"The charcoal shortens our lives," said Carême; "but what matter?—we lose in years and gain in glory." A born epicure, he never risked his health by over-indulgence of his epicurean taste. "I have been prudent," he states, "not by inclination, but through a profound sense of my duty." To his culinary accomplishments he joined those of a master director and maître-d'hôtel. Witness his remarks concerning the functions of a chief steward:
"The maître-d'hôtel cuisinier should possess that unification of qualities which is seldom bestowed, even in an isolated form. He will be a cook, above all—able, alert, productive; he will be cut out for active command and be animated by an invincible ardour for work; he will be a man of parts, an enthusiast, vigilant even to minuteness. He will see all, and know all. The maître-d'hôtel is never ill. He presides over everything, his impetus dominates all; he alone has the right to raise his voice, and all must obey. He must be sufficiently learned to write out, when occasion calls for it, without the aid of books, the principal part of his bills of fare. These are his book of resources, the journal of his fatigues and his victories. Alas! that which he may not preserve in these copies are the spontaneous fire and ready tact he has displayed in connection with his ranges—these are things of the moment that die at their birth."
Many anecdotes of the famous gastronomers and great personages of his time have been recounted by Carême. To Cambacérès he refers at length, disputing his claim to a distinguished place among epicures. The cuisine of the arch-chancellor, he states decisively, never merited its great reputation. This was through no fault of his chef, M. Grand'Manche, an excellent practitioner, but was due solely to the excessive parsimony of his employer, who at each service was in the habit of noting the entrées that were untouched or scarcely touched, and of forming his carte for the morrow with their remains.
"What a dinner, merciful heavens! I would not say that the dessert may not be utilised, but that it may not supply a dinner for a prince and an eminent gastronomer. This is a delicate question; the master has nothing to say, nothing to see; the skill and probity of the cook alone should enter into the facts. The dessert should only be employed with precaution, skill, and especially in silence.
"The arch-chancellor received from the departments innumerable gifts of provisions and the finest of poultry. All such were forthwith engulfed in a vast larder of which he retained the key. He kept tally of the provisions, the dates of their arrival, and he alone gave orders for their utilisation. Frequently, when he issued his orders the provisions were spoiled.
"Cambacérès was never a gourmand in the scientific acceptance of the word; he was naturally a great and even voracious eater. Can one believe that he preferred, above all dishes, the pâté chaud with forcemeat balls?—a heavy, unsavoury, and vulgar dish. As a hors-d'œuvre he had frequently a crust of pâté reheated on the grill, and had brought to table the combien of a ham that had done duty for the week. And his skilful cook who never had the grand fundamental sauces! neither his under-cooks or aids nor his bottle of Bordeaux! What parsimony! what a pity! what an establishment!
"Neither M. Cambacérès nor M. Brillat-Savarin knew how to eat. Both were fond of strong and vulgar things, and simply filled their stomachs. This is literally true. M. de Savarin was a large eater, and talked little and without facility, it seemed to me; he had a heavy air and resembled a parson. At the end of a repast his digestion absorbed him, and I have seen him go to sleep."
Charles Monselet has termed Savarin a mere seltzer drinker, while Dumas says he was neither a gastronomer nor a gourmet, but simply a vigorous eater. "His large size, his heavy carriage, his common appearance, with his costume ten or twelve years behind the times, caused him to be termed the drum-major of the Court of Cassation. All at once, and a dozen years after his death, we have inherited one of the most charming books of gastronomy that it is possible to imagine—the 'Physiologie du Goût.'"
"My work is a manual to be ceaselessly consulted," Carême remarked with reference to his "Maître-d'Hôtel Français." The truth of this assertion becomes manifest at once on reading the exquisitely careful directions which characterise all his treatises. The published works of the versatile author-chef include "Le Maître-d'Hôtel Français," "Le Cuisinier Parisien," "Le Pâtissier Royal Parisien," "Le Pâtissier Pittoresque," and "L'Art de la Cuisine Française au Dix-neuvième Siècle," in several of which the copious illustrations reveal his skill as a draughtsman. His death occurred while giving a lesson in his art. The day of his decease one of his scholars gave him some quenelles of sole to taste. "The quenelles are good," he remarked, "only they were prepared too hastily; you must shake the saucepan lightly." In so saying he indicated by a slight motion the movement he desired to communicate. But after two or three motions his once facile hand refused to respond to his will, and the great artist was no more.
"The asparagus plumps out at the name of Carême!" exclaimed one of his admirers; "the hare that roams the forest utters his name to the stag who passes by; the stag repeats it to the pheasant; the lark sings it in his flight to the sun."
Louis Eustache Ude, once chef of Louis XVI, and founder of the modern French school in England, exerted considerable influence upon the better cookery of his day. His "French Cook" appeared in 1822, and a few years afterwards he became chef of Crockford's Club, the year during which his former employer, the Duke of York, died. The story is told that, on hearing of the duke's illness, Ude exclaimed, "Ah! mon pauvre Duc, how greatly you will miss me where you are gone!" Of the finesse that appertains to cookery, of the difficulty to become perfect in the art, Ude wrote as follows:
"What science demands more study? Every man is not born with the qualifications necessary to constitute a good cook. Music, dancing, fencing, painting, and mechanics in general possess professors under twenty years of age, whereas in the first line of cooking preëminence never occurs under thirty. We see daily at concerts and academies young men and women who display the greatest abilities, but in our line nothing but the most consummate experience can elevate a man to the rank of chief professor. Cookery is an art appreciated by only a very few individuals, and which requires, in addition to most diligent and studious application, no small share of intellect and the strictest sobriety and punctuality; there are cooks and cooks—the difficulty lies in finding the perfect one."
Ude was succeeded in England by Charles Elmé Francatelli, a distinguished pupil of Carême, who presided as chef at Chesterfield House and various clubs until he became officier de bouche to the queen. His "Modern Cook" is still a superior treatise, and although little adapted to the average household, it will well repay careful study on the part of the expert amateur. "The palate is as capable and nearly as worthy of education as the eye and the ear," says Francatelli—a statement which his volume abundantly bears out.