Thrifty Ex-Queen’s Manners and Meals

We can well believe that the French Reds are mightily tickled with the notion of the ex-Queen of Spain, the lineal descendant of Charles V. and Philip II., being sued by her provision dealer and grocer. This is certainly unlike the grand manners of the Kings and Queens of other days. The chief cook of Charles V., for example, wore decorations, which he doubtless earned in the kitchen, and his cookery-book was for two centuries an authority in great houses and palaces of Europe. 

 

A FRUGAL QUEEN

Let extravagant Americans who never know what goes on in their kitchens, and who think it a light matter to spend fifty or one hundred dollars for “a little dinner for a few friends,” read the contract of ex-Queen Isabella with her cook. Here was a thrifty Bourbon, who not only had presence of mind enough to seize her jewelry aud loose cash when she fled over the Pyrenees, but who rigorously binds down her cook to all of the details of breakfast, dinner, and supper. It cannot be said that her ex-Majesty of Spain is pinched for cash. She has had money enough to help set up Alfonso when that rash youth went into business as King of Spain. She even helped that hapless pair, Prince Perkins and wife, when they were skirmishing with Paris boarding-house women, and passing around the hat among the Bourbon family. Isabella comes of a money-making stock; the Bourbons have usually put aside a snug sum for a rainy day. Wherever they are found, all of that house, unless we except the eccentric Chambord, of the elder branch, are supposed to be at least “forehanded.”

The ex-Queen, in her contract with Mr. Alfred Blanchard, her chief cook, stipulates for the class of food and drink to be put upon her table, and for their price. Not only so, but she compels that functionary to specify the kind of provender to be furnished to the servants in the house. And, in order that there shall be no waste, it is set down that, in addition to certain dishes, the people below stairs shall be given “some leavings from her Majesty's table.” We see no provision as to “dripping,” that frequent cause for strife in frugal households. It is uncertain whether it is a perquisite of Mr. Blanchard or a subject of royal bargain with the soap-fat man. But it was agreed between the ex-Queen and the cook that the latter should "some leavings from her Majesty's table." We see no provision as to "dripping," that frequent cause for strife in frugal households. It is uncertain whether it is a perquisite of Mr. Blanchard, or a subject of royal bargain with the soap-fat man. But it was agreed between the ex-Queen and the cook that the latter should pay for the “wasting” in the kitchen, a prudent arrangement which must have put a stop to all larceny of coal, candles, and sugar by that imaginary foe of the household, the “harmless, necessary cat.” 

But Isabella, though the Queen, like John Gilpin's wife, had a frugal mind, she was also on pleasure bent. Her bill of fare was liberal as well as cheap: Two soups, eight dishes of meat, vegetables, cheese, and stowed fruit, were the daily fare of her Catholic Majesty. And all this was washed down with Spanish and Bordeaux wines. For this comfortable allowance of food and drink the ex-Queen agreed to pay only twelve francs a head per day, ten persons being guaranteed by the royal “party of the first part” to this unique contract. Two dollars and forty cents a day is certainly not high living for an ex-Queen. There are plenty of New Yorkers who spend more than that on what they eat and drink, and yet think they are severely republican in their tastes. But we do not believe that our lavish housekeepers would be at all satisfied with Isabella’s arrangement for the entertainment of her guests.

In order to screw down the cook to the lowest point, the exiled Majesty of Spain agreed to pay for each extra cater at the rate of six francs for breakfast, and twelve francs for dinner, and due notice was to be given the cook at that. No ordering “dinner for ten, with plates for twelve” in that house. Doubtless the frugal Bourbon thought to herself, as she regarded the poverty-stricken Perkins, or his managing spouse, at her table: “You cost me twelve francs this day,” which must not have been pleasant for poor Perkins. We can well believe that the French Reds are mightily tickled with the notion of the ex-Queen of Spain, the lineal descendant of Charles V. and Philip II., being sued by her provision dealer and grocer. This is certainly unlike the grand manners of the Kings and Queens of other days. The chief cook of Charles V., for example, wore decorations, which he doubtless earned in the kitchen, and his cookery-book was for two centuries an authority in great houses and palaces of Europe. 

The chefs of the time of Louis XIV. and “Good Queen Bess” were very fine folk indeed; and a nobleman's account of the good things that loaded royal tables in those days would almost create an appetite under the ribs of death. But the times have changed, and the manners of royalty have changed with them. If the ex-Queen does not like the quality of garlic and macaroni with which she is served, there is no good reason why she should not complain to her cook, and invite a civil process from her green-grocer. An ex-Empress of France brings a suit in the courts to recover her share of the loot of the Chinese Summer Palace. Why should not another royal relic scrutinize her provision bills and insist upon having her money's worth of victuals and drink? We have heard so much ill of this royal exile from Spain that her sensible little stroke of business should be put down to her credit. If she is economical, she has at least one virtue. She reminds us of that frugal Queen whose disposition of a famous plum pudding is celebrated in English rhymes:

“And what they did not eat that day

The Queen next morning fried.”

—The New York Times, 1875

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