to a celebrated female poisoner, and procured a venomous preparation
which defied the most powerful antidotes.[XXIII-110] The Princess
slipped this terrible poison in a very fine _morel_ (a species of
mushroom), which Claudius eat at his supper. The unfortunate Emperor
died according to the desire of his amiable consort, who was, of course,
inconsolable for a long time, and placed among the gods the husband she
had murdered.[XXIII-111] Nero ascended the throne, and every time that
mushrooms were served at his table, true to the memory of his
father-in-law, he facetiously called this preparation the “dish of the
gods.”[XXIII-112]
To the poisonous effects of this vegetable have been attributed, also,
the death of the Emperor Tiberius, that of Pope Clement VII., King
Charles VI. of France, and many other important personages, who either
knew very little of good cooks, or of _morels_. Notwithstanding these
tragical events, mushrooms always retained a proud position, among the
ancients, above the most inoffensive culinary plants; and their rather
doubtful reputation has not prevented them from maintaining their ground
down to our time, for we find that they now claim the same rank which
they formerly occupied in the gastronomic _réunions_ of Athens and Rome:
a sad image of those fortunate criminals, whom society dreads, and yet
often loads with its favours.
This “voluptuous poison,” as Seneca, the philosopher,[XXIII-113] calls
it, which compels us to eat of it again, even when not
hungry,[XXIII-114] was much relished by the wealthy inhabitants of Rome
and Italy. These free-livers, careless of the morrow, preferred the
field mushroom,[XXIII-115] which they devoured with delight, having
previously covered it over with a pungent sauce, which they afterwards
neutralized with various iced beverages.[XXIII-116] It is true that this
dish, worthy of the gods, often inflicted a severe penalty on those who
yielded to its irresistible seduction; but what mortal could think of
the anguish of an uncertain poisoning, when he had the good luck to meet
with some _boleti_, or mushrooms, of the rarest description, which the
price of a beautiful toga would hardly have purchased,[XXIII-117] and
which promised some mouthfuls of ineffable, although ephemeral
enjoyment? Besides, does not pleasure possess more piquant charms when
danger is attached to it? The greater part of mushrooms are very
dangerous, say the ancients;[XXIII-118] but blind destiny, perhaps,
reserves for us certain kinds which are not so. Re-assured by this
judicious reflection, they gave orders to their cooks to stew
some,[XXIII-119] and season them with vinegar, oxymel, and
honey.[XXIII-120]
However, reasonable people--and there were still some to be
found--abstained entirely from this vegetable, or procured it by the
method which Nicander recommends; that is to say, they frequently
watered the trunk of a fig tree after manure had been placed around it.
That philosopher assures us that by these means we may grow mushrooms
perfectly wholesome.[XXIII-121]
Those of our readers who are in possession of fig trees will be able to
give their opinion on the merit of Nicander’s method.
To obtain the seeds of most mushrooms, it only requires to expose them,
when fresh, upon glass; the superficies of the glass is soon covered
with it. It is also obtained by shaking in the water the mushrooms which
are sufficiently developed. This water, thus impregnated, is used to
water the beds, which become thereby more productive.
The natural supply of mushrooms from the fields not being thought
sufficient, the art of raising them on beds during the whole year was
therefore indispensable, and required a mixture of _crottin de cheval_,
rotten dung, and mould, which is deposited in layers of one foot and
a-half in thickness and width. Seeds of mushrooms are sown on these
beds--that is to say, some of the mould of a former bog impregnated with
it. It is then covered over with all the dung not consumed, and then
copiously watered.
“At the end of a very few days, the beds begin to produce mushrooms, and
keep on producing until the winter.”--BOSC.
XXIV.
PASTRY.
The art of the pastry-cook consists in preparing certain delicate and
nice pastes in all sorts of shapes, in seasoning them with discretion,
and in sufficient quantity, with meat, butter, sugar, preserves,
&c.[XXIV-1] It is a most important branch of the culinary science;
unceasingly occupied with flattering the sight as much as the taste, it
raises graceful monuments, delicious fortresses, seductive ramparts,
which as soon as they are on all sides attacked, totter, crumble, and no
longer present anything but glorious and ephemeral ruins, like every
other work of man--all pass away whether they be temples, columns,
pyramids, or pies.
This charming art was known to ancient nations as soon as their
intellectual development had enabled them to understand a certain
gastronomic truth, long since become a trivial axiom, and of which we
dare scarcely remind the reader: “_On ne mange pour vivre que lorsqu’on
ne sait pas vivre pour manger._” (People only eat to live when they do
not understand how to live to eat.)
The oriental nations were acquainted with the art of making pastry at a
very early period. The Egyptians served many different sorts of cakes at
their tables;[XXIV-2] the Jews knew of at least three kinds--one sort
kneaded with oil, another fried in oil, and the last was merely rubbed
over with oil.[XXIV-3]
The enlightened gluttony of the Greeks and Romans inspired them with a
host of combinations more or less ingenious, and destined to revive a
failing appetite, or one already greatly compromised by vigorous
onslaughts.
Some of these pastries would appear very nice to us in the present day;
others we should think but little worthy of the epicures of Rome and
Athens. However, let us not be in too great a hurry to condemn these
great masters. Doubtless they had excellent reasons to like that which
modern taste may despise and dislike. In return, they might have thought
some of our most fashionable dishes detestable; perhaps Apicius might
have made a strange grimace at the sight of a dish of sour-crout, an
olla-podrida, or an immense plum-pudding.
_Oublies_, a light dainty for those who have weak stomachs, were thin
sheets of paste composed of flour and honey, which rolled into a spiral
form as soon as they approached the oven. They were eaten soaked in
cooked wine.[XXIV-4] Persons of taste preferred _oublies_ to fritters--a
bold mixture of flour kneaded with wine, seasoned with pepper, and then
worked up with milk, and, finally, with a little fat or oil.[XXIV-5]
Some cooks employed the finest flour only, mixed with oil, and served
this paste after having cooked it in a dish.[XXIV-6] Others worked
sesame flour a long time with honey and oil, and fried it.[XXIV-7] These
various kinds of fritters were, doubtless, much sought after by the
populace, for Cicero speaks of them with profound disdain.[XXIV-8]
The Jews, less dainty than the eloquent orator, offered some of this
paste in sacrifice. The recipe for its composition is given in
Leviticus; it was made of the finest flour, moistened with oil, and
cooked in the frying-pan.[XXIV-9]
Women and children--those two fragile roots of society--were always fond
of sweet and delicate cakes. The pastry-cooks of Attica prepared for
them some very excellent kinds; sometimes it was merely a sweet mixture
of honey and milk;[XXIV-10] others were made of honey, sesame flour, and
cheese or oil.[XXIV-11] Delicious fruit was frequently covered with a
light and perfumed paste.[XXIV-12] These Athenian dumplings met with a
great success.
Rome made the conquest of these precious recipes,[XXIV-13] and
vanquished Greece, conquered by her, had still the glory of dictating
laws to her haughty enemy: she imposed her cookery.
Gingerbread was not unknown to the ancients. Rhodes owed its reputation
to it. It was sweetened with honey, and that island furnished it to the
whole of Europe. The Greeks called this delicacy _Melitates_, and eat it
with pleasure at the close of their repasts.[XXIV-14]
Let us not forget, in this rapid survey of ancient sweets, that learned
and exquisite mixture now designated under the name of _Nougat_, which,
among the Greeks was composed of dried currants and almonds, and which
has lost none of its attractions, nothing of its celebrity, after so
many centuries.[XXIV-15]
The _Mustaceum_ did not deserve to occupy so high a standing; and yet
this rustic cake, composed of sweet wine and flour, a symbol of
abundance and happiness, never failed to be presented to the guests at a
wedding repast, and the newly-married pair sent a piece of it to each of
their absent parents or friends, who, in return, addressed them
congratulations, and wishes for their happiness.[XXIV-16] The mustaceum
was the wedding-cake of the Romans.
Modern civilization has also rejected with equal disdain the _Savillum_
pie, always eaten with pleasure by the voluptuous inhabitants of Rome
when they went to their villas in order to rest from their prodigious
excesses, and from the fatigues of intemperance. This nourishing and
agreeable dish required but little art in its composition. Half-a-pound
of flour and two pounds and a-half of cheese were well mixed together;
three ounces of honey and one egg were then added. When the whole had
been well beaten, it was placed in an earthen vessel rubbed over with
oil, and which was covered with a tart dish cover. It was carefully
watched to see that the process of cooking was going on; afterwards it
was taken from the dish, the pie was smeared with honey, and, for an
instant, replaced under the tart-dish cover, after having dredged the
top with pounded poppy seed. It was always served in the dish in which
it had been cooked, and was eaten with spoons.[XXIV-17]
We have already mentioned the _Artocreas_, a kind of hashed meat mixed
with bread, which Rome borrowed from Greece, together with its original
name. This pie, welcomed by modern gastrophagy, has reached our days
with merely some slight modifications, and deprived of its sonorous
Hellenic appellation.[XXIV-18] Formerly the Roman Emperors, for the
greater part, ruled badly; but, in return, they eat well. In that
gastronomic era--gone, never to return--Cæsar’s supper engaged the
attention of the court, the city, nay, the whole empire. The conquered
universe furnished the details for a banquet, and a royal hand sometimes
deigned to write the ordinance. Now and then, even the monarch, wrapped
in profound culinary meditations, long reflected, dictated to his
_Archimagirus_ a new dish, on which complaisant senators the next day
bestowed enthusiastic praises and a sincere admiration. Thus the Emperor
Verus, inventor of a pie, barely escaped an apotheosis of which his
genius was deemed worthy. It is true that, without any exaggerated
flattery, this pie was excellent, and that never was there imagined a
more happy mixture, a more ingenious combination, of meats, or a more
refined flavour. If any one be curious enough to wish to test this
imperial dish, let him prepare a succulent amalgamation of sow’s flank
(_sumen_), pheasant, peacock, iced ham, and wild boar’s flesh; let him
inclose this mixture within the thick casing of a laboriously worked
crust, and he may attack this kingly dish when a gentle and slow cooking
causes it to emit burning yet sweet emanations.[XXIV-19]
Here is a more modest recipe for a cake; but then it does not claim the
paternity of an emperor. However, Cato brought it much into fashion, for
the wise Cato often busied himself in the science of cookery, for which
reason he is greatly worthy of esteem. Well, we recommend to the reader
the _Libum_ of that philosopher, who indicates the manner of preparing
it:--
“Crush,” he says, “two pounds of cheese; mix with it a pound of rye
flour, or, in order to render it lighter, throw in merely half a pound
of wheat flour and an egg. Stir, mix, and work this paste; form of it a
cake which you will place on leaves, and cook in a tart dish on the hot
hearth.” This libum was much esteemed about twenty centuries ago; in
honour of Cato may it again be brought to light, if not completely
unworthy of our attention.[XXIV-20] Could we not also rehabilitate the
reputation of the most celebrated of ancient pies, the _Placenta_, which
so delighted mankind, and by which the gods even allowed their fury to
be appeased?[XXIV-21] Renowned writers have granted it the authority of
their praise;[XXIV-22] and the illustrious geoponist, already cited,
describes with lengthened complaisance the manner of preparing this
important dish:--
“Place, on one side, two pounds of rye flour, which will serve to form
the foundation, on which must be placed biscuits, formed of crisp paste;
on the other, put four pounds of wheat; and two pounds of alica (grains
of fine wheat, stripped of their husks and crushed; to which was added,
in order to whiten them, a peculiar kind of chalk found between Naples
and Pouzzoli[XXIV-23]). This latter must be left to infuse in water,
and, when well soaked, it must be thrown into a kneading trough, and
well worked with the hand. You then mix with it the four pounds of wheat
flour, in order to make the whole into biscuits, or dry marchpans. This
paste must be worked in a basket, and, as it dries, each separate
marchpan must be shaped. When they have acquired a convenient form, rub
them on all sides with a piece of stuff soaked in oil, and the same must
be done to the foundation of the placenta before placing the marchpans
on it. During these preparations, make the hearth very hot, as well as
the cover of the tart dish intended to cook it. Then spread the two
pounds of rye flour you have in reserve over fourteen pounds of cheese
of sheep’s milk. Make of this a light paste for the foundation already
mentioned. This cheese ought to be very fresh, and previously soaked in
three waters. It is allowed to drain slowly between the hands, and when
it has been left to dry, it is kneaded. Take a flour sieve, and pass the
cheese through it before mixing it with the rye. Then add four pounds
and a half of good honey; mix well; place the foundation, furnished with
its band, on a board a foot square, covered with bay leaves rubbed with
oil, and form the placenta. Begin by covering the whole of the base with
a layer of marchpans, which you place one after the other, and cover
slightly with cheese mixed with honey. Finally, you arrange the
marchpans on the foundation, and prepare the hearth to a moderate degree
of heat; place the placenta on it; cover it with the tart dish cover
already heated, and spread live charcoal underneath and all around. The
cooking must be done very slowly, and as soon as the pie is taken from
the hearth, it must be rubbed with honey.”[XXIV-24]
The great desire we had to inform the reader of some of the methods of
making ancient pastry will, perhaps, induce him to receive with
indulgence the rather diffuse recipe of the worthy Cato. The following
is much more concise; it relates to the relishing _Globi_, little
globes, or balls, eaten at dessert:
Mix cheese and alica, and of this mixture make the globi, which cook one
after the other, or two at a time, in boiling oil. Stir them constantly
with a spoon; take them out; rub them over with honey, and serve, having
previously dredged over them a little poppy-seed.[XXIV-25]
Everyone will confess that all these cakes are inferior to the simple
and elegant pastry with which the inhabitants of Picenum (marshes of
Ancona) regaled themselves. They placed some alica to soak in water, and
left it there for the space of nine days; the tenth day they kneaded it,
and formed it into round, flat cakes, which they cooked in the oven in
earthen baking-dishes easily broken. When these kind of biscuits were to
be eaten, they were first softened in milk and honey.[XXIV-26]
Apicius also made globi of great delicacy with the crumb of fine bread,
shaped into balls, which were left to soak in milk, and which, on their
being withdrawn from the boiling oil, he lightly covered with
honey.[XXIV-27]
We conclude with three recipes by this amateur cook, in the hope that
they may appear worthy of his genius:--
“Mix pine nuts, pepper, honey, rue, and cooked wine; cover with eggs
well beaten; submit this mixture to a slow fire, and serve, after having
smeared it with honey.”[XXIV-28]
“Cook the finest flour in some milk, of which make a tolerably stiff
paste; spread it on a dish; cut it in pieces, which, when you have fried
in very fine oil, cover with pepper and honey.”[XXIV-29]
“Make a compact mixture of milk, honey, and eggs; let it cook very
slowly, and serve, after having sprinkled over it a little
pepper.”[XXIV-30]
These details will, we hope, give a sufficient idea of ancient pastry.
We must remember that these recipes form, as it were, the starting
point. The oil fritter of the Hebrews and the meringues of our period
are wide apart: more than thirty-three centuries separate the two; two
thousand years have elapsed since Cato wrote the recipe for his somewhat
heavy tart. The author of the “Culinary Art,” Apicius himself, is very
old. The private life of the ancient people appears to be worthy of
serious study; but we too often only bestow on it our disdain. The
author of this work has observed their customs in the kitchen and in the
dining-room--the only places to which he had access--and he has taken
the liberty of writing the result of his investigations. Sometimes he
admires, but never does he despise, a civilisation different to our own,
but which was not without its good side. He conjures the reader to
believe him when he says, that whatever eccentricities the gastronomy of
ancient nations may present to us, those people (he has, perhaps,
acquired the right to venture such an assertion) doubtless eat in a very
different manner from ourselves; but they certainly knew how to eat.
The pastry just mentioned is certainly not altogether
irreproachable--that is clear; but many kinds reveal that exquisite
sentiment of the good which is nothing else than taste--whether it
relate to art, literature or cooking--and the entire development of
which seems to have been the appurtenance of a small number of
privileged centuries. Great epochs--such as those of Pericles, Augustus,
Leo XII., Louis XIV., and Queen Anne--have seen roses and myrtles
flourish by the side of the laurels with which the muses are crowned.
Charles XII. was fond of tartlets; Frederic II. gave himself fits of
indigestion by eating Savoy cakes; and the Maréchal de Saxe rested from
the fatigues of glory before a plate of macaroons.
We have renounced the kind of pastry with which our ancestors used to
regale themselves in the 14th century. Their stag pies[XXIV-31] are no
longer in vogue; neither have we any taste for their great pies which
contained a lamb or a stuffed kid, surrounded with goslings by dozens
and scores.[XXIV-32]
Their tarts have fallen into the same oblivion. Who thinks now of their
Janus, or double-faced, tarts, herb tarts, rose-leaf tarts, oat tarts,
or chesnut tarts?[XXIV-33]
The first statutes given to the pastry cooks by St. Louis (May, 1270),
sanctioned their custom of working on all festival days without
exception. Now, the motive for such a toleration was probably this: the
pagans had their festivals, which they passed in banqueting; the Romans
called them _dies epulatæ_.[XXIV-34] The early Christians, although they
gave up the worship of false gods, preserved certain customs in which
they had been brought up, among which was that of public and private
banquets on festival days.[XXIV-35] We still see some remains of these
customs in the village rejoicings on the Continent, on the day of their
patron saint. The Fathers of the Church and the Councils raised their
voices against this abuse;[XXIV-36] but they were obliged to tolerate
it, and the pastry-cooks, who were very busy on those occasions,
profited by the indulgence. It is as well to remark that they were, at
one and the same time, publicans, roasters (that is, they would roast
anything for anybody), and cooks.
Under the ministry of the Chancelier de l’Hôpital, little pies, or
patties, were hawked through all the streets of Paris, and there was an
enormous consumption of them. The severe minister considered them a
luxury, which it was incumbent upon him to suppress; so he prohibited,
not their sale, but the crying of them, as a temptation to gluttony.
There is a kind of cake much in vogue in England, on Good Friday,
designated hot-cross-bun, because it is always marked with a cross. The
reader will, perhaps, take some interest in the observations of Bryant
on the subject of this pastry:--
“The offerings,” says he, “which people in ancient times used to
present to the gods were generally purchased at the entrance of the
temple; especially every species of consecrated bread, which was
denominated accordingly. One species of sacred bread which used to be
offered to the gods was of great antiquity, and called _Boun_.” It was a
kind of cake, with a representation of two horns. Julius Pollux mentions
it after the same manner--a sort of cake with horns. Diogenes Laertius,
speaking of the same offering being made by Empedocles, describes the
chief ingredients of which it was composed:--“He offered one of the
sacred _liba_, called a _bonse_ (_bons_), which was made of fine flour
and honey.”[XXIV-37] England seems, then, to have retained the name and
the form of the ancient _bons_, though the people do not recognise in
the bun anything sacred or holy.
Titus Livy said, in speaking of Rome, “The greatest things have small
beginnings.” This applies equally to pastry, which appears so unworthy
of attention at the commencement of the middle ages that nothing seems
to announce its high destiny. At first, in the southern provinces,
people simply mixed flour, oil, and honey. The Roman school was still in
force. The inhabitants of the north had a mind to innovate; they
employed eggs, butter, and salt. Then came the idea of inclosing within
this paste cooked meat, seasoned with bacon and spices; and, from
progress to progress, they at last inclosed cream, fruit, and
marmalades.[XXIV-38]
We find pastry mentioned for the first time in a charter of
Louis-le-Débonnaire (802). It is there said that a certain farm of the
Abbey of St. Denis is to furnish, at certain festivals, sixteen measures
of honey, eleven hundred oxen, and five hogsheads of flour to make
pastry.[XXIV-39]
A charter of the church of Paris, 1202, mentions simnels or wigs, under
the name of “_panes leves qui dicuntur echaudati_.” Joinville speaks, in
“The life of St. Louis,” of cheese fritters cooked in the sun, which the
Saracens presented to that king and his knights when they restored them
to liberty. And, finally, so early as the 13th century, the _flans_ of
Chartres, the patties of Paris, and the tarts of Dourlans, were in great
renown; and a charter of 1301 informs us that, at that epoch, several
lords imposed on their vassals a tribute of _fugués_, or
puff-pastry.[XXIV-40]
The cook of Charles V. says, that the word _tourte_ signified a
household loaf of a round form; that this name was afterwards given to
delicate pastry; and that, by corruption, it was called _tart_ in
certain provinces.[XXIV-41]
Taillevant speaks of cream, almonds, and rose-water, as the
accompaniments of _Darioles_, a kind of custard; and of _Talmouses_, a
sort of cheese-cake, made of cheese, eggs, and butter, coloured with the
yolks of eggs.[XXIV-42]
Platina cites tarts made with radishes, quinces, gourds, elder-berry
flowers, rice, oatmeal, millet, chesnuts, cherries, dates, May-herbs,
roses, and, lastly, the white, or cream tart.[XXIV-43]
XXV.
WATER.
Thales, who borrowed from Egypt the elements of philosophy, which he
afterwards spread in Greece, taught that water is the vivifying
principle of all things; that nature is thereby made fruitful; that
without it the earth, arid and laid waste, would be a frightful desert,
where every effort of man to support his existence must fail.[XXV-1]