Kitabı oku: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 10, No. 287, December 15, 1827», sayfa 6

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS

THE DUST CART

Dust, than which nothing can, upon a superficial view, be considered more insignificant, was, a few years back, of very considerable value, far surpassing the value of many things acquired by difficulty and danger, and for which the breadth of oceans are traversed, through storms and tempests. Perhaps a cruise to the Gold Coast, with all its drawbacks and contingencies, is scarcely so profitable as the returns on the quantity of dust collected in the City of London, during the time necessary for the voyage, and its accomplished return. About the period I allude to, the parish of St. Luke received no less a sum than between one and two thousand pounds a-year for dust collected, which, being placed to the parish account, tended in a great measure to keep down the poor'-rates. In addition to its value, no kind of property is better secured; as will be evinced, when the reader is informed that his present Majesty, George IV., when he was Prince Regent, lost an action for the recovery of the value of dust, carried away from the palace, by his servants, to be used as manure. In order to a further illustration of the subject, it is necessary to inform the reader, that what has hitherto been considered is but a part of that incongruous combination, the contents of a dust-cart—the very last residuum—the matter called "brize;" previous to which, by the result of much labour, of picking, raking, sorting, and sifting, a very pretty property is collected by the various shareholders of this joint, stock company, as a recent case that was brought forward at the Bow-street office will suffice to convince us.³

Perhaps the reader may have never witnessed the ejection of a dust-cart: presuming he has not, I will endeavour to give him a general outline of the ceremony; together with all the circumstances attending it, and a sketch of the group and foreground. Suppose an eminence of about five or six feet already collected, in a circular form; on the heap is a man raking about, and a little child playing with a small brown shaggy mongrel of a dog, with a community of pigs battening on the acclivity; a youth below, with spade and axe, is supplying three women with stuff—if women they may be called, who, of all the progeny of old Mother Nox, seemed most the resemblances of age, misery, and want; I say seemed, for when one was called—one of three—I beheld, as she raised her dilapidated Dunstable, a face, where beams of pensive beauty struggled through dusty darkness, and which mantled to a smile at the sound of notes whistled to the tune of—"In Bunhill-row there liv'd a Maid"—indicating the approach of Joe—for it was his cart:—the dying cadence now gave way to the gee-up! uttered in deep bass, accompanied with a smart smack of the whip, to urge the horse up the ascent. Joe was a decent sort of boy enough for his avocation, not to be ranked among those who "troop under the sooty flag of Acheron;" but a clean, square-built fellow, with a broadish face and forehead, blue eyes, nose rather short, expanded, and inclined upwards, and tinted with that imperial hue that indicated his knowledge was not confined to dry measure; this, with a mouth a little elongated, formed a countenance, upon the whole, full of mirth and good-humour. This piece of device was surmounted by a hat of the usual professional form—a domed piece of felt, with a most prodigious margin: he wore a good stout flannel jacket, and waistcoat; his shirt collar fastened by a leaden brooch, in the shape of a heart, deviating from the general costume. His continuations were of white drill; but, mark the vanity! short enough to display a pair of hoppers, otherwise gaiters, of the same material; these, with a stout pair of ancle-Johns, completed his outward man of an order "simply Doric."

At Joe's approach, all was stir and bustle; the pigs, to the third and fourth generation, moved "in perfect phalanx," not "to the Dorian mood of flutes and soft recorders," but to their own equally inspiring grunt; varying from the shrill treble to the deep-toned bass. Jewler, too, ran barking; but with less interested feelings; and his little patron ran to take the whip.

A few interrogatories on each side, a joke, and its accompanying laugh, occupy brief space; when, suddenly, a general rush proclaims the load is strewed upon the ground! a chaotic mass—"old hats, old wigs, old boots, old shoes, and all the tribe of leather," remnants of all things, the ends and the beginnings, horticultural fragments and broken crockery, the hunter's bone and the beggar's rags, pilfered lace suspected, and the stolen jewel, the lost gold, and the mislaid spoon: and, for a climax, rejoice! gentle reader—for when the designs of the crafty are defeated by inadvertence, or otherwise, with the weird sisters, "we should rejoice! we should rejoice!"—a bill for fifteen pounds, drawn by a lawyer for expenses, and which was taken to the acceptor by the dustman, for which he received a considerate remuneration. Complicated as this mass appears, it is all reduced to the most perfect order, and each portion arranged according to the purposes intended for. Thus, the vegetable matter, so eagerly seized upon by the pigs, contributes to keep up a supply of dairy-fed pork and Epping sausages: the bones are laid aside for the purposes of making hartshorn and phosphorus, dominoes, and apple-scoops, &c. The old boots and shoes, with the tribe of leather, after a slight examination of their utter inefficiency, find their way, through divers passages to the glue-pot. How fractured bottles, and broken glass of every description, is disposed of, is easily seen through—to the furnace; and how the old iron is appropriated, is not hard to guess. The old woollen, if perchance any should exist in the shape of a pair of innominables, after exploring the pockets, and a sigh for their insolvency, are unceremoniously cast aside along with the worthless remains of rags of every description, string, paper, &c. &c., to pass through the operation necessary for making brown paper. What still remains, of coals, and cinders unconsumed, the dustman's perquisite, are measured first, "thence hurried back to fire:" the wood, the sifters take. Broken tiles, bricks, delf, crockery, with a variety of substances and etceteras, go towards the formation of roads. I had almost forgotten the crowning item, viz. old wigs! Towards the close of the last century, so much were they in request, that the supply was scarcely equal to the demand. Yes, in the days of Beau Tibbs, every street had its corner and every corner its shoe-black, and to every shoe-black might be traced an old wig, sometimes two. In those days of ruffles and etiquette, when a well-formed leg was advantageously displayed in whole silk stockings, shoes, and buckles, it was the custom with pedestrians, when making a call, to have their shoes wiped and touched up at the corner of the street nearest the place they were going to visit: and what so efficient for the purpose as an old wig? nothing. But, alas! those days are gone! and Beau Tibbs is gone! and, if we question where? only Echo answers. But what becomes of the old wigs? is the question at issue. Alas! again, such is the degeneracy of modern days, that, instead of being used as an appendage to the toilet, though humble, I fear they will be traced to the vulgar bricklayer and plasterer, to be mingled with mortar, and "patch a wall, to expel the winter's flaw." Now, I believe, every particle is accounted for; and any little article, in the shape of a bijou, is the perquisite of those pickers-up of unconsidered trifles, the sifters.

Monthly Magazine.

THE SELECTOR, AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS

NAPOLEON'S DIVORCE

Communication of his Intention to Josephine

I was on duty at the Tuilleries from Monday, November 27; on that day, the Tuesday and Wednesday following, it was easy for me to observe a great alteration in the features of the empress, and a silent constraint in Napoleon. If in the course of dinner he broke the silence, it was to ask me some brief questions, to which he did not hear the reply. On those days the dinner did not last for more than ten minutes. The storm burst on Thursday the 30th.

Their majesties went to table. Josephine wore a large white hat, tied under her chin, and which concealed part of her face. I thought, however, that I perceived she had been weeping, and that she then restrained her tears with difficulty. She appeared to me the image of grief and of despair. The most profound silence reigned throughout the dinner; and they only touched the dishes which were presented to them out of mere form. The only words uttered were those addressed to me by Napoleon: "What o'clock is it?" In pronouncing them, he rose from table. Josephine followed slowly. Coffee was served, and Napoleon took himself the cup which was held by the page on duty, and gave the sign that he wished to be alone. I immediately retired, but restless, and a prey to my sad thoughts, I sat down in the attendance-room, which was commonly used for their majesties to dine in, in an armchair, on the side of which was the door to the emperor's room. I was mechanically watching the servants who were clearing the table, when on a sudden I heard violent cries from the empress Josephine issue from the emperor's chamber. The usher of the chamber, thinking she was taken ill, was on the point of opening the door, when I prevented him, observing, that the emperor would call for assistance if he thought it necessary. I was standing close to the door, when the emperor himself opened it, and perceiving me, said quickly "Come in, Bausset, and shut the door." I entered the chamber, and saw the empress Josephine stretched on the carpet, uttering piercing cries and complaints. "No, I will never survive it," said she. Napoleon said to me, "Are you sufficiently strong to raise Josephine, and to carry her to her apartments by the private staircase, in order that she may receive the care and assistance which she requires?" I obeyed, and raised the princess, who, I thought, was seized with a nervous affection. With the aid of Napoleon, I raised her into my arms, and he himself taking a light from the table, opened the door, which, by an obscure passage, led to the little staircase of which he had spoken. When we reached the first step of the staircase, I observed to Napoleon, that it was too narrow for it to be possible for me to descend without the danger of falling. He forthwith called the keeper of the portfolio, who day and night was in attendance at one of the doors of his closet, the entrance to which was on the landing-place of this little staircase. Napoleon gave him the light, of which we had little need, for the passages had become light. He commanded the keeper to go on before, and took himself the legs of Josephine in order to assist me in descending with less difficulty. At one moment, however, I was embarrassed by my sword, and I thought we must have fallen, but fortunately we descended without any accident, and deposited the precious burden on an ottoman in the sleeping-chamber. Napoleon immediately pulled the little bell, and summoned the empress's women. When I raised the empress in the chamber she ceased to moan, and I thought that she had fainted; but at the time I was embarrassed by my sword in the middle of the little staircase, of which I have already spoken, I was obliged to hold her firmly to prevent a fall which would have been dreadful to the actors in this melancholy scene. I held the empress in my arms, which encircled her waist, her back rested against my chest, and her hand leaned upon my right shoulder. When she felt the efforts which I made to prevent falling, she said to me in a very low tone, "You press me too hard." I then saw that I had nothing to fear for her health, and that she had not for an instant lost her senses. During the whole of this scene I was wholly occupied with Josephine, whose situation afflicted me; I had not power to observe Napoleon; but when the empress's women had come, he retired into a little room which preceded the sleeping-chamber, and I followed him. His agitation, his inquietude were extreme. In the distress which he felt he made me acquainted with the cause of every thing that had happened, and said to me these words:—"The interest of France and of my dynasty does violence to my heart—the divorce has become a rigorous duty to me—I am the more afflicted by what has happened to Josephine, because three days ago she must have learned it from Hortensia—the unhappy obligation which condemns me to separate myself from her—I deplore it with all my heart, but I thought she possessed more strength of character, and I was not prepared for the bursts of her grief." In fact, the emotion which oppressed him, compelled him to make a long pause between each phrase he uttered, in order to breathe. His words came from him with labour and without connexion; his voice was tremulous and oppressed, and tears moistened his eyes. It really seemed as if he were beside himself to give so many details to me, who was so far removed from his councils and his confidence. The whole of this transaction did not occupy more than seven or eight minutes. Napoleon immediately went to seek for Corvisart, queen Hortensia, Cambaceres, and Fouché; and before he returned to his apartment, he assured himself of the condition of Josephine, whom he found more calm and more resigned. I followed him, and after having recovered my hat, which I had thrown on the carpet that my motions might be more free, I retired to the attendance-chamber. To avoid all kinds of commentaries, I said before the pages and the ushers that the empress had been seized with a violent affection of the nerves.