three stools, six new cushions and three old cushions, and an almery. The whole furniture of the hall of the rectory house of Sedgefield in Durham, which appears to have been a large house and well entertained, consisted of a table of plane-tree with joined frame, two tables of fir with frames, two forms, a settle, and a pair of trestles. The hall of Bertram Anderson, a rich and distinguished merchant and alderman of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, in 1570, was furnished with two tables with the carpets (table-covers), three forms, one dozen cushions, half-a-dozen green cushions, one counter with the carpet, two “basinges” (basins), and two covers, one chair, and one little chair. This is a striking proof of the rarity of chairs even at this late date. Buffet stools, which are supposed to be the stools with a flat top and a hole in the middle through which the hand might be passed to lift them, are also mentioned among the articles of furniture in the hall at this period. The furniture of the hall at the manor-house of Croxdale, in the county of Durham, in the year 1571, consisted of one cupboard, one table, two buffet stools, and one chair; yet Salvin of Croxdale was looked upon as one of the principal gentry of the Palatinate. In enumerating the furniture of the ancient hall, we must not forget the arms which were usually displayed there, especially by such as had dependent upon them a certain number of men whom it was their duty or their pride to arm. The hall of a rich merchant of Newcastle, named John Wilkinson, contained in 1571, the following furniture: one almery, one table of wainscot, one counter, one little counter, one dresser of wainscot, one “pulk,” three chairs, three forms, three buffet stools, six cushions of tapestry, six old cushions of tapestry, six green cushions, two long carpet cloths, two short carpet cloths, one say carpet cloth, the “hyngars” in the hall, on the almery head one basin and ewer, one great charger, three new “doblers,” one little chest for sugar, and one pair of wainscot tables; and of arms, two jacks, three sallets of iron, one bow and two sheaves of arrows, three bills, and two halberts. Some of the entries in these inventories are amusing; and, while speaking of arms, it may be stated, that a widow lady of Bury, Mary Chapman, who would appear to have been a warlike dame, making her will in 1649, leaves to one of her sons, among other things, “also my muskett, rest, bandileers, sword, and headpiece, my jacke, a fine paire of sheets, and a hutche.” In 1577, Thomas Liddell, merchant of Newcastle, had in his hall, “three tables of waynscoot, sex qwyshons of tapestery, a cowborde, three wainscoot formes, two chayrs, three green table clothes, fower footstoles, sixe quyshons, two candlesticks, a louckinge glasse, sexe danske pootts of powther (pewter), two basings, and two vewers (ewers), a laver and a basinge, fyve buffatt stules.” It is curious thus to trace the furniture of the hall at different periods, and compare them together; and we cannot but remark from the frequency with which the epithet old is applied to different articles, towards the end of the century that the hall was beginning rapidly to fall into disuse. The cause of this was no doubt the increasing taste for domestic retirement, and the wish to withdraw from the publicity which had always attended the hall, and it gradually became the mere entrance lobby of the house, the place where strangers or others were allowed to remain until their presence had been announced, which is the sense in which we commonly use the word hall, as part of the house, at the present day. In the enumeration of the parts of a house given in the English edition of Comenius’s “Janua Linguarum,” in the middle of the seventeenth century, there is no mention of a hall. “A house,” we are told in this quaint book, “is divided into inner rooms, such as are the entry, the stove, the kitchen, the buttery, the dining-room, the gallery, the bed-chamber, with a privy made by it; baskets are of use for carrying things to and fro; and chests (which are made fast with a key) for keeping them. The floor is under the roof. In the yard is a well, a stable, and a bath. Under the house is the cellar.”

It has already been remarked that tables with leaves began to be mentioned frequently after the commencement of the sixteenth century. Andrew Cranewise, of Bury, in 1558, enumerates “one cupborde in the hall, one plaine table with one leafe.” He speaks further on, in the same will, of “my best folte (fold or folding) table in the hall, and two great hutches.” In 1556, Richard Claxton, of Old Park, in the county of Durham, speaks of a “folden table” in the parlours, which was valued at two shillings. These folding tables appear to have been made in a great variety of forms, some of which were very ingenious. Our cut No. 286 represents a very curious folding table of the sixteenth century, which was long preserved at Flaxton Hall, in Suffolk, but perished in the fire when that mansion was burnt a few years ago. As represented in the cut, which shows the table folded up so as to be laid aside, the legs pull out, and the one to the right fits into the lion’s mouth, and is secured by the pin which hangs beside it.

The methods of lighting the hall at night were still rather clumsy, and not very perfect. Of course, when the apartment was very large, a few candles would produce comparatively little effect, and it was therefore found necessary to use torches, and inflammable masses of larger size. One method of supplying the deficiency was to take a small pan, or portable fireplace, filled with combustibles, and suspend it in the place where light was required. Such a receptacle was usually placed at the top of a pole, for facility of carrying about, and was called a cresset, from an old French word which meant a night-lamp. The cresset is mentioned by Shakespeare and other writers as though it were chiefly used in processions at night, and by watchmen and guides. The first figure in our cut No. 287, taken from Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” represents one of the cressets carried by the marching watch of London in the sixteenth century. From the continual mention of the cresset along with the fire-irons of the hall, in the wills published by the Surtees Society, we can hardly doubt its being used, at least in the north of England, for lighting the hall itself. An improvement of the common cresset consisted in enclosing the flame, by whatever material it was fed, in a case made of some transparent substance, such as horn, and thus making it neither more nor less than a large lantern fixed on the end of a pole. The form of this implement was generally globular, and, no doubt from its appearance when carried in the night, it was denominated a moon. The “moon” was carried by servants before the carriages of their masters, to guide them along country lanes, and under other similar circumstances. The second figure in our cut No. 287 represents a “moon” which was formerly preserved at Ightham Moat House, in Kent; the frame was of brass, and the covering of horn. To assist in lighting the hall, sometimes candlesticks were fixed to the walls round the hall, and this perhaps will explain the rather large number of candlesticks sometimes enumerated among the articles in that part of the house. In our cut No. 282, we have an example of a candlestick placed on a frame, which, turning on a pivot or hinges, may be turned back against the wall when not in use.

During the period of which we are now speaking, almost everything connected with the table underwent great change. This was least the case with regard to the hours of meals. The usual hour of breakfast was seven o’clock in the morning, and seems scarcely to have varied. During the sixteenth century, the hour of dinner was eleven o’clock, or just four hours after breakfast. “With us,” says Harrison in his description of England, prefixed to Holinshed’s Chronicle, “the nobilitie, gentrie, and students (he means the Universities), doo ordinarilie go to dinner at eleven before noone, and to supper at five, or between five and sixe, at afternoone.” Before the end of the century, however, the dinner hour appears to have varied between eleven and twelve. In a book entitled the “Haven of Health,” written by a physician named Cogan, and printed in 1584, we are told: “When foure houres be past after breakefast, a man may safely take his dinner, and the most convenient time for dinner is about eleven of the clocke before noone. The usual time for dinner in the universities is at eleven, or elsewhere about noon.” In Beaumont and Fletcher, the hour of dinner was still eleven; “I never come into my dining-room,” says Merrythought, in the “Knight of the Burning Pestle,” “but at eleven and six o’clock.” “What hour is’t, Lollis?” asks a character in the “Changeling,” by their contemporary Middleton. “Towards eating-hour, sir.” “Dinnertime? thou mean’st twelve o’clock.” And other writers at the beginning of the seventeenth century speak of twelve o’clock and seven as the hours of dinner and supper. This continued to be the usual hour of dinner at the close of the same century.

During the reign of Elizabeth, and afterwards, persons of both sexes appear to have broken their fast in the same substantial manner as was observed by the Percies at the beginning of the century, and as described in a previous chapter; yet, though generally but four hours interposed between this and the hour of dinner, people seem to have thought it necessary to take a small luncheon in the interval, which, no doubt from its consisting chiefly in drinking, was called a bever. “At ten,” says a character in one of Middleton’s plays, “we drink, that’s mouth-hour; at eleven, lay about us for victuals, that’s hand-hour; at twelve, go to dinner, that’s eating-hour.” “Your gallants,” says Appetitus, in the old play of “Lingua,” “never sup, breakfast, nor bever without me.”

The dinner was the largest and most ceremonious meal of the day. The hearty character of this meal is remarked by a foreign traveller in England, who published his “Mémoires et Observations” in French in 1698. “Les Anglois,” he tells us, “mangent beaucoup à diner; ils mangent à reprises, et remplissent le sac. Leur souper est leger. Gloutons à midi, fort sobres au soir.” In the sixteenth century, dinner still began with the same ceremonious washing of hands as formerly; and there was considerable ostentation in the ewers and basins used for this purpose. Our cut No. 288 represents ornamental articles of this description, of the sixteenth century, taken from an engraving in Whitney’s “Emblems,” printed in 1586. This custom was rendered more necessary by the circumstance that at table people of all ranks used their fingers for the purposes to which we now apply a fork. This article was not used in England for the purpose to which it is now applied, until the reign of James I. It is true that we have instances of forks even so far back as the pagan Anglo-Saxon period, but they are often found coupled with spoons, and on considering all the circumstances, I am led to the conviction that they were in no instance used for feeding, but merely for serving, as we still serve salad and other articles, taking them out of basin or dish with a fork and spoon. In fact, to those who have not been taught the use of it, a fork must necessarily be a very awkward and inconvenient instrument. We know that the use of forks came from Italy, the country to which England owed many of the new fashions of the beginning of the seventeenth century. It is curious to read Coryat’s account of the usage of forks at table as he first saw it in that country in the course of his travels. “I observed,” says he, “a custome in all those Italian cities and townes through which I passed, that is not used in any other country that I saw in my travels, neither doe I thinke that any other nation of Christendome doth use it, but only Italy. The Italian, and also most strangers that are commorant in Italy, doe alwaies at their meales use a little forke, when they cut their meate. For while with their knife which they hold in one hande they cut the meat out of the dish, they fasten their forke, which they hold in their other hande, 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 do cut, he will give occasion of offence unto the company, as having transgressed the lawes of good manners, insomuch that for his error he shall be at the least brow-beaten, if not reprehended in wordes. This forme of feeding I understand is generally used in all places of Italy, their forkes being for the most part made of yron or steele, and some of silver, but those are used only by gentlemen. The reason of this their curiosity is, because the Italian cannot by any means indure to 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 Mr. Lawrence Whittaker, who in his merry humour doubted not to call me at table furcifer, only for using a forke at feeding, but for no other cause.” Furcifer, in Latin, it need hardly be observed, meant literally one who carries a fork, but its proper signification was, a villain who deserves the gallows.

The usage of forks thus introduced into England, appears soon to have become common. It is alluded to more than once in Beaumont and Fletcher, and in Ben Jonson, but always as a foreign fashion. In Jonson’s comedy of “The Devil is an Ass,” we have the following dialogue:— Meerc. Have I deserv’d this from you two, for all
My pains at court to get you each a patent?
Gilt. For what?
Meerc. Upon my project o’ the forks.
Sle. Forks? what be they?
Meerc. The laudable use of forks,
Brought into custom here, as they are in Italy,
To th’ sparing o’ napkins.
In fact the new invention rendered the washing of hands no longer so necessary as before, and though it was still continued as a polite form before sitting down to dinner, the practice of washing the hands after dinner appears to have been entirely discontinued.

Our cut No. 289, taken from the English edition of the Janua Linguarum of Comenius, represents the forms of dining in England under the Protectorate. It will be best described by the text which accompanies it in the book, and in which each particular object is mentioned. “When a feast is made ready,” we are told, “the table is covered with a carpet and a table-cloth by the waiters, who besides lay the trenchers, spoons, knives, with little forks, table napkins, bread, with a saltsellar. Messes are brought in platters, a pie in a plate. The guests being brought in by the host, wash their hands, out of a laver or ewer, over a hand-basin, or bowl, and wipe them with a hand-towel; then they sit at the table on chairs. The carver breaketh up the good cheer, and divideth it. Sauces are set amongst roste-meat in sawsers. The butler filleth strong wine out of a cruse, or wine-pot, or flagon, into cups, or glasses, which stand on a cup-board, and he reacheth them to the master of the feast, who drinketh to his guests.” It will be observed that one salt-cellar is here placed in the middle of the table. This was the usual custom; and, as one long table had been substituted for the several tables formerly standing in the hall, the salt-cellar was considered to divide the table into two distinct parts, guests of more distinction being placed above the salt, while the places below the salt were assigned to inferiors and dependants. This usage is often alluded to in the old dramatists. Thus, in Ben Jonson, it is said of a man who treats his inferiors with scorn, “he never drinks below the salt,” i.e., he never exchanges civilities with those who sit at the lower end of the table. And in a contemporary writer, it is described as a mark of presumption in an inferior member of the household “to sit above the salt.” Our cut No. 290, taken from an engraving by the French artist, Abraham Bosse, published in 1633, represents one of the first steps in the laying out of the dinner-table. The plates, it will be seen, are laid, and the salt-cellar is duly placed in the middle of the table. The servant is now placing the napkins—

The earlier half of the sixteenth century was the period when the pageantry of feasting was carried to its greatest degree of splendour. In the houses of the noble and wealthy, the dinner itself was laid out with great pomp, was almost always accompanied with music, and was not unfrequently interrupted with dances, mummings, and masquerades. A picture of a grand feast carried on in this manner is given in one of the illustrations to the German work on the exploits of the emperor Maximilian, published at the time under the title of “Der Weiss Kunig.” An abridged copy of this engraving is given in our cut No. 291. The table profusely furnished, the rich display of plate on the cupboards, the band in front, and the mummers entering the hall, are all strikingly characteristic of the age. The dresser, or cupboard, was now one of the great means of display among the higher orders of society, who invested vast wealth in its furniture, consisting of vessels made of the precious metals and of crystal, sometimes set with precious stones, and often adorned with the most beautiful sculpture, or moulded into singular or elaborate forms. So much attention was given to the arrangement of the plate on the dresser, and to the ceremonies attending it, that it was made a point of etiquette how many steps, or gradations, on which the rows of plate were raised one above another, members of each particular rank of society might have on their cupboards. Thus, a prince of royal blood only might have five steps to his cupboard; four were allowed to nobles of the highest rank, three to nobles under that of duke, two to knights-bannerets, and one to persons who were merely of gentle blood. These rules, however, were probably not universally obeyed. It was the duty of the butler to have charge of the plate in the hall, and his station there was usually at the side of the cupboard, as in the engraving taken from “Der Weiss Kunig” (No. 291). Comparatively few examples of the domestic plate of an early period have survived the revolutions of so many ages, during which they were often melted for the metal, and those which remain are chiefly in the possession of corporations or public bodies; but several fine collections of the ornamental plate of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries have been made, and among these one of the best and most interesting is that of the late lord Londesborough, now in the possession of lady Londesborough.54