The Book of Snobs | Page 6

they cultivated peas and only used two-pronged forks, and it was only
by living on the Continent where the usage of the four-prong is general,
that he lost the horrible custom.
In this point--and in this only--I confess myself a member of the
Silver-Fork School; and if this tale but induce one of my readers to
pause, to examine in his own mind solemnly, and ask, 'Do I or do I not
eat peas with a knife?'--to see the ruin which may fall upon himself by

continuing the practice, or his family by beholding the example, these
lines will not have been written in vain. And now, whatever other
authors may be, I flatter myself, it will be allowed that I, at least, am a
moral man.
By the way, as some readers are dull of comprehension, I may as well
say what the moral of this history is. The moral is this--Society having
ordained certain customs, men are bound to obey the law of society,
and conform to its harmless orders.
If I should go to the British and Foreign Institute (and heaven forbid I
should go under any pretext or in any costume whatever)--if I should
go to one of the tea- parties in a dressing-gown and slippers, and not in
the usual attire of a gentleman, viz, pumps, a gold waistcoat, a crush
hat, a sham frill, and a white choker- -I should be insulting society, and
EATING PEASE WITH MY KNIFE. Let the porters of the Institute
hustle out the individual who shall so offend. Such an offender is, as
regards society, a most emphatical and refractory Snob. It has its code
and police as well as governments, and he must conform who would
profit by the decrees set forth for their common comfort.
I am naturally averse to egotism, and hate selflaudation consumedly;
but I can't help relating here a circumstance illustrative of the point in
question, in which I must think I acted with considerable prudence.
Being at Constantinople a few years since--(on a delicate mission),--the
Russians were playing a double game, between ourselves, and it
became necessary on our part to employ an EXTRA
NEGOTIATOR--Leckerbiss Pasha of Roumelia, then Chief Galeongee
of the Porte, gave a diplomatic banquet at his summer palace at
Bujukdere. I was on the left of the Galeongee, and the Russian agent,
Count de Diddloff, on his dexter side. Diddloff is a dandy who would
die of a rose in aromatic pain: he had tried to have me assassinated
three times in the course of the negotiation; but of course we were
friends in public, and saluted each other in the most cordial and
charming manner.
The Galeongee is--or was, alas! for a bow-string has done for him--a

staunch supporter of the old school of Turkish politics. We dined with
our fingers, and had flaps of bread for plates; the only innovation he
admitted was the use of European liquors, in which he indulged with
great gusto. He was an enormous eater. Amongst the dishes a very
large one was placed before him of a lamb dressed in its wool, stuffed
with prunes, garlic, assafoetida, capsicums, and other condiments, the
most abominable mixture that ever mortal smelt or tasted. The
Galeongee ate of this hugely; and pursuing the Eastern fashion, insisted
on helping his friends right and left, and when he came to a particularly
spicy morsel, would push it with his own hands into his guests' very
mouths.
I never shall forget the look of poor Diddloff, when his Excellency,
rolling up a large quantity of this into a ball and exclaiming, 'Buk Buk'
(it is very good), administered the horrible bolus to Diddloff. The
Russian's eyes rolled dreadfully as he received it: he swallowed it with
a grimace that I thought must precede a convulsion, and seizing a bottle
next him, which he thought was Sauterne, but which turned out to be
French brandy, he drank off nearly a pint before he know his error. It
finished him; he was carried away from the dining-room almost dead,
and laid out to cool in a summer-house on the Bosphorus.
When it came to my turn, I took down the condiment with a smile, said
'Bismillah,' licked my lips with easy gratification, and when the next
dish was served, made up a ball myself so dexterously, and popped it
down the old Galeongee's mouth with so much grace, that his heart was
won. Russia was put out of court at once and THE TREATY of
Kabobanople WAS SIGNED. As for Diddloff, all was over with HIM:
he was recalled to St. Petersburg, and Sir Roderick Murchison saw him,
under the No. 3967, working in the Ural mines.
The moral of this tale, I need not say, is, that there are many