Percival Leigh (illus. Richard Doyle), Manners and Customs of ye Englyshe (1850)
HUNTIN’
I: NEW GIRL
On the Monday Lizzie went out hunting for the first time in her life. . . .
The cavalcade began to move, and then Lord George was by her side. . . .
‘I shall be so much astray,’ said Lizzie. ‘I don’t at all know how we are going to begin. Are we hunting a fox now?’ At this moment they were trotting across a field or two, through a run of gates up to the first covert.
‘Not quite yet. The hounds haven’t been put in yet. You see that wood there? I suppose they’ll draw that.’
‘What is drawing, Lord George? I want to know all about it, and I am so ignorant. Nobody else will tell me.’ Then Lord George gave his lesson, and explained the theory and system of fox-hunting. ‘We’re to wait here, then, till the fox runs away? But it’s ever so large, and if he runs away and nobody sees him? I hope he will, because it will be nice to go on easily.’
‘A great many people hope that, and a great many think it nice to go on easily. Only you must not confess to it.’ Then he went on with his lecture, and explained the meaning of scent, was great on the difficulty of getting away, described the iniquity of heading the fox, spoke of up wind and down wind, got as far as the trouble of “carrying”, and told her that a good ear was everything in a big wood – when there came upon them the thrice-repeated note of an old hound’s voice, and the quick scampering, and low, timid, anxious, trustful whinnying of a dozen comrade younger hounds, who recognised the sagacity of their well-known and highly-appreciated elder. – ‘That’s a fox,’ said Lord George.
‘What shall I do now?’ said Lizzie, all in a twitter.
‘Sit just where you are and light a cigar, if you’re given to smoking.’
‘Pray don’t joke with me. You know I want to do it properly.’
‘And therefore you must sit just where you are, and not gallop about. There’s a matter of a hundred and twenty acres here, I should say, and a fox doesn’t always choose to be evicted at the first notice. It’s a chance whether he goes at all from a wood like this. I like woods myself, because, as you say, we can take it easy; but if you want to ride, you should – By George, they’ve killed him!’
‘Killed the fox?’
‘Yes; he’s dead. Didn’t you hear?’
‘And is that a hunt?’
‘Well; – as far as it goes, it is.’
‘Why didn’t he run away? What a stupid beast! I don’t see so very much in that. Who killed him? That man that was blowing the horn?’
‘The hounds chopped him.’
‘Chopped him!’ Lord George was very patient, and explained to Lizzie, who was now indignant and disappointed, the misfortune of chopping [to catch the fox before it can fairly get away from cover].
‘And are we to go home now? Is it all over?’
‘They say the country is full of foxes,’ said Lord George. ‘Perhaps we shall chop half-a-dozen.’
‘Dear me! Chop half-a-dozen foxes! Do they like to be chopped? I thought they always ran away.’
Lord George was constant and patient, and rode at Lizzie’s side from covert to covert. A second fox they did kill in the same fashion as the first; a third they couldn’t hunt a yard; a fourth got to ground after five minutes, and was dug out ingloriously; – during which process a drizzling rain commenced. . . .
‘If you’ll come with me, we’ll get into a barn,’ said Sir Griffin.
‘I like the wet,’ said Lucinda. All the while seven men were at work with picks and shovels . . . and in something under an hour the fox was dragged out by his brush and hind legs, while the experienced whip who dragged him held the poor brute tight by the back of his neck. ‘An old dog, my lord. There’s such a many of ’em here, that they’ll be a deal better for a little killing.’
Lady Eustace, in the meantime, and Mrs Carbuncle, with Lord George, had found their way to the shelter of a cattle-shed. Lucinda had slowly followed, and Sir Griffin had followed her. The gentlemen smoked cigars, and the ladies, when they had eaten their luncheons and drank their sherry, were cold and cross. ‘If this is hunting,’ said Lizzie, ‘I really don’t think so much about it.’
Anthony Trollope, The Eustace Diamonds (1872)
II: OLD BOY
Now they are on him again, and Mr Jorrocks thrusts his hat upon his brow, runs the fox’s tooth of his hat-string through the button-hole of his roomy coat, gathers up his reins, and bustles away outside the cover, in a state of the utmost excitement – half frantic, in fact. There is a tremendous scent, and Reynard is puzzled whether to fly or stay. He tries the opposite side, but Pigg, who is planted on a hill, heads him, and he is beat off his line.
The hounds gain upon him, and there is nothing left but a bold venture up the middle, so, taking the bed of the brook, he endeavours to baffle his followers by the water. Now they splash after him, the echoing banks and yew-studded cliffs resounding to their cry. The dell narrows towards the west, and Mr Jorrocks rides forward to view him away. A countryman yoking his plough is before him, and with hat high in air, ‘Tally-ho’s’ till he’s hoarse. Pigg’s horn on one side, and Jorrocks’s on the other, get the hounds out in a crack; the countryman mounts one of his carters, the other runs away with the plough, and the three sportsmen are as near mad as anything can possibly be. It’s ding, dong, hey away, pop with them all!
The fallows carry a little, but there’s a rare scent, and for two miles of ill-enclosed land Reynard is scarcely a field before the hounds. Now Pigg views him! Now Jorrocks! Now Charley! Now Pigg again! Thirty couple of hounds lengthen as they go, but there is no Pomponius Ego to tell. The fox falls back at a wall, and the hounds are in the same field. He tries again – now he’s over! The hounds follow, and dash forward, but the fox has turned short up the inside of the wall, and gains a momentary respite. Now they are on him again! They view him through the gateway beyond: he rolls as he goes! Another moment, and they pull him down in the middle of a large grass field!
‘Hooray ! Hooray! Hooray!’ exclaims Mr Jorrocks, rolling off his horse and diving into the middle of the pack, and snatching the fox, which old Thunderer resents by seizing him behind, and tearing his white cords halfway down his legs. ‘Hooray!’ repeats he, kicking out behind, and holding the fox over his head, his linen flying out, and his enthusiastic old face beaming with joy. . . .
They re-enter Handley Cross by half-past nine, and at ten sit down to breakfast.
R.S. Surtees, Handley Cross (1854)
AFTERNOON PARTIES
Afternoon parties are generally given during the summer or autumn months. In town they are thés dansants, or kettledrums, or concerts; in the country, croquet or archery meetings.
A croquet party begins about three o’clock, and ends at seven; but very frequently the players conclude the evening by a dance, and sometimes a regular dinner-party and ball will follow it.
But we will speak of the ordinary croquet party.
You invite your friends for three o’clock, and as many sets of croquet as can be accommodated on the lawn, or in the park (at no great distance from each other) are at once formed.
It is usual to play until about six o’clock; then the players go into the house to tea.
The ‘tea’ is a substantial meal, consisting of all kinds of cold delicacies, chickens, mayonnaise, ham, ducks, etc.; all kinds of sweets and fruits; tea and coffee. There is frequently champagne for the gentlemen, but wine is not de rigueur, and is rarely given.
These country meetings are remarkably pleasant and social.
After tea, unless invited to remain for the evening, the croquet guests disperse.
At a thé dansant only tea and coffee are given, at about half-past five o’clock.
The dress for these parties should be light and elegant, but still morning dress. For croquet, young ladies should wear nicely-fitting boots (for the foot is much displayed in the act of croqueting), bu
t still the soles should be thick, as the grass is often damp. For a thé dansant black satin, or at least very thin boots are necessary.
Anon., Modern Etiquette (1871)
SEA BATHING
Friday 12 June, 1874
Bathing yesterday and today [on the Isle of Wight]. Yesterday the sea was very calm, but the wind has changed to the East and this morning a rough and troublesome [sea] came tumbling into the bay and plunging in foam upon the shore. The bay was full of white horses. At Shanklin one has to adopt the detestable custom of bathing in drawers. If ladies don’t like to see men naked why don’t they keep away from the sight? Today I had a pair of drawers given me which I could not keep on. The rough waves stripped them off and tore them down round my ankles. While thus fettered I was seized and flung down by a heavy sea which retreating suddenly left me lying naked on the shingle from which I rose streaming with blood. After this I took the wretched and dangerous rag off and of course there were some ladies looking on as I came up out of the water.
Revd Francis Kilvert, Diary (ed. William Plomer, 1938)
FROM ‘GOOD NIGHT TO THE SEASON’
Good night to the season! ’Tis over!
Gay dwellings no longer are gay;
The courtier, the gambler, the lover,
Are scattered like swallows away:
There’s nobody left to invite one
Except my good uncle and spouse;
My mistress is bathing at Brighton,
My patron is sailing at Cowes:
For want of a better employment,
Till Ponto and Don can get out,
I’ll cultivate rural enjoyment,
And angle immensely for trout. . . .
Good night to the Season! – the dances,
The fillings of hot little rooms,
The glancings of rapturous glances,
The fancyings of fancy costumes;
The pleasures which fashion makes duties,
The praisings of fiddles and flutes,
The luxury of looking at Beauties,
The tedium of talking to mutes;
The female diplomatists, planners
Of matches for Laura and Jane;
The ice of her Ladyship’s manners,
The ice of his Lordship’s champagne. . . .
W.M. Praed, Poems (1864)
EIGHT
Overseas
God bless the narrow seas!
I wish they were a whole Atlantic broad.
Alfred Tennyson, The Princess (1847)
The isolationist sentiments of Tennyson’s ‘Tory member’s eldest son’ might have been shared by Mr Podsnap, with his rejection of everything ‘Not English!’, and even on occasion by Disraeli, who complained in 1852 that the ‘wretched colonies are a millstone round our necks’.
The nearest overseas problem was, as ever, Ireland, part of the United Kingdom since 1800, but never wholly integrated. With few natural resources such as iron or coal, the island was dependent on agriculture, which was moderately successful. Potatoes, the main item of diet, tripled the nutritive value of land, encouraging significant population growth (by 48 per cent between 1801 and 1831); however, three-quarters of those in agriculture were poor, mere cottiers and landless labourers: between 1815 and 1845, 1.5 million emigrated. The unforeseen potato blight of 1845–48 led directly or indirectly to 1 million deaths (it is noteworthy that in more industrialised Scotland the blight was much less devastating in effect); relief provision was inadequate, though better than has sometimes been suggested, while extreme measures such as slaughtering livestock or banning grain exports would have been unenforceable and bitterly opposed by substantial Irish farmers and merchants, who came out of it all fairly well. The Irish landowners’ financial position was strengthened, that of smaller farmers, weakened; the poor, who had suffered most, flooded out of the country, another 2 million emigrating over the next decade. A religious revival in the second half of the century intensified political divisions and unrest, with acts of terrorism by Fenians in 1867, and Gladstone was moved to begin his long, unsuccessful campaign for Irish Home Rule.
Overseas, across the Channel, was Europe; having escaped Napoleonic rule, England was now culturally relatively detached from Europe (while war with France and the influence of post-1848 continental revolutionism were perennial fears). Nevertheless, continental travel was popular – Germans were well thought of, as being also of Saxon race and impressive for philosophy and scholarship; the French were considered as paradoxically both frivolous and over - bureaucratised; Italian scenery and classical and Renaissance art were admired, actual Italians, not. It was not until the Paris exhibition of 1867 that British visitors, confronted with machinery, applied chemical and scientific research and even textiles as good as or better than British products, glimpsed the coming industrial and economic threat.
Even so, in 1860 Britain generated about a quarter of all world trade, more than twice as much as France, her nearest competitor; furthermore, much of that was outside Europe, so that, as commercial interests became more widespread, attention turned increasingly to distant parts. Early in the century, empire was not thought of, but rather an expansion of trade by private commercial interests, with government support. ‘Property’ was acquired regularly, but in a largely unplanned fashion: Hong Kong in 1839, New Zealand in 1840 (to pre-empt reported French plans for a penal colony there), Natal in 1843, Basutoland in 1868. Motives varied. In East and Central Africa an idealistic and ‘Western-civilising’ impulse was strong initially, as in the case of David Livingstone, preaching, healing and exposing the African-Arab slave trade; others were more commercial, as when H.M. Stanley observed, ‘there are forty millions of people beyond the gateway of the Congo, and the cotton spinners of Manchester are waiting to clothe them.’ The Suez Canal (Disraeli snapped up a controlling interest in 1875) and South Africa were needed, as were the annexation of Burma and the Afghan wars, to safeguard India.
The East India Company’s trading monopoly with India was abolished in 1813, and the British government steadily took over responsibility. There was a significant cultural change among ‘Anglo-Indians’, with less free-booting profiteering and easy intercourse, and more earnest administration, evangelism and English wives, a greater distance between rulers and ruled. Attempts were made to westernise (putting down suttee and thuggee) and to change traditional legal, land-tenure and inheritance practices (apart from acquiring more states). In 1857, Indian soldiers at Meerut rose in mutiny, before seizing nearby Delhi; serious unrest and rebellion spread rapidly over parts of (mostly northern) India; many atrocities were performed. After the initial shock, the rebel forces were defeated (with the aid of loyal Indian soldiers) with equivalent ferocity. After this, the British proceeded more cautiously with modernisation and administrative and military reforms; more than ever they came to feel the weight of ‘the white man’s burden’ of which Kipling was to warn the Americans.
More successful was the policy of colonisation, as in Canada, Australia and New Zealand; here, as elsewhere, the British government was keen to devolve governmental responsibilities and expenses – it was never clear that empire was particularly successful financially, defence and administration costs falling not far short of trading profits. While some, such as John Seeley, Regius Professor of History at Cambridge, looked forward to a grouping of Anglophone countries bonded with Britain in a ‘United States of Greater Britain’, the idea of Empire became increasingly popular, and in 1876 Victoria was proclaimed Empress of India. The map of the world was splashed with red.
It dawns in Asia, tombstones show
And Shropshire names are read;
And the Nile spills his overflow
Beside the Severn’s dead.
A.E. Housman, ‘1887’ (1896)
* * *
ABSENCE OF MIND
We seem, as it were, to have conquered and peopled half the world in a fit of absence of mind. While we were doing it, that is in the eighteenth century, we did
not allow it to affect our imaginations or in any degree to change our ways of thinking; nor have we even now ceased to think of ourselves as simply a race inhabiting an island off the northern coast of the Continent of Europe. [Historians] do not perceive that . . . the history of England is not in England but in America and Asia.
John Seeley, The Expansion of England (1883)
Dickens's England: Life in Victorian Times Page 30