“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—