Alexis Soyer

An accomplished linguist—Le Petit Champ des Morts—Bird’s-eye view—Breakfast table of the hotel—English Embassy—Interview with Lady Stratford de Redcliffe—The sanctuary of high diplomacy—Lord Stratford de Redcliffe—Signor Roco Vido—His apartment—Importance of a good dinner—Lord Stratford’s diplomatic banquet postponed—Probable consequences—Quotation from the Gastronomic Regenerator.

THE rays of the sun on that showery March day assumed, towards five p.m., in the regions of the West, a most brilliant aspect. The vaporous edges of the humid clouds seemed gilded with vermilion and silver tints. The floods of light, like living fire, fell upon the rich masses of the domes of various mosques, and hundreds of pointed and slender minarets. While gazing in loneliness and contemplation, from the terrace of the HÔtel des Ambassadeurs, at this charming spot in the East, to which the beautiful mirage of an Oriental sunset lent an indescribable charm, a shrieking voice was heard from the lower terrace, saying, “Il signor, la table d’outre est servi! et il se refroidit fortement! La soupe il Étoit tout À fait dÉmÉnagÉe of the tureen!” Looking over the railing, I perceived the interpreter of the hotel, who was unfortunately the possessor of several tongues, addressing himself to me. He, no doubt, meant to imply that the table-d’hÔte had been served, and the soup already removed from the table. This olla podrida of languages having produced no effect upon my mind, half an hour after, the son of the hotel-keeper made his appearance, who, though speaking French like certain horned beasts in Spain, clearly gave me to understand that I was too late for dinner. Taking advantage of his unexpected visit, I inquired, looking towards the arsenal, “What part of the metropolis is that opening near us?”

“Le Petit Champ des Morts, or the Small Field of the Dead,—so-called, though nearly two miles in circumference, which is now so full that no further interments are allowed within its area,”—he replied.

By the aid of an opera-glass, I plainly distinguished beneath us a large pile of irregular stones, encircled by a railing. I, at first sight, took this for the ruins of a kind of hippodrome which might have succumbed to an earthquake, each stone having lost its perpendicular, as though purposely to mock its fellow, and not making the slightest attempt to perpetuate the grandeur of their solemn mission. Horses, mules, and donkeys, were seen dragging loads of large planks to and fro, six or eight on either side. The ends of the planks kept cutting rather deep zig-zags into the soft ground, and were continually catching against tombstones. The whole formed a kind of gigantic American bagatelle board, where, when the ball is violently thrown to the top, it descends by degrees, catching the points in every direction in its way down. Next to it music was heard. Boys were romping, some playing with marbles, or five para pieces, making use of the stones for their point of departure. Lemonade, cakes, raki, and variegated bonbons, oranges, lemons, &c., were briskly purchased by the promenaders, who, amongst this cohue-bohue of industry, were seen gaily crossing and recrossing the green paths. Some reclined against the grave-stones, forming, as it were, an arm-chair. Amongst them, however, were but few Mussulmans, some turning Dervishes and Howlers, Greeks, Armenians, French, Perotes, Smyrniotes, and here and there gazing with astonishing disapprobation, some of the children of Albion. All excepting the latter might be seen gaily fluttering from tombstone to tombstone, like busy bees from flower to flower, in a perfumed pasture in summer. Here and there clumps of cypress trees looked like the mournful guardians of this desecrated spot. Some of the marble stones are still vividly stained with the blood of the haughty and rebellious Janissaries, whose crumbling bodies lay beneath. Such is the pious veneration of the Oriental population for the remains of their ancestors in the Petit Champ des Morts at Pera.

The principal buildings which grace this foreign quarter are the English, French, Austrian, Russian, Sardinian, and Prussian embassies. The former, called the Palais d’Angleterre, now the residence of Lord Stratford de Redcliffe, interested me most, as I was in duty bound to pay my humble respects to his lordship and her ladyship the next morning. It brought to my mind from a distance the celebrated building of the Reform Club, which gave Barry his high reputation as an architect, and where your humble servant passed above two lustres of his culinary career.

While the new moon was faintly shining through transparent clouds, the hundred minarets of Stamboul and its vicinity had been illuminated for a festival, and their fiery collarettes À la Vandyke proudly carried those rings of diamonds high towards the heavenly sphere. Eight o’clock was striking at the Catholic church of Saint Mary. All was darkness and silence. Hastily retiring to my bed-room, perfectly satisfied with having fed my mind, although I had probably neglected internal restoration, I soon fell into a most profound slumber, in which I saw nothing but churchyards, clumps of cypress trees, mosques, and illuminated minarets, till I awoke at daybreak.

My wandering mind having fluttered all night about the Oriental metropolis, I was not in the slightest degree surprised to find myself in the morning in the land which had given birth to the Arabian Nights. The sound of a cracked bell was heard from the bottom of the staircase, inviting each traveller to his morning meal. There was a goodly number present, and we sat down about thirty-five. The majority were military men, of various ranks, mostly French and English. Some expressed their regret at my absence the previous evening, fancying—so much for imagination—the dinner would have been more choice had the landlord been personally acquainted with me. At all events, the breakfast-table was well supplied, and I made a hearty meal, amidst the buzzing of various languages.

As it was nearly eleven o’clock by the time I had finished, I started for the Embassy, and after about twenty minutes of most laborious gymnastic exercise over the ill-paved Rue (Ruelle it should be called) de Pera, I entered the small wooden gate at the grand entrance of the Palais d’Angleterre, which is majestically located in a fine open space of ground, encircled by a large terrace, with parterres of shrubs and high trees, from which spot a most favourable view of the rich mass of building around is obtained. Modest grandeur, boldness, and simplicity of execution, seem to have been the architect’s sole ambition. I shall probably, in another chapter, describe the beauty and comfort of its interior. The porter having taken my card, I was immediately shown into the library. A few moments spent in this sanctuary of belles lettres afforded me a fair opportunity of closely examining a very excellent and well-executed painting, the style of which assured me that it was a good portrait of his Sublime Majesty, the present Sultan, Abdul Medjid. Ten minutes had scarcely elapsed, when Lady Stratford entered, and addressed me in French, with a smile of welcome difficult to forget. “Well, Monsieur Soyer, we heard of your departure from England for the East.”

“No doubt you did, my lady.”

“And I sincerely hope that you will succeed in your laudable undertaking. I have no doubt your suggestions will prove highly beneficial, and be well received by the authorities at the various hospitals, which, in your department, are much in want of some kind of regulation. I also hope that the Minister-at-War has invested you with power to act according to your own judgment.”

“I am happy to inform your ladyship,” said I, “that her Majesty’s Government has not only granted me the power required to superintend and, if possible, improve the diet at the Hospital, but have also honoured me with their full confidence as regards ordering anything extra which may be required, so long as it tends to the comfort of the sick.’

“Well, I am very happy to hear that such is the case,” replied her ladyship; “for without such power your services would not have been so effective.”

“I can assure your ladyship that I would not have undertaken this task if such powers had not been granted to me by Lord Panmure. I was well aware of the numerous difficulties I should meet with, which are almost unavoidable in every kind of administration. But so highly do I appreciate the honour conferred upon me, that, far from taking advantage of the unlimited confidence reposed in me, it will be my pride to try and make all my contemplated improvements with the present governmental allowance; and I have no doubt that in time, by judicious organization and good management, as well as by using everything to the best advantage, I shall economize, instead of increasing the expense to the nation. Having heard that your ladyship has, from the commencement of this serious war, devoted the best part of your time to the various hospitals, in watching over the sick and wounded, I shall esteem it a great favour if you will direct me how to act, in order to insure prompt success, and what articles of diet are most required for the patients.”

“It will afford me great pleasure, Monsieur Soyer, to give you the principal information; but Signor Roco Vido, my head manager and cook, will furnish the details, as he daily prepares large quantities of comforts,—such as beef-tea, mutton and chicken broth, calves’-foot jelly, &c., &c.,—and distributes them himself at the Barrack and General Hospitals, also at Hyder Pacha, where the officers are.”

“Indeed, my lady. Such information from Signor Roco would be invaluable to me.”

“Very well; I will send for him.”

“I beg your ladyship’s pardon, but I always understood that the hospitals were on the other side the Bosphorus.”

“Yes, Monsieur Soyer, the great military ones are; but as at the beginning of the campaign, after the battle of the Alma, none of them had extra diet kitchens, we prepare food here and send it over.”

“I understand that the Bosphorus is sometimes so rough that no one can cross it.”

“Such is the case; but we have a good-sized caique, and I can assure you that, although it is so very dangerous, it has never missed going one day; and since the battle of Inkermann, it often goes to Kululee, where we have opened another hospital, nearly three miles from this. Before you see Signor Roco, if you will follow me, I will inquire whether Lord Stratford is disengaged, as I have no doubt he will be pleased to see you.”

“I am your ladyship’s most humble servant,” was my reply.

After walking over the best part of the grand square gallery, and crossing before the magnificent marble hall and gigantic staircase, we ascended to a loftier story. A gentle tap at the door gained us admittance to the sanctuary of high diplomacy. A plain screen was all the furniture to be seen. A few words from her ladyship soon brought me in communication with his Excellency, who, though much engaged (being surrounded by mountains of official papers), received me in a most cheerful and friendly manner. After I had said a few words relative to the mission entrusted to me by the British Government, and her ladyship had briefly narrated our former conversation, Lord Stratford kindly expressed the pleasure it would give him to hear of my success in that important department. “A good diet,” said Lady Stratford, “being of paramount importance to every one in a state of debility. Monsieur Soyer,” continued her ladyship, “also wishes to see Roco, to learn from him, as he has now had several months’ practice making various aliments for the patients, what kinds are most in request by the doctors.”

“No doubt,” Lord Redcliffe replied, “Roco will be happy to give you all the information you may require upon the subject. He is a very good man, and exerts himself to the utmost for the hospitals.”

Lord Stratford again expressed his good wishes and promises of kind support, whereupon her ladyship and your humble servant retired. The ambassadress then ordered the footman in waiting to conduct me to Signor Roco’s apartment; expressing her desire to meet me with him the next day at the Kululee and Scutari hospitals. I promised to attend at those places on the following morning, and took my leave.

A walk through the gallery and corridor of that noble mansion brought us to Signor Roco Vido’s door. An indication on the outside apprised me that my cicerone was a child of la belle Italie, which at first caused me some fear lest this should create impediments and delay in our business transactions, as I only understood the language of the Italian opera. A few words from the footman soon brought me in amicable contact with the major-domo of the Palais d’Angleterre, who spoke excellent English, and, like his illustrious master, was surrounded by archives, but only of culinary and household affairs. The contents of these, though not so important to the world, were nearly as substantial, more especially the bill of fare, which in itself is capable of influencing any diplomatic subject. A good one gratifies the stomach and soothes the brain, which is necessarily influenced by the quality, succulence, and scientific preparation of the aliments imparted to the first organ.

Such was the important office entrusted to the guidance of Signor Roco Vido. And who can say, after all, that the late destructive war was not partly, or even entirely, caused by a dinner? Did not the French revolution of ‘48 emanate from a banquet? and upon this occasion, 1854, six years after, a most unaccountable gastronomic event occurred. Lord Stratford de Redcliffe, on his return to Constantinople as plenipotentiary, had for the first time invited his Excellency Prince Menschikoff to a grand diplomatic dinner, where all the representatives of the then united Courts were to assemble. The day was fixed for the 21st of March, 1854, and the invitations were cordially accepted, most especially by the representative of the Czar; he being, no doubt, anxious to read upon the brow of the diplomatist the political feeling of his nation. That very day, towards noon, the Sultan’s mother died. In the morning she had written a letter to his Excellency, expressive of her full confidence that he would study the future welfare of her son in his relations with the British Government. On account of this mournful event, and with a most profound feeling of respect and veneration for the Imperial mourner, the dinner was postponed for a week; and while the dark veil was laid over the banqueting-table, and the black seal was set upon the batterie de cuisine, and numerous bouches À feu de l’Ambassade britannique, his Excellency Prince Menschikoff was on board a Russian man-of-war anchored at the mouth of the Black Sea, waiting with all the dignity and defiance imaginable for the determination of peace or war. The diplomatic banquet never took place! the war did!

I consider a postponed diplomatic dinner to be an universal calamity, especially when only a few hours’ notice of the postponement is given; and I cannot but quote the Gastronomic Regenerator, page 342, published in the year 1842, in which I say—

“Rien ne dispose mieux l’esprit humain À des transactions amicales qu’un dÎner bien conÇu et artistement prÉparÉ. Lisez l’histoire, et vous y trouverez que, dans tous les temps et chez tous les peuples, le bien qui s’est fait, et quelquefois le mal, fut toujours prÉcÉdÉ ou suivi d’un copieux dÎner.”

Translation.—“Nothing can prepare the human mind for amicable intercourse better than a well-conceived and artistically-prepared dinner. Read history, and you will ascertain that at all periods, and amongst all nations, the benefits, and sometimes the evils, they experienced, were either preceded or followed by a good dinner.”