Part 1

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CHAMBERS' EDINBURGH JOURNAL

CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF 'CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE,' 'CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE,' &c.

No. 435. NEW SERIES. SATURDAY, MAY 1, 1852. PRICE 1-1/2_d._

FORCED BENEFITS.

The maxim, that men may safely be left to seek their own interest, and are sure to find it, appears to require some slight qualification, for nothing can be more certain, than that men are often the better of things which have been forced upon them. Those who advocate the idea in its rigour, forget that there are such things as ignorance and prejudice in the world, and that most men only become or continue actively industrious under the pressure of necessity. The vast advantages derived from railway communication afford a ready instance of people being benefited against their will. At the bare proposal to run a line through their lands, many proprietors were thrown into a frenzy of antagonism; and whole towns petitioned that they might not be contaminated with the odious thing. In spite of remonstrances, and at a vast cost, railways were made; and we should like to know where opponents are now to be found. Demented land-proprietors are come to their senses; and even recalcitrant Oxford is glad of a line to itself.

Cases of this kind suggest the curious consideration, that many remarkable benefits now experienced were never sought for or contemplated by the persons enjoying them, but came from another quarter, and were at first only grudgingly submitted to. A singular example happens to call our attention. There is a distillery in the west of Scotland, where it has been found convenient to establish a dairy upon a large scale, for the purpose of consuming the refuse of the grain. Seven hundred cows are kept there; and a profitable market is found for their milk in the city of Glasgow. That the refuse of the cow-houses might be applied to a profitable purpose, a large farm was added to the concern, though of such land as an amateur agriculturist would never have selected for his experiments. Thus there was a complete system of economy at this distillery: a dairy to convert the draff into milk, and a farm to insure that the soil from the cows might be used upon the spot. But, as is so generally seen in this country, the liquid part of the refuse from the cow-houses was neglected. It was allowed to run into a neighbouring canal; and the proprietors would have been contented to see it so disposed of for ever, if that could have been permitted. It was found, however, to be a nuisance, the very fishes being poisoned by it. The proprietors of the canal threatened an action for the protection of their property, and the conductors of the dairy were forced to bethink them of some plan by which they should be enabled to dispose of the noxious matter without injury to their neighbours. They could at first hit upon no other than that of carting away the liquid to the fields, and there spreading it out as manure. No doubt, they expected some benefit from this procedure; and, had they expected much, they might never have given the canal company any trouble. But the fact is, they expected so little benefit, that they would never have willingly taken the trouble of employing their carts for any such purpose. To their surprise, the benefit was such as to make their lean land superior in productiveness to any in the country. They were speedily encouraged to make arrangements at some expense for allowing the manure in a diluted form to flow by a regular system of irrigation over their fields. The original production has thus been _increased fourfold_. The company, finding no other manure necessary, now dispose of the solid kind arising from the dairy, among the neighbouring farmers who still follow the old arrangements in the management of their cows. The sum of L.600 is thus yearly gained by the company, being not much less than the rent of the farm. If to this we add the value of the extra produce arising from the land, we shall have some idea of the advantage derived by this company from having been put under a little compulsion.

An instance, perhaps even more striking, was supplied a few years ago by certain chemical works which vented fumes noxious to a whole neighbourhood. Being prosecuted for the nuisance, the proprietors were forced to make flues of great length, through which the fumes might be conducted to a considerable distance. The consequence was surprising. A new kind of deposit was formed in the interior of the flues, and from this a large profit was derived. The sweeping of a chimney would sometimes produce several thousand pounds. At the same time, nothing can be more certain than that this material, but for the threat of prosecution, would have been allowed to continue poisoning the neighbourhood, and, consequently, not yielding one penny to the proprietors of the works.[1]

It has pleased Providence to order that from all the forms of organic life there shall arise a refuse which is offensive to our senses, and injurious to health, but calculated, under certain circumstances, to prove highly beneficial to us. The offensiveness and noxiousness look very much like a direct command from the Author of Nature, to do that which shall turn the refuse to a good account--namely, to bury it in the earth. Yet, from sloth and negligence, it is often allowed to cumber the surface, and there do its evil work instead. An important principle is thus instanced--the essential identity of Nuisance and Waste. Nearly all the physical annoyances we are subjected to, and nearly all the influences that are operating actively for our hurt, are simply the exponents of some chemical solecism, which we are, through ignorance or indifference, committing or permitting. There is here a double evil--a positive and a negative. When the Londoner groans at the smokiness of his streets, and the particles of soot he finds spread over his shirt, his toilet-table, and every nice article of furniture he possesses, he has the additional vexation of knowing, that the smoke and soot should have been serving a useful purpose as fuel. When he passes by a railway over the tops of the houses in some mean suburb, and looks down with horror and disgust on the pools and heaps of filth which are allowed to encumber the yards, courts, and narrow streets of these localities, to the destruction of the health of the inhabitants, he has a second consideration before him, that all these matters ought to be in the care of some easy-acting system, by which, removed to the fields, they should be helping to create the means of life, instead of death. We never can look upon a great factory chimney pouring forth its thick column of smoke, without a twin grief--for the disgust it creates, and the good that is lost by it. Properly, that volatile fuel should be doing duty in the furnace, and effecting a saving to the manufacturer, instead of rendering him and his concerns a nuisance to all within five miles.

Troublesome as these nuisances are, there is such an inaptitude to new plans, that they might go on for ever, if an interference should not come in from some external quarter. It matters little whence the interference comes, so that the end be effected. We cannot, however, view the proceedings of a Board of Health in ordering cleanly arrangements, or those of a municipal council putting down factory smoke, without great interest, for we think we there see part, and an important one too, of the great battle of Civilisation against Barbarism. And this interest is deepened when we observe the benefits which Barbarism usually derives from its own defeats. The factory-owner, for instance, will find that, in applying an apparatus by which smoke may be prevented, he will not merely be sparing his neighbours a great annoyance, but economising fuel to an extent which must more than repay the outlay. By repressing nuisance, he will be in the same measure repressing waste.[2] Were there, in like manner, a general measure for enforcing the removal of refuse from the neighbourhood of human habitations, the rate-payers would in due time see blessed effects from the compulsion to which they had been subjected. Their groans would be succeeded by gladness, and they would thank the legislators who had slighted their remonstrances. When the cholera approached in 1849, our British Board of Health ordered a general cleaning out of stables, and a daily persistence in the practice. It was complained of as a great hardship; but the Board ascertained that owners of valuable race-horses cause their stables to be thoroughly cleaned daily, as a practice necessary for the health of the animals; the Board, therefore, very properly insisted on forcing this benefit upon the proprietors of horses generally. Can we doubt that a similar policy might be followed with the like good consequences at all times, and with regard to the habitations of men as well as horses?

It would thus appear, that men may really be allowed a too undisturbed repose in their views and maxims, and, if always left to seek their own interests, would often fail to find the way. If, indeed, it were true that men are sure to find out their own interest, no country should be behind another in any of the processes or arts necessary for the sustenance and comfort of the people; whereas we know the contrary to be the case. If it were true, there should be no class in our own country willing to sit down with the dubious benefits of monopoly, instead of pushing on for the certain results of enlightened competition. It could only be true at the expense of the old proverb, that necessity is the mother of invention; for do we not every day see men submitting idly and languidly to evils which can just be borne? whereas, if these were a little greater, and therefore insupportable, they would at once be remedied. An impulse _ab extra_ seems in a vast number of instances to be necessary, to promote the good of both nations and individuals. Now, whether this shall come in the ordinary course of things, and be recognised as necessity, or from an enlightened power having a certain end, generally beneficial, in view, does not appear to be of much consequence, provided only we can be tolerably well assured against the abuses to which all power is liable. It may be well worthy of consideration, whether, in this country, we have not carried the principle of _Laissez faire_, or _leave us alone_, a little too far in certain matters, where some gentle coercion would have been more likely to benefit all concerned.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The idea of this article, and the above facts, are derived from a valuable memoir just published by the Board of Health, with reference to the practical application of sewage water and town manures to agricultural production.

[2] We understand that this has been the case with factory-owners at Manchester who have applied the smoke-preventing apparatus. The saving from such an apparatus in the office where this sheet is printed, appears to be about 5 per cent.; an ample equivalent for the outlay.

MONSIEUR JEROME AND THE RUSSIAN PRINCESS.

On arriving at Blois, I went to the Hôtel de la Tête Noire--a massive, respectable-looking building, situated on the quay nearly opposite a bridge that crosses the river to the suburb of St Etienne. The comfort of the rooms, and the excellence of the dinners that succeeded one another day by day, induced me to stay longer than I had intended, and rendered me spectator and part-actor in an adventure not uncommon in French-land. My apartment was numbered 48--by the way, who ever saw No. 1 in a hotel, or upon a watch?--and next door--that is, at No. 49--dwelt a very dignified-looking gentleman, always addressed as M. Jerome. I often take occasion to say, that I pique myself on being something of a physiognomist; and as I have been several times right in my judgment of character and position from inspection of the countenance, the occasions in which I have been mistaken may be set down as exceptions. M. Jerome at once interested me; and as I was idly in search of health, and had taken care to have nothing whatever to do but to kill time, the observation of this gentleman's appearance and manners naturally formed a chief part of my occupation.

I began by ascertaining exactly the colour of his eyes and hair--nearly black; the shape of his nose--straight, and rather too long; and would have been glad to examine the form of his mouth, but a huge moustache hanging over his lips in the French military style--see the portrait of General Cavaignac--prevented me from ascertaining the precise contour of what one of my old philosophers calls the Port Esquiline of Derision. M. Jerome was, upon the whole, a handsome man, with a romantically bilious complexion; and the expression of his large dark eyes was really profound and striking. His costume was always fashionable, without being showy; and there was nothing to object to but a diamond ring, somewhat too ostentatiously displayed on the little finger, which, in all his manual operations, at dinner or elsewhere, always cocked up with an impertinent 'look-at-me air,' that I did not like. When, indeed, this dandy walked slowly out of the dining-room to the door-step, and lighted his cigar, the said little finger became positively obnoxious; and I used to think whether it were possible that that human being had been created purposely as a scaffolding whereon to exhibit a flashing little stone, set in twenty shillings worth of gold.

M. Jerome, though not, strictly speaking, a silent man, was sufficiently reserved at table. The early courses were by him always allowed to pass without any further remark than what politeness requires--as: 'Shall I send you some more of this _blanquette_?' or, 'With pleasure, sir;' and so forth. When dessert-time approached, however, he generally began to unbend, to take part in the general conversation, and throw in here and there a piquant anecdote. He did this with so much grace, that had it not been for the diamond ring, I should have been disposed to consider him as a man of large experience in the best society. The other people who generally attended at table--travellers, commercial and otherwise, with one or two smart folks from the town, on the look-out for Parisian gossip, to retail to the less adventurous members of their circle--were all delighted with M. Jerome: it was M. Jerome here, and M. Jerome there; and if M. Jerome happened to dine out, every one seemed to feel uneasy, and look upon him as guilty of a great dereliction of duty. They could almost as well have done without their _demi-tasse_.

Although I am an inquisitive, I am not a very impertinent man. I like to pry into other people's affairs only in so far as I can do so without hurting their feelings, or putting my own self-love in danger of a check. If, therefore, I gave the reins to my curiosity, and devoted myself to studying the more apparent movements of this M. Jerome, I shrank from putting any direct questions to the _garçon_, who might probably at once have given me a very prosaic account of him. On one occasion, I threw in casually a remark, to the effect that the gentleman at No. 49 seemed a great favourite with the fair sex; but the only reply was a smile, and an acknowledgment that, in general, people of fascinating exterior--here the _garçon_ glanced at the mirror he was dusting--_were_ great favourites with the fairer portion of the creation. 'We Frenchmen,' it was added, 'know the way to the female heart better than most men.' The waiter had paused with his duster in his hand. I felt that he was going to give me his Art of Love; and opportunely remembering that I had a letter to put into the post, I escaped the infliction for the time.

I had, indeed, observed that if the public generally admitted the valuable qualities of M. Jerome as a companion, his reputation was based principally on the approval of the ladies. All these excellent judges agreed that he was a nice, quiet, agreeable person; and 'so handsome!' At least the seven members of an English family, who had come to visit Chambord, and lingered at the hotel a week--five of them were daughters--all expressed this opinion of M. Jerome; and even a supercilious French lady, with a particle attached to her name, admitted that he was 'very well.'

One day, a new face appeared at table to interest me; and as the mysterious gentleman and his diamond ring had puzzled me for a fortnight, during which I had made no progress towards ascertaining his real position and character, I was not sorry to have my attention a little diverted by a mysterious lady. Madame de Mourairef--a Russian name, thought I--was a very agreeable person to look at; much more so to me than M. Jerome. She was not much past twenty years of age; small, slight, elegant in shape, if not completely so in manners; and with one of those charming little faces which you can analyse into ugliness, but which in their synthesis, to speak as moderns should, are admirable, adorable, fascinating. I should have thought that such a _minois_ could belong only to Paris--the city, by the way, of ugly women, whom art makes charming. However, there it was above the shoulders, high of course--swan-necked women are only found in England--above the shoulders of a Russian marchioness, princess, czarina, or what you will, who called for her cigarettes after dinner, was attended by a little _soubrette_, named Penelope, and looked for all the world as if she had just been whirled off the boards of the Opera Comique.

I at first believed that this was a mere _mascarade_; but when a letter in a formidable envelope, with the seal of the Russian embassy, arrived, and was exhibited in the absence of the lady herself, to every one of the lodgers, in proof of the aristocratic character of the customer of the Tête Noire, I began to doubt my own perspicacity, and to imagine that I had now a far more interesting object of study than M. Jerome and his diamond ring. Madame de Mourairef was an exceedingly affable person; and the English family aforesaid, whom I have reason to believe were Cockney tradesfolks, pronounced her to be very high-bred--without a fault, indeed, if it had not been for that horrid habit of smoking, which, as they judiciously observed, however, was a peculiar characteristic of the Russians. I am afraid, they would have set her down as a vulgar wretch, had they not been forewarned that she was aristocratic. The French lady seemed to look upon the foreign one as an intruder, and scarcely deigned to turn her eyes in that direction. Probably this was because she was so charming, and monopolised so much of the attention of us gentlemen.

'They no sooner looked than they loved,' says Rosalind. This was not, perhaps, quite the case with M. Jerome and the Russian princess, who took care to let it be known that she was a widow; but in a very few days what is called 'a secret sympathy' evidently sprang into existence. The former, of course, made the first advances. His diplomatic and seductive arts were not, however, put to a great test, for in three days the lady manifestly felt uneasy until he presented himself at dinner; and in a week, I met them walking arm in arm on the bridge. It was easy to see that he was on his good behaviour; and from some fragments of conversations I overheard between them when they met in the passage opposite my door, I learned that he was 'doing the melancholy dodge,' as in the vernacular we would express it; and had many harrowing revelations to make as to the manner in which his heart had been trifled with by unfeeling beauties.

'There is a tide in the affairs of an hôtel:' I am in a mood for quoting from my favourite authors; and whereas we had at one time sat down nearly twenty to table, we suddenly found ourselves to be only three--M. Jerome, the princess, and myself. A kind of intimacy was the natural result. We made ourselves mutually agreeable; and I was not at all surprised, when one evening Madame de Mourairef invited us two gentlemen to take tea with her in her little sitting-room. Both accepted joyfully; and though I am persuaded that M. Jerome would have preferred a tête-à-tête, he accepted my companionship with tolerable grace. We strolled together, indeed, on the quay for half an hour. It was raining slightly, and I had a cough; but I have too good an opinion of human nature to imagine that my new acquaintance kept me out by his fascinating conversation, in order to make me catch a desperate cold, that would send me wheezing to bed.

The tea was served, as I suppose it is served in Russia, very weak, with a plentiful admixture of milk and accompaniment of _biscuits glacés_. Madame de Mourairef did the honours in an inexpressibly graceful manner; and I observed that there was a delightful intimacy between her and her maid Penelope, that quite upset my ideas of northern serfdom. I think they even once exchanged a wink, but of this I am not sure. There is nothing like experience to expand one's ideas, and I made up my mind to re-examine the whole of my notions of Muscovite vassalage. M. Jerome seemed less struck by these circumstances than myself--being probably too much absorbed in contemplation of our hostess--but even he could not avoid exclaiming, 'that if that were the way in which serfs were treated, he should like to be a serf--of such a mistress!'

'You Frenchmen are _so_ gallant!' was the reply.

A little while afterwards, somebody proposed a game of whist. There was an objection to 'dead-man,' and Penelope, with a semi-oriental salaam, offered to 'take a hand.' Madame de Mourairef was graciously pleased to order her to do so. We shuffled, cut, and played; and when midnight came, and it was necessary to retire, I felt almost afraid to examine into my own heart, lest I might find that the soubrette appeared to me at least as high-bred as the mistress.

We spent some delightful evenings in this manner, and perhaps still more delightful days, for by degrees we became inseparable, and all our walks and drives were made in common. The garçon often looked maliciously at me, even offered once or twice to develop his Art of Love; but I did not choose to be interrupted in my physiognomical studies, and gave him no opportunity.