|
IN Scotland the free and
open hospitality which bespeaks a primitive condition of society
survived much later than in the better civilised parts of Europe. With a
hostile England on her southern marches she occupied a situation
peculiarly isolated from foreign influences. The establishment of
trading communities was also sadly discouraged by repeated invasions
from England, which confined commercial intercourse almost entirely to
certain of her sea-coast towns. Even when no active hostilities were
afoot her trade with England was extremely limited during the whole
period anterior to the union. Thus, although the Scot himself was known
as scholar or soldier in many lands, it was but rarely that Scottish
ground, except ill the case of an English raid, was trodden of foreign
foot. In Edinburgh and other cities frequented by the Court, a tincture
of French elegance and refinement imparted a certain bizarre effect to
the essential rudeness of the national habit ; but even here the alien
influence did not penetrate beyond a very narrow circle. The inland
regions, sparse in population and devoid of trade, had scarce any
intercourse with the towns—they, were self-supporting and
self-dependent. Travellers were mostly one or other species of
beggar—pilgrims, poor scholars, friars, bards, minstrels, mountebanks,
sorners; for, as the industrial Part of the rural community enjoyed all
fixity of tenure, few of
its members had friends or relatives at any distance from their own
homes, while such wayfarers as were not beggars were chiefly nobles
bound for the castles of their brethren, or for the great hunting
gatherings which formed in times of peace their chief occupation and
amusement. The commonest resort for lodgings was either the guest-house
of the monastery or the noble's mansion ; accommodation and cheer being
regulated by the qualities and conditions of the guests. Except in
famine years, a rude abundance prevailed throughout the land until at
least the fifteenth century ; and as rushes, straw, fern, or heather
were deemed sufficient and even luxurious bedding by the majority, the
housing of strangers was attended with small inconvenience.
The earliest recorded
instance of legislative interference on behalf of travellers is an Act
of David II., in 1357. The accommodation to be secured by it must have
been extremely rude and humble. It provided that in every burgh the
sellers of bread and ale should "receive passengers in herbery within
their houses," and sell them provisions at the prices enacted from
neighbours. All such as refused full payment might be apprehended in the
king's name by ''the community of the burgh," which was not to be held
responsible for any injury inflicted on the defaulter during his
arrestinent (a very complete bill of immunity). The Act of James I.
(1424) was more cornprehensive in scope. It decreed that in burghs and
thoroughfares hostelries should be provided with accommodation and food
for man and beast; the intention clearly being the provision of better
lodging and entertainment than could be had at the alehouses. As regards
the opening of hostelries, the Act appears to have been effectual; the
difficulty consisting in making them popular. In the following year the
new-made hosts, having waited in vain for custom, presented a grievous
complaint to the king against the "villanous" practice of travellers in
putting up at the houses of their friends. All travellers on foot or
a-horseback were thereupon prohibited from lodging elsewhere than at the
inn, special exception being made in the ease of those with large
retinues, who, however, were bound to send their followers and servants
to the inn. But the ancient custom of free hospitality survived many
such enactments, and, passing through long and gradual stages of
extinction, died very hard. In the sixteenth century the " hosteller
without the town " of Berwick-on-Tweed, in the eyes of the Scots author
of "The Friars of Berwick," was "good'' (by contrast, no doubt, with
those in Scotland proper); but it seems to have been seldom frequented
for lodging, and the bed for the wearied friars was "intill one loft was
made for corn and hay." There was an attempt to revive the old Acts
regarding inns in 1567 but, so far as the general establishment of
suitable hostelries was concerned, they continued to remain a dead
letter for two centuries more. Fynes Moryson, in 1589,
did never see nor hear that they have any public house with signs
hanging out " (a picturesque feature of the English villages), but the
better sort of citizens brew ale, the usual drinke (which will distemper
a stranger's body), and the same citizens entertain passengers on
acquaintance or entreaty." Plainly the attitude of the taverners towards
strangers savoured somewhat of a supercilious independence. Eighty years
after Moryson, Thomas Kirke testifies to an exactly similar state of
matters.
The Scots," he says, "had
not inns but change-houses (as they call them), poor, small cottages,
where you must be content to take what you find." By this he meant that
there was absolutely no choice of dishes in the menu. What he did find
was ''perhaps eggs with chicks in them and some lang kale; at the better
sort of them a dish of chapped chickens " (probably cocky-leeky). As to
the enticements of the latter delicacy, we may turn to Burt, who crossed
the border in the year of grace 1725; only we must substitute pigeons—no
doubt esteemed a special luxury—for chickens. "The cloth," says Burt,
"was laid, but I was too unwilling to grease my fingers to touch it, and
presently after the pot of pigeons on the table. When I came to examine
my cates, there were two or three of the pigeons lay mangled in the
pot." In objecting to the "mangling" Burt does but betray the Southron
benightedness; but the mark of "dirty fingers in the butter" was a touch
he may be pardoned for failing to appreciate. It is but fair to add
that, while the ineffable filthiness of the bed-curtains ahnost debarred
him from making trial of his bed, he was agreeably disappointed to
find—as he did throughout Scotland—that the linen was 44 well aired, and
hardened." Dr. Somerville, a native Scot, testifies, some time after the
experiences of Burt, that there was little improvement. In his youthful
days "f'ew inns were to be met with in which the traveller could either
eat or sleep with comfort; and so ill-provided were they with the most
necessary articles, that on a journey people used to carry a knife and
fork in a case deposited in the side-pocket of their small-clothes."
Glasses were so scarce that a single one usually went round the whole
company; and, as the said company was frequently very heterogeneous, it
is plain that to fastidious persons, if any such there were, the act of
drinking would not be one of unalloyed delight. The presiding genius of
the change-Louse, or inn, was the ale-wife, or "brewster-wife," as she
was called, who assumed a position of entire equality with her guests,
and in taverns of the better class expected to be asked to take a glass
of wine with them when that liquor was dispensed.
A century ago Edinburgh
herself was no better off than the country districts in the matter of
inns. In 1776, according to Major Topham, she had "no inn that is better
than an alehouse, nor any accommodation that is decent, cleanly, or fit
to receive a gentleman." In the "best inn in the metropolis " (situate
in the Pleasance), the bare-legged waitress, in short gown and
petticoat, informed him and his companion that "we could have no beds,
unless we had an inclination to sleep together and in the same room with
the company which a stage-coach had that moment discharged." information
of a like kind is still sometimes given in the height of the tourist
season to travellers in Scotland; but the arrangements at which the
Major stood aghast were chronic and perpetual in the hostelry of the
Pleasance the old common guest-chamber of ancient times was still a
fact. A glimpse of the Highland hotel of the period is afforded in
Ramsay's "Scotland and Scotsmen of the Eighteenth Century." The original
Highland innkeeper would appear to have more than vied with his Lowland
brother in "pride, sloth, and dirtiness." Communications couched in
terms with any semblance to command were resented as a serious breach of
manners on the part of the visitor, the inn being regarded as the host's
"own house." Thus a Southron lady, who had been too inconsiderate of the
feelings of a sometime duniwassel, discovered, to her dismay, that "both
inkeeper and servants had disappeared on the eve of dinner." Possibly
the traditional "Highland pride still lingers within the precincts of a
few Highland hostelries; and occasionally, at least, the "Highland
hunger "is manifested in the bill. |
