well that he was dealing with one who understood the value of money,
and that he did not feel quite sure of passing the dinner in Mr.
Hart's bill. Then came a pie with crust an inch thick, which nobody
could eat, and a cabinet pudding, so called, full of lumps of suet.
I venture to assert that each liberal elector there would have got
a better dinner at home, and would have been served with greater
comfort; but a public dinner at an inn is the recognized relaxation
of a middle-class Englishman in the provinces. Did he not attend
such banquets his neighbours would conceive him to be constrained
by domestic tyranny. Others go to them, and therefore he goes also.
He is bored frightfully by every speech to which he listens. He is
driven to the lowest depths of dismay by every speech which he is
called upon to make. He is thoroughly disgusted when he is called on
to make no speech. He has no point of sympathy with the neighbours
between whom he sits. The wine is bad. The hot water is brought to
him cold. His seat is hard and crowded. No attempt is made at the
pleasures of conversation. He is continually called upon to stand
up that he may pretend to drink a toast in honour of some person or
institution for which he cares nothing; for the hero of the evening,
as to whom he is probably indifferent; for the church, which
perhaps he never enters; the army, which he regards as a hotbed of
aristocratic insolence; or for the Queen, whom he reveres and loves
by reason of his nature as an Englishman, but against whose fulsome
praises as repeated to him ad nauseam in the chairman's speech his
very soul unconsciously revolts. It is all a bore, trouble, ennui,
nastiness, and discomfort. But yet he goes again and again,--because
it is the relaxation natural to an Englishman. The Frenchman who sits
for three hours tilted on the hind legs of a little chair with his
back against the window-sill of the café, with first a cup of coffee
before him and then a glass of sugar and water, is perhaps as much to
be pitied as regards his immediate misery; but the liquids which he
imbibes are not so injurious to him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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