Charles Dickens.] TURKEYS. their debentures from hand to hand, shall look for a steady and certain payment of interestThe holders of new under guarantee as it were. Threes, shifting every day, yet know that the stream of interest flows surely and securely at the Bank of England. The holders of Mr. Styles's new Fives (land stock) must always feel an uncertainty whether they will not have to apply at that gentleman's residence for their annual interest; or whether it will be left waiting for them at some undetermined region; or whether it may not be forgotten altogether, even with pains and penalties impending, analogous to the protest of a bill. Again, it would be scarcely reasonable to expect that Mr. Styles should personally keep his eye on each debenture as it changes owners, and have to trace out the last holder on the day the interest falls due. This difficulty is met in foreign countries by the agency of the bank, a conspicuous and notorious institution, which guarantees the interest at the fixed date, whoever be the holders. It has dealt directly with Mr. Styles, advancing him moneys, and receiving in return his debentures. These it endorses and sells again to buyers from the public, guaranteeing, as has been stated, the interest; receiving the interest from Mr. Styles in the regular way, or enforcing it by process of law. Such a bank, therefore, it would be necessary to have in this country. sheathing substituted. Or, if this is impossible, To such favoured craft what TURKEYS. THAT etymology cannot always be depended on, is a fact which the name of the estimable fowl, the subject of my present discussion, addi"A name," says Buffon, tionally illustrates. " is not always a proof, particularly a popular name, applied by uneducated persons, nor even a scientific one sometimes, for learned men are not free from prejudice." The French word "Dinde" points directly to an Eastern origin, "Poule and French lexicographers, with national hardihood, coolly call the bird in question d'Inde," as if there were no doubt about it; while the more precise Germans, with a precision which would do them honour, if it were only accurate, say, "Kalekutische Hahn," thus fixing Calicut, on the western shore of the Indian peninsula, as its birthplace. We English, without going so far afield, content ourselves with the wholesale adoption of the name of a country which has no connexion whatever with the plumed biped. Originally, the Spaniards gave to the Turkey the name of "Pavon de las Indias" ("Peacock of the West Indies"), and Buffon agrees that it was then well applied, on account of the manner in which it spreads its tail; but their modern descendants, too indolent to inquire into what concerns them more nearly than any other people, quietly tell us that it is Another and more serious objection would be its tendency to encourage a gradual and excusable, yet not the less fatal, extravagance in proprietors of estates. Not that vulgar lavishness which consumes the idle and the thriftless, but that irresistible temptation, either from reason of temporary difficulty or real pressure, which at times visits the prudent and industrious. It must be a prodigious self-denial which, in the face of a pressing want or pecuniary trial, should prefer to do battle with a heap of thousand-pound notes (or what is equivalent to such) lying in one's drawer waiting only to be changed. So would the treasure melt away by slow and insensible degrees. That this would be one result, is undeniable; yet it may be doubted whether a perverse moral tendency, however to be deplored, should have much weight in a broad question of political economy. But it is only to one portion of the British Islands that the swift operation of the Happy Despatch has been applied. The broadlands of England and Scotland are, for the most part, handsomely incumbered with mortgages, charges, and incumbrances of all sorts; quite forestalling the possibility of fastening on any of these light debenture sheets. To have an assured value these latter must be first-comers, so as, in matters of interest payment, to be first served. Any amount, therefore, of such indentures fluttering about the country, unless in the priority of this valued and enviable position, would be of poor The time of the first appearance of the Turkey estimation. Still, something might be done in the way of a diluted principle. The old encum-in our hemisphere, is doubtful. Brillat Savarin, bered hulls might be taken into dock to be and other French writers, attribute its introducscraped clean of all mortgage molluscs and tion to the Jesuits of Paraguay, and the abovecrustacea adherent, and this bright new vellum named learned gastronomer adduces in proof of a domestic fowl, brought from Turkey" ("Ave domestica traida de Turquia"). It is true that we are indebted for all our traditions to the East, but this tradition we cannot accept; and Turkey, whether in Europe or in Asia, has no more to do with the Turkey of the farm-yard and the kitchen than it has with the potato. The fact is, that the bird, like the esculent, comes to us from the West. It is indisputably the production of the New World, and perhaps the most satisfactory production that has ever reached us from that quarter of the globe. the debt we owe to the followers of Loyola, the fact that, in many parts of France, Turkeys are called "Jesuits," by reason of the first brood having been reared at a large farm belonging to the brotherhood, near Bourges. This statement is, however, decidedly at variance with another, authenticated by Montluc, who says that the first Turkey ever served at table in France, appeared at the nuptials of Charles the Ninth (A.D. 1570), who ate a wing of the fowl for his supper. (Parenthetically I may observe, that if, happily, the morsel had choked him, the Eve of Saint Bartholomew had not been among the fasti nefasti of his reign.) But the probability is, that the Spaniards introduced the Turkey amongst us at a much earlier period: mention being made of it in Europe in the year 1530. Let the date, however, be when it might-whether the Turkey followed in the train of Cortes, or of Pizarro-to America we are indebted for it; and there, in its wild state, it still ranges, from the backwoods of (what were once) the United States, to the Isthmus of Darien: its plumage, as in the case of the Honduras Turkey (Meleager Ocellata), growing more lustrous and magnificent as the family extends southward. Of the wild Turkeys of North America, the following interesting details are given by Prince Lucien Bonaparte, in his continuation of Wilson's North American Ornithology quickly with their feet. All do not succeed in such attempts, and the weaker often perish. The wild Turkeys feed on all sorts of berries, fruits, grasses; and beetles, tadpoles, young frogs, and lizards, are occasionally found in their crops. The pecan-nut is a favourite food with them, and so is the acorn, on which last they fatten rapidly. About the beginning of October, whilst the mast still hangs on the trees, they gather together in flocks, directing their course to the rich bottomlands, and are then seen in great numbers on the Ohio and Mississippi. This is the Turkeymonth of the Indians. When the Turkeys have arrived at the land of abundance, they disperse in small promiscuous flocks of every sex and age, devouring all the mast as they advance. Thus they pass the autumn and winter, becoming comparatively familiar after their journey, and then venturing near plantations and farm-houses. They have been known on these occasions to enter stables and cow-cribs in search of food. Numbers are killed in the winter, and are preserved in a frozen state for distant markets. The beginning of March is the pairing-time, for a short time previous to which the females separate from their mates and shun them, though the latter pertinaciously follow them, gobbling loudly. The sexes roost apart, but at no great distance, so that when the female utters a call, every male within hearing responds, rolling note after note in the most rapid succession; not as The males, usually termed Gobblers (and when spreading the tail and strutting near the meriting the name, no doubt) associate in parties hen, but in a voice resembling that of the tame of from ten to a hundred, and seek their food Turkey when he hears any unusual or frequentlyapart from the females, which either go about repeated noise. Where the Turkeys are numesingly with their young, at that time about two-rous, the woods, from one end to the other, thirds grown, or form troops with other females sometimes for hundreds of miles, resound with and their families, sometimes to the amount of this remarkable voice of their wooing, uttered seventy or eighty. These all avoid the old males responsively from their roosting-places. This (and well they may), who attack and destroy the is continued for about an hour; and, on the young, whenever they can, by reiterated blows rising of the sun, they silently descend from on the skull. But all parties travel in the same their perches, and the males begin to strut for direction and on foot, unless the dog of the the purpose of winning the admiration of their hunter, or a river in their line of march, compel mates. If the call be given from the ground, them to take wing. When about to cross a river, the males in the vicinity fly towards the indithey select the highest eminences, that their vidual, and, whether they perceive her or not, flight may be more sure, and in such positions erect and spread their tails, throw the head they sometimes stay for a day or more, as if backward, distend the comb and wattles, strut in consultation. The males on such occasions pompously, and rustle their wings and bodygobble obstreperously, strutting with extraor-feathers, at the same moment ejecting a puff of dinary importance, as if to animate their com-air from the lungs. Whilst thus occupied, panions; and the females and young assume much of the pompous air of the males, and spread their tails as they move silently around. Having mounted at length to the tops of the highest trees, the assembled multitude, at the signal note of their leader, wing their way to the opposite shore. The old and fat birds, contrary to what might be expected, cross without difficulty even when the river is a mile in width; but the wings of the young and meagre, and of course those of the weak, frequently fail them before they have completed their passage, when in they drop, and are forced to swim for their lives, which they do cleverly enough, spreading their tails for a support, closing their wings, stretching out their necks, and striking out they occasionally halt to look out for the female, and then resume their strutting and puffing, moving with as much rapidity as the nature of their gait will admit. During this ceremonious approval, the males often encounter each other, and desperate battles ensue, when the conflict is only terminated by the flight or death of the vanquished. The usual fruits of such victories are reaped by the conqueror, who is followed by one or more females, which roost near him, if not upon the same tree, until they begin to lay, when their habits are altered with the view of saving their eggs, which the male breaks if he can get at them. From several passages in the preceding account it is evident that the male Turkey in his native woods is not a very amiable character; but, on the contrary, a pompous, inflated, choleric creature-the Malvolio of birds-and cruel and unnatural withal; a bad husband and a bad father; a bird, in short, that deserves to be well roasted and eaten. This brings me to the most interesting part of my subject: the way in which the Turkey really deserves to be appreciated. hole at which to escape, and peering anxiously at the interstices between the logs. When they come to the trench, they never think of going out by the way that they entered" (here the Turkeys exhibit their special intellectual endowments), "but keeping close against the wall, they walk over the little bridge and recommence their tour. In this way great numbers of Turkeys are taken annually." Pride, too, which often has a fall, characterises the Turkey as well as choler and imbecility. An instance of "the sin that o'erthrew the angels" is recorded of a splendid Honduras Turkey in the Zoological Gardens, who “used to stalk about with his tail spread, wings drooping, and all his feathers puffed up, as if he would burst with pride. At such a time his head was thrown back so much, and his breast feathers projected so far, that he could not observe the ground beneath him, and consequently he often stepped into the water, greatly to his annoyance and the visitors' amusement." Yet, let us take the Turkeys-as we do the people we meet-with all their imperfections, and having wrung their necks (a process which, unfortunately, we cannot apply to some of the people we meet, whatever our longing that way), strike a balance with their good qualities; assuredly the latter will far outweigh the former. Civilisation has, of course, improved the moral disposition of the Turkey, though even in its domesticated state the male bird has some of the faults which we occasionally discover with regret ---amongst our own personal friends. To be "as angry as a Turkey-cock" is a proverbial expression; and our neighbours over the water, acutely perceiving that anger and stupidity are elosely allied, say of a booby that he is "bête comme un dindon," and that to be the butt of a joke is to be "le dindon de la chose;" they even, in a Salic spirit, call an unintelligent young woman une grande dinde;" they once, but the fashion is altered now, used to call a provincial young lady "une dindonnière;" and the phrase, "garder les dindes," still expresses, without a compliment, the degree of intellect which suffices for those who lead a country life. That this reputation for stupidity is altogether deserved may, perhaps, admit of some doubt, for the stupendous ingratitude of man is constantly shown in his abusing those to whom he is most "The Turkey," says Brillat Savarin, "is the indebted the woodcock being a notable example largest, and if not the most delicate, certainly of an admirable bird (with its trail on toast) in- the most savoury of all domestic fowls. He also tellectually depreciated;-at all events, Turkeys enjoys the solitary privilege of gathering round sometimes meet with people more stupid than it every class of society. When the vinethemselves, as happened once in Persia, where dressers and farmers wish to enjoy themselves (the Rev. Mr. Wood tells us) a pair of these on the long winter evenings, what do we see birds, that had wandered in some strange roasting before the bright fire in the room where manner, were thought to speak very good the supper-table is laid? A Turkey. When Arabic, though the particular dialect was be- the industrious mechanic or the toiling artisan yond the comprehension of their hearers." assembles his friends to give them a treat, what Had it been Welsh, now! But, no! The does he offer? A Turkey stuffed with sausages animal has no name that ever condescended to or Lyons chesnuts. And in our most eminent utter a language like that! Still, the Turkey gastronomic circles, in our choicest assemblies, (in a state of nature) cannot be called the bird when politics are obliged to give way to disof wisdom, or it would scarcely allow itself to sertations on taste, what do we expect-what be captured in the fashion described by the last-desire? What do you see at the second course? mentioned authority: "A little square hut is A truffled Turkey!" made of logs, without window or door. A trench Presented in the form last named, the Turkey is cut in the ground, some ten or twelve feet in is at its culminating point of excellence, and, length, passing under the wall of the hut, and as another writer observes, "when it makes its terminating in its centre. A kind of bridge of appearance on table, all conversation should for flattened logs and sticks is then laid across the the moment be suspended." That it is also trench in the interior of the hut, close to the eaten in silence on some occasions-ejaculations wall. The roof is then laid, and the pen is com- of course excepted-may be inferred from the plete. Its mode of action is as follows: A quan- following anecdote: A certain judge of Avignon, tity of corn is strewn in the pen and along the famous for his love of good living, said to a trench, and is sparingly scattered at intervals so friend one day, "We have just been dining on as to lead the Turkeys to the trench. When a superb Turkey! It was excellent! Stuffed they see the corn they follow it up, feeding as with truffles to the very throat-tender, delicate, they go, and finding that the trench is so well filled with perfume! We left nothing but the supplied, they traverse its length, and pass into bones!" "How many were there of you ?” the pen. There is no trap-door to prevent them asked the friend. "Two!" replied the judge. from escaping, neither is there need of it. As "Two!" echoed the other, in astonishment. is the custom of trapped birds in general" (a "Yes, two!" repeated the judge, "the Turkey saving clause, this, for the Turkeys), they walk-and myself." The truffle is, in France-as it round the walls of their prison, trying to find a deserves to be-the natural culinary ally of the Turkey. You cannot, or ought not, to dissociate them. M. Daviau de Sanzai, a man of wit as well as a highly respected prelate, once laid a bet on some subject with M. Camarin, one of his grand vicars. The wager was a truffled Turkey, but the loser seemed to be in no hurry to pay his debt, and as the end of the carnival was fast approaching, the archbishop reminded M. Camarin of the fact. "My lord," said the grand vicar, "the truffles are all bad this year." "Bah! bah!" replied M. de Sanzai, "that is a report which has been circulated by the Turkeys." The Turkey and the truffle are both in perfection at Christmas, when the former has had time to concentrate its juices, and early frosts have well blackened the latter. You may, indeed, begin to eat the bird in June, but it is then only the Turkey-poult, and incapable of giving a tithe of the satisfaction which it imparts in its state of maturity. Yet even when young it is well spoken of. "Amiable adolescent!" cries an enthusiastic French gastronomer, 'see how he advances with candour to offer his innocent head. He is youthful and proud, and at that happy age when his flesh, without partaking of the insipidity of that of the pullet, has not yet acquired the savour which, later on, will cause our delight." As each animal has its allotted season in which to minister to our enjoyment, the Turkey proper selects winter, commencing its culinary career in the month of November, on the day dedicated to Saint Martin. "All the world," says the writer last quoted, "pays his devotions to the honest patron of good living on the eleventh of November, devotions which annually cost the lives of more than a million of Turkeys." "Toujours perdrix” is a well-known symbol of satiety, but so long as they are fit to be eaten nobody tires of truffled Turkey; and thus, till the end of February, they surrender themselves to the tender mercies of the chef or the cordon bleu. Grimod de la Reynière makes some profound reflections on the commencement of the Turkey season. "In November," he says, "the country becomes depopulated, and after the day of Saint Martin all who appertain to the respectable class of gourmands assemble in cities. Great Saint Martin, patron of the poultry-market! the appetite awakens at your approach, and all who enjoy robust health prepare to celebrate your festival by a fast of three days' duration. A Turkey of the season, waited for long enough, and roasted to a turn, reopens the glorious career of indigestion. Her giblets form the principle of an entrée, which may be diversified in an infinity of ways, while she is herself so well assured of her merit that she lends herself to every kind of metamorphosis without the slightest fear of compromising her reputation. But she must be young, for the honours of the daube (when boned') are reserved for dowagers." But, notwithstanding the metamorphoses of which Monsieur Grimod de la Reynière speaks, and though, with all his experience, he never knew what the enjoyment is of eating the leg of a Turkey well devilled, the only legitimate way of dressing the bird whole is by devoting it to the spit."Don't beat your carpets" is an advertisement which daily meets the eye: don't boil your Turkey, is the advice I give to every dinner-giver. What says the calm and philosophical Soyer? "Boiled Turkey is a dish I rarely have, as I never could relish it boiled as it generally is, by putting it into that pure and chaste element, water, into which has been thrown some salt, the quantity of which differs as much as the individuals that throw it in. I often reflect to myself, why should this innocent and well-brought-up bird have its remains condemned to this watery, bubbling inquisition, especially when alive it has the greatest horror of this temperate fluid? It is really for want of resolution that such mistakes occur: the flavour of a roasted Turkey, hot or cold, is as superior to the boiled as it is possible to be." Be wise, therefore, and eschew the caldron when the preparation of a Turkey is in question. Have nothing to do with chesnuts for stuffing, neglect the garniture of sausages, turn away your thoughts from celery sauce, or that made of oysters-they, indeed, are only the accompaniments of the seethed fowl; but order a couple of pounds of Périgord truffles-no matter the price, let them cost you fifty francs a pound, what matter?-and cram your Turkey with these, leaving them for several days in the bosom of the bird to diffuse their aroma before the word is given to prepare the banquet. What grubs our ancestors were of two centuries ago! What do you think they did with their Turkeys? Baked them!-and, as The Perfect Gentlewoman's Delight tells us, in this fashion: "Take and cleane your Turkey on the backe, and bruise all his bones; then season with salt and pepper, grosse beaten, and put into him good store of butter: he must have five howers baking." Salt and pepper and good store of butter! Shades of Savarin and De Cussy, read not this page in your elysium of truffles! NEW WORK BY SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON. NEXT WEEK Will be continued (to be completed next March) A STRANGE STORY, BY THE AUTHOR OF "MY NOVEL," "RIENZI," &c. &c. Just published, price 5s. 6d., bound in cloth, THE FIFTH VOLUME OF ALL THE YEAR ROUND. Containing from Nos. 101 to 126, both inclusive. The right of Translating Articles from ALL THE YEAR ROUND is reserved by the Authors. Published at the Office, No. 26, Wellington Street, Strand. Printed by C. WarriNG, Beaufort House, Strand. ALL THE YEAR ROUND. A WEEKLY JOURNAL. CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS. WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED HOUSEHOLD WORDS. No. 132.] SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 1861. A STRANGE STORY. [PRICE 2d. sprinkled over the flame of the lamp a few grains of a powder, colourless and sparkling as diamond wholly unfamiliar to my sense, rose from the lamp. BY THE AUTHOR OF MY NOVEL,” “RIENZI," &c. dust; in a second or so, a delicate perfume, CHAPTER XXXII. MARGRAVE threw himself on a seat just under the great anaconda; I closed and locked the door. When I had done so, my eye fell on the young man's face, and I was surprised to see that it had lost its colour; that it showed great anxiety, great distress; that his hands were visibly trembling. "What is this?" he said in feeble tones, and raising himself half from his seat as if with great effort. "Help me up-come away! Something in this room is hostile to me-hostile, overpowering! What can it be ?" "You would test the condition of trance, test it, and in the spirit." And, as he spoke, his hand rested lightly on my head. Hitherto, amidst a surprise not unmixed with awe, I had preserved a certain defiance, a certain distrust. I had been, as it were, on my guard. But as those words were spoken, as that hand rested on my head, as that perfume arose from the lamp, all power of will deserted me. My first sensation was that of passive subjugation, but soon I was aware of a strange intoxicating effect from the odour of the lamp, round which there now played a dazzling vapour. The room swam before me. Like a man oppressed by a nightmare, I tried to move, to cry out; feeling that to do so would suffice to burst the thrall that bound me; in vain. "Truth and my presence," answered a stern, low voice; and Sir Philip Derval, whose slight form the huge bulk of the dead elephant had before obscured from my view, came suddenly out from the shadow into the full rays of the lamps which lit up, as if for Man's revel, that mocking tomb for the playmates of Nature which A time that seemed to me inexorably long, but he enslaves for his service or slays for his sport. which, as I found afterwards, could only have As Sir Philip spoke and advanced, Margrave sank occupied a few seconds, elapsed in this prelimiback into his seat, shrinking, collapsing, nerve-nary state, which, however powerless, was not less; terror the most abject expressed in his staring eyes and parted lips. On the other hand, the simple dignity of Sir Philip Derval's bearing, and the mild power of his countenance, were alike inconceivably heightened. A change had come over the whole man, the more impressive because wholly undefinable. Halting opposite Margrave, he uttered some words in a language unknown to me, and stretched one hand over the young man's head. Margrave at once became stiff and rigid as if turned to stone. Sir Philip said to me, "Place one of those lamps on the floor-there, by his feet." I took down one of the coloured lamps from the mimic tree round which the huge anaconda coiled its spires, and placed it as I was told. "Take the seat opposite to him, and watch." I obeyed. Meanwhile, Sir Philip had drawn from his breast-pocket a small steel casket, and I observed, as he opened it, that the interior was subdivided into several compartments, each with its separate lid; from one of these he took and without a vague luxurious sense of delight. And then suddenly came pain-pain, that in rapid gradations passed into a rending agony. Every bone, sinew, nerve, fibre of the body, seemed as if wrenched open, and as if some hitherto unconjectured Presence in the vital organisation were forcing itself to light with all the pangs of travail. The veins seemed swollen to bursting, the heart labouring to maintain its action by fierce spasms. I feel in this description how language fails me. Enough, that the anguish I then endured surpassed all that I have ever experienced of physical pain. This dreadful interval subsided as suddenly as it had commenced. I felt as if a something undefinable by any name had rushed from me, and in that rush that a struggle was over. I was sensible of the passive bliss which attends the release from torture, and then there grew on me a wonderful calm, and, in that caim, a consciousness of some lofty intelligence immeasurably beyond that which human memory gathers from earthly knowledge. I saw before me the still rigid form of Margrave, and my sight seemed, with ease, to penetrate through its cover VOL. VI. 132 |