had to work with and under such persons as Louis XV. and Madame de
Pompadour. By way of showing what difficulties men had to overcome who
then desired to serve their country, I will mention a single incident of
his later career.
His favorite work, the École Militaire, of which he was the first
superintendent, shared the unpopularity of its early patron, Madame de
Pompadour, and long he strove in vain to bring it into favor. To use the
narrative of M. de Loménie, the biographer of Beaumarchais:--
"He was constantly at court, laboring without cessation on behalf of the
military school, and soliciting the king in vain to visit it in state,
which would have given a sort of _prestige_. Coldly received by the
dauphin, the queen, and the princesses, he could not, as the friend of
Madame de Pompadour, obtain from the nonchalance of Louis XV. the visit
which he so much desired, when the idea struck him, in his despair, of
having recourse to the young harpist, who appeared to be so assiduous in
his attendance on the princesses, and who directed their concert every
week. Beaumarchais understood at once the advantage he might derive
from rendering an important service to a clever, rich, old financier,
who had still a number of affairs in hand, and who was capable of
bringing him both wealth and advancement. But how could a musician
without importance hope to obtain from the king what had already been
refused to solicitations of much more influence than his own?
Beaumarchais went to work like a man who had a genius for dramatic
intrigue and a knowledge of the human heart.
"We have shown that, while he was giving his time and attention to the
princesses, he never asked for anything in return. He thought that if he
were fortunate enough to persuade them, in the first instance, to pay a
visit to the École Militaire, the curiosity of the king perhaps would be
excited by the narrative of what they had seen, and would lead him to do
that which he would never have been prompted to do by justice. He
accordingly represented to the princesses not only the equitable side of
the question, but also the immense interest which he himself had in
obtaining this favor for a man who might be of great use to him. The
princesses consented to visit the École Militaire, and Beaumarchais was
granted the honor of accompanying them. The director received them with
great splendor; they did not conceal from him the great interest they
took in their young _protégé_, and some days afterward Louis XV., urged
by his daughters, visited it himself, and thus gratified the wishes of
old Duverney.
"From this moment the financier, grateful for Beaumarchais' good
services, and delighted to find a person who could assist him as an
intermediary in his intercourse with the court, resolved to make the
young man's fortune. He began by giving him a share in one of his
speculations to the amount of sixty thousand francs, on which he paid
him interest at the rate of ten per cent.; after this, he gave him an
interest in various other affairs. 'He initiated me,' says Beaumarchais,
'into the secrets of finance, of which, as every one knows, he was a
consummate master.'"
Such was government in the good old times! I like to think of it when
things go amiss in Washington or Albany. Let our rulers do as badly as
they may, they cannot do worse than the rulers of the world did a
century and a half ago. If any good or great thing was done in those
days, it was done in spite of the government.
SIR ROWLAND HILL.
The poet Coleridge, on one of his long walks among the English lakes,
stopped at a roadside inn for dinner, and while he was there the
letter-carrier came in, bringing a letter for the girl who was waiting
upon him. The postage was a shilling, nearly twenty-five cents. She
looked long and lovingly at the letter, holding it in her hand, and then
gave it back to the man, telling him that she could not afford to pay
the postage. Coleridge at once offered the shilling, which the girl
after much hesitation accepted. When the carrier was gone she told him
that he had thrown his shilling away, for the pretended letter was only
a blank sheet of paper. On the outside there were some small marks which
she had carefully noted before giving the letter back to the carrier.
Those marks were the _letter_, which was from her brother, with whom she
had agreed upon a short-hand system by which to communicate news without
expense. "We are so poor," said she to the poet, "that we have invented
this manner of corresponding and sending our letters free."
[Illustration: SIR ROWLAND HILL.]
The shilling which the postman demanded was, in fact, about a week's
wages to a girl in her condition fifty years ago. Nor was it poor girls
only who then played tricks upon the post-office. Envelopes franked by
honorable members of Parliament were a common article of merchandise,
for it was the practice of their clerks and servants to procure and sell
them. Indeed, the postal laws were so generally evaded that, in some
large towns, the department was cheated of three quarters of its
revenue. Who can wonder at it? It cost more then to send a letter from
one end of London to the other, or from New York to Harlem, than it now
does to send a letter from Egypt to San Francisco. The worst effect of
dear postage was the obstacles it placed in the way of correspondence
between poor families who were separated by distance. It made
correspondence next to impossible between poor people in Europe and
their relations in America. Think of an Irish laborer who earned
sixpence a day paying _seventy-five cents_ to get news from a daughter
in Cincinnati! It required the savings of three or four months.
The man who changed all this, Sir Rowland Hill, died only three years
ago at the age of eighty-three. I have often said that an American ought
to have invented the new postal system; and Rowland Hill, though born
and reared in England, and descended from a long line of English
ancestors, was very much an American. He was educated on the American
plan. His mind was American, and he had the American way of looking at
things with a view to improving them.
His father was a Birmingham schoolmaster, a free trader, and more than
half a republican. He brought up his six sons and two daughters to use
their minds and their tongues. His eldest son, the recorder of
Birmingham, once wrote of his father thus:--
"Perhaps the greatest obligation we owe our father is this: that, from
infancy, he would reason with us, and so observe all the rules of fair
play, that we put forth our little strength without fear. Arguments were
taken at their just weight; the sword of authority was not thrown into
the scale."
Miss Edgeworth's tales deeply impressed the boy, and he made up his mind
in childhood to follow the path which she recommended, and do something
which should greatly benefit mankind.
At the age of eleven he began to assist in teaching his father's pupils.
At twelve he was a pupil no more, and gave himself wholly up to
teaching. Long before he was of age he had taken upon himself all the
mere business of the school, and managed it so well as to pay off debts
which had weighed heavily upon the family ever since he was born. At the
same time he invented new methods of governing the school. He was one of
the first to abolish corporal punishment. He converted his school into a
republic governed by a constitution and code of laws, which filled a
printed volume of more than a hundred pages, which is still in the
possession of his family. His school, we are told, was governed by it
for many years. If a boy was accused of a fault, he had the right of
being tried by a jury of his school-fellows. Monitors were elected by
the boys, and these monitors met to deliberate upon school matters as a
little parliament.
Upon looking back in old age upon this wonderful school, he doubted very
much whether the plan was altogether good. The democratic idea, he
thought, was carried too far; it made the boys too positive and
argumentative.
"I greatly doubt," said he once, "if I should send my own son to a
school conducted on such a complicated system."
It had, nevertheless, admirable features, which he originated, and which
are now generally adopted. Toward middle life he became tired of this
laborious business, though he had the largest private school in that
part of England. His health failed, and he felt the need of change and
rest. Having now some leisure upon his hands he began to invent and
project.
His attention was first called to the postal system merely by the high
price of postage. It struck him as absurd that it should cost thirteen
pence to convey half an ounce of paper from London to Birmingham, while
several pounds of merchandise could be carried for sixpence. Upon
studying the subject, he found that the mere carriage of a letter
between two post-offices cost scarcely anything, the chief expense being
incurred at the post-offices in starting and receiving it. He found that
the actual cost of conveying a letter from London to Edinburgh, four
hundred and four miles, was _one eighteenth of a cent_! This fact it was
which led him to the admirable idea of the uniform rate of one
penny--for all distances.
At that time a letter from London to Edinburgh was charged about
twenty-eight cents; but if it contained the smallest inclosure, even
half a banknote, or a strip of tissue paper, the postage was doubled. In
short, the whole service was incumbered with absurdities, which no one
noticed because they were old. In 1837, after an exhaustive study of the
whole system, he published his pamphlet, entitled Post-Office Reforms,
in which he suggested his improvements, and gave the reasons for them.
The post-office department, of course, treated his suggestions with
complete contempt. But the public took a different view of the matter.
The press warmly advocated his reforms. The thunderer of the London
"Times" favored them. Petitions poured into Parliament. Daniel O'Connell
spoke in its favor.
"Consider, my lord," said he to the premier, "that a letter to Ireland
and the answer back would cost thousands upon thousands of my poor and
affectionate countrymen more than a fifth of their week's wages. If you
shut the post-office to them, which you do now, you shut out warm hearts
and generous affections from home, kindred, and friends."
The ministry yielded, and on January 10, 1840, penny postage became the
law of the British Empire. As the whole postal service had to be
reorganized, the government offered Rowland Hill the task of introducing
the new system, and proposed to give him five hundred pounds a year for
two years. He spurned the proposal, and offered to do the work for
nothing. He was then offered fifteen hundred pounds a year for two
years, and this he accepted rather than see his plan mismanaged by
persons who did not believe in it. After many difficulties, the new
system was set in motion, and was a triumphant success from the first
year.
A Tory ministry coming in, they had the incredible folly to dismiss the
reformer, and he retired from the public service without reward. The
English people are not accustomed to have their faithful servants
treated in that manner, and there was a universal burst of indignation.
A national testimonial was started. A public dinner was given him, at
which he was presented with a check for sixty-five thousand dollars. He
was afterwards placed in charge of the post-office department, although
with a lord over his head as nominal chief. This lord was a Tory of the
old school, and wished to use the post-office to reward political and
personal friends. Rowland Hill said:--
"No, my lord; appointment and promotion for merit only."
They quarreled upon this point, and Rowland Hill resigned. The queen
sent a message to the House of Commons asking for twenty thousand pounds
as a national gift to Sir Rowland Hill, which was granted, and he was
also allowed to retire from office upon his full salary of two thousand
pounds a year. That is the way to treat a public benefactor; and nations
which treat their servants in that spirit are likely to be well served.
The consequences of this postal reform are marvelous to think of. The
year before the new plan was adopted in Great Britain, one hundred and
six millions of letters and papers were sent through the post-office.
Year before last the number was one thousand four hundred and
seventy-eight millions. In other words, the average number of letters
per inhabitant has increased from three per annum to thirty-two. The
United States, which ought to have taken the lead in this matter, was
not slow to follow, and every civilized country has since adopted the
system.
A few weeks before Sir Rowland Hill's death, the freedom of the city of
London was presented to him in a gold box. He died in August, 1881, full
of years and honors.
MARIE-ANTOINE CARÈME,
FRENCH COOK.
Domestic servants occupy in France a somewhat more elevated position in
the social scale than is accorded them in other countries. As a class,
too, they are more intelligent, better educated, and more skillful than
servants elsewhere. There are several works in the French language
designed expressly for their instruction, some of the best of which were
written, or professed to have been written, by servants. On the counter
of a French bookstore you will sometimes see such works as the
following: "The Perfect Coachman," "The Life of Jasmin, the Good
Laquey," "Rules for the Government of Shepherds and Shepherdesses, by
the Good Shepherd," "The Well-Regulated Household," "Duties of Servants
of both Sexes toward God and toward their Masters and Mistresses, by a
Servant," "How to Train a Good-Domestic."
Some books of this kind are of considerable antiquity and have assisted
in forming several generations of domestic servants. One of them, it is
said, entitled, "The Perfect Coachman," was written by a prince of the
reigning house of France. In France, as in most old countries, few
people expect to change their condition in life. Once a servant, always
a servant. It is common for parents in humble life to apprentice their
children to some branch of domestic service, satisfied if they become
excellent in their vocation, and win at length the distinctions and
promotions which belong to it.
Lady Morgan, who visited Paris several years ago, relates an anecdote or
two showing how intelligent some French servants are. She was walking
along the Quai Voltaire, followed by her French lackey, when he suddenly
came to her side and, pointing to a house, said:--
"There, madam, is a house consecrated to genius. There died Voltaire--in
that apartment with the shutters closed. There died the first of our
great men; perhaps also the last."
On another occasion the same man objected to a note which she had
written in the French language.
"Is it not good French, then?" asked the lady.
"Oh, yes, madam," replied he; "the French is very good, but the style is
too cold. You begin by saying, You _regret_ that you cannot have the
pleasure. You should say, I am _in despair_."
"Well, then," said Lady Morgan, "write it yourself."
"You may write it, if you please, my lady, at my dictation, for as to
reading and writing, they are branches of my education which were
totally neglected."
The lady remarks, however, that Paris servants can usually read very
well, and that hackmen, water-carriers, and porters may frequently be
seen reading a classical author while waiting for a customer.
A very remarkable case in point is Marie-Antoine Carème, whom a French
writer styles, "one of the princes of the culinary art." I suppose that
no country in the world but France could produce such a character. Of
this, however, the reader can judge when I have briefly told his story.
He was born in a Paris garret, in 1784, one of a family of fifteen
children, the offspring of a poor workman. As soon as he was old enough
to render a little service, his father placed him as a garçon in a cheap
and low restaurant, where he received nothing for his labor except his
food.
This was an humble beginning for a "prince." But he improved his
disadvantages to such a degree that, at the age of twenty, he entered
the kitchen of Talleyrand. Now Prince Talleyrand, besides being himself
one of the daintiest men in Europe, had to entertain, as minister of
foreign affairs, the diplomatic corps, and a large number of other
persons accustomed from their youth up to artistic cookery. Carème
proved equal to the situation. Talleyrand's dinners were renowned
throughout Europe and America. But this cook of genius, not satisfied
with his attainments, took lessons in the art from Guipière, the
renowned _chef_ of the Emperor Napoleon--he who followed Murat into the
wilds of Russia and perished with so many other cooks and heroes.
Carème appears to have succeeded Guipière in the Imperial kitchen, but
he did not follow the Emperor to Elba. When the allied kings celebrated
their triumph in Paris at a grand banquet, it was Carème who, as the
French say, "executed the repast." His brilliant success on this
occasion was trumpeted over Europe, and after the final downfall of
Napoleon he was invited to take charge of the kitchen of the English
Prince Regent. At various times during his career he was cook to the
Emperor Alexander of Russia, to the Emperor of Austria, to the Prince of
Wurtemberg, and to the head of the house of Rothschild. In the service
of these illustrious eaters he gained large sums of money, which,
however, he was very far from hoarding.
In the maturity of his powers he devoted himself and his fortune to
historical investigations concerning the art of cookery. For several
years he was to be daily seen in the Imperial Library, studying the
cookery, so renowned, of the ancient Greeks and Romans, desiring
especially to know whether they possessed any secrets which had been
lost. His conclusion was, that the dishes served upon the tables of
Lucullus, Augustus Cæsar, and others, were "utterly bad and atrociously
stupid." But he commended the decoration of their tables, the cups and
vases of gold, the beautiful pitchers, the chased silver, the candles of
white Spanish wax, the fabrics of silk whiter than the snow, and the
beautiful flowers with which their tables were covered. He published the
results of his labors in a large octavo volume, illustrated by a hundred
and twenty-eight engravings. He continued his studious labors, and
published at various periods "Ancient and Modern Cookery Compared," in
two volumes, octavo, "The Paris Cook, or the Art of Cooking in the
Nineteenth Century," and others. Toward the close of his life, he wrote
a magazine article upon Napoleon's way of eating at St. Helena.
He dedicated one of his works to his great instructor and master in the
art of cookery, Guipière. To give the reader an idea of his way of
thinking and feeling I will translate a few sentences of this
dedication:--
"Rise, illustrious Shade! Hear the voice of the man who was your admirer
and your pupil! Your distinguished talents brought upon you hatred and
persecution. By cabal you were obliged to leave your beautiful native
land, and go into Italy to serve a prince (Murat) to whose enjoyment you
had once ministered in Paris. You followed your king into Russia. But
alas, by a deplorable fatality, you perished miserably, your feet and
body frozen by the frightful climate of the north. Arrived at Vilna,
your generous prince lavished gold to save you, but in vain. O great
Guipière, receive the public homage of a faithful disciple. Regardless
of those who envied you, I wish to associate your name with my labors. I
bequeath to your memory my most beautiful work. It will convey to future
ages a knowledge of the elegance and splendor of the culinary art in the
nineteenth century; and if Vatel rendered himself illustrious by a point
of honor, dear to every man of merit, your unhappy end, O Guipière,
renders you worthy of the same homage! It was that point of honor which
made you follow your prince into Russia, when your gray hairs seemed to
assure you a happier destiny in Paris. You shared the sad fate of our
old veterans, and the honor of our warriors perishing of hunger and
cold."
All this, the reader will admit, is very strange and very French. In the
same work, Carème chronicles the names of all the celebrated cooks who
perished in the retreat from Russia. This prince of the kitchen died in
1833, when he was scarcely fifty years of age. His works are still well
known in France, and some of them have passed through more than one
edition. It is an odd contradiction, that the name of this prince of the
kitchen should be the French word for the time of fasting. Carême means
_Lent_.
WONDERFUL WALKER.
I have here a good story for hard times. It is of a clergyman and cotton
spinner of the Church of England, who, upon an income of twenty-four
pounds a year, lived very comfortably to the age of ninety-four years,
reared a family of eight children respectably, gave two of his sons a
University education, and left an estate worth two thousand pounds.
Every one will admit that this was a good deal to do upon a salary of
one hundred and twenty dollars; and some readers, who find the winter
hard to get through, may be interested to know how he did it. To this
day, though he has been dead one hundred years, he is spoken of in the
region where he lived, as Wonderful Walker. By this epithet, also, he is
spoken of by the poet Wordsworth, in the "Excursion:"--
"And him, the Wonderful,
Our simple shepherds, speaking from the heart,
Deservedly have styled."
He lived and died in the lake country of England, near the residence of
Wordsworth, who has embalmed him in verse, and described him in prose.
Robert Walker, the youngest of twelve children, the son of a yeoman of
small estate, was bred a scholar because he was of a frame too delicate,
as his father thought, to earn his livelihood by bodily labor. He
struggled into a competent knowledge of the classics and divinity,
gained in strength as he advanced towards manhood, and by the time he
was ordained was as vigorous and alert as most men of his age.
After his ordination, he had his choice of two curacies of the same
revenue, namely, five pounds a year--twenty-five dollars. One of these,
Seathwaite by name, too insignificant a place to figure upon a map, or
even in the "Gazetteer," was situated in his native valley, in the
church of which he had gone to school in his childhood. He chose
Seathwaite, but not for that reason. He was in love; he wished to marry;
and this parish had a small parsonage attached to it, with a garden of
three quarters of an acre. The person to whom he was engaged was a
comely and intelligent domestic servant such as then could frequently be
found in the sequestered parts of England. She had saved, it appears,
from her wages the handsome sum of forty pounds. Thus provided, he
married, and entered upon his curacy in his twenty-sixth year, and set
up housekeeping in his little parsonage.
Every one knows what kind of families poor clergymen are apt to have.
Wonderful Walker had one of that kind. About every two years, or less, a
child arrived; and heartily welcome they all were, and deeply the
parents mourned the loss of one that died. In the course of a few years,
eight bouncing girls and boys filled his little house; and the question
recurs with force: How did he support them all? From Queen Anne's
bounty, and other sources, his income was increased to the sum mentioned
above, twenty-four pounds. That for a beginning. Now for the rest.