Middleclass Living

visitor is shown, uless he hapens to call on a reception-day, when the
drawing-rooms are thrown open to the fiends of the family.

Large folding-doors, which occupy nearly the whole breadth of the back
wall, separate the front from the back parlour, and when opened, the two
form one large room. The number and the circumstances of the family
devote this back parlour either to the purposes of a library for the
master, the son, or the daughters of the house, or convert it into a
boudoir, office, or breakfast room. Frequently it serves no purpose n
particular, and all in turn.

the fourth, if a fourth there be, you find a couple of low garrets, for the
occasional accommodation of some bachelor friend of the family

The doors and windows of these garrest are not exactly airtight, the
wind comes rumbling down the chimney, the stairs are narrow and steep,
and the garrets are occasionally invaded by inquisitive cats and a vagrant
rat; but what of that?

Descending a good many more stairs than we ascended, we find out way
to the haunts of those who, in England, live underground - to the kitchen.

Here, too, everything is different from what we are accustomed to in
Germany. In the place of the carpets which cover the floors of the upper
rooms, we walk here on strong, solid oilcloths, which, swept and washed
looks like marble, and gives a more comfortable aspect to an English
kitchen than any German houswife ever succeeded in imparting to the
scene of her culinary exercises. Add to this, bright dish-covers of gigantic
dimensions fixed to the wall, plated dishes, and sundry other utensils of
queer shapes and silvery aspect, interspersed with copper saucepans and
pots and china, the windows neatly curtained, with a couple of flower-
pots on the sill, and branch of evergreens growing on the wall round them
- such is an English kitchen in its modest glory. A large fire is always
kept burning; and its ruddy glow heightens the homeliness and comfort
of the scene. There is no killing of animals in these peaceful retreats. All
the animals which are destined for consumption, such as fowls, ducks,
pigions, and geese, are sold, killed, and plucked in the London shops.
When they are brought to the kitchen, they are in such a condition, that
nothing prevents their being put to the fire. And then, in front of that fire,
turned by a machine, dangle large sections of sheep, calves, and oxen, of
so respectable a size, that the very sight of them would suffice to awe a
German housewife.

Several doors in the kitchen open into sundry other subterraneous
compartments. There is a back-kitchen, whither the servants of the
house retire for the most important part of their daily labours-the talking
of scandal apropos of the whole neighbourhood. There is also a small
room for the washing-up of plates and dishes, the cleaning of knives and
forks, of clothes and shoes. Other compartments are devoted to stores
of provisions, of coals and wine and beer. Need I add, that all these are
strictly separate?

All these various rooms and compartments, from the kitchen up to the
garret, are in modern London houses, lighted up with gas-and pipes
conducting fresh, filtered, and in many instances, hot water, ascend into
all the stories-and there is in all and everything so much of really
domestic and unostentatious comfort, that it would be very
uncomfortable to give a detailed description of every item of a cause
which contributes to the general and agreeable effect.

Max Schlesinger, Saunterings in and about London, 1853

The small space between the street-door and the stairs, hardly sufficient
in length and breadth to deserve the pompous name of a "hall," is
usually furnished with a couple of mahogany chairs, or in wealthier
houses with flower pots, statuettes and now and then a sixth or seventh-
rate picture. The floor is covered with oil-cloth, and this again is covered
with a breadth of carpet. A single glance tells us that after passing the
threshold, we have at once entered the temple of domestic life.

Here are no moist, ill-paved floors, where horses and carts dispute with
the passenger the right of way; where you stumble about in some dark
corner in search of still darker stairs; where, from the porter's lodge, half
a dozen curious eyes watch your unguided movements, while your
nostrils are invaded with the smell of onions, as is the case in Paris, and
also in Prague and Vienna. Nothing of the kind. The English houses are
like chimneys turned inside out, on the outside all is soot and dirt, in the
inside everything is clean and bright.