He made the trip in twelve days, having halted only four hours in

Madrid, to drink a few glasses of wine, and to take some soup.

This was all the nourishment he took during this long series of

sleepless nights and fatigues. He said that more solid sustenance

would have made it impossible for him to continue his journey.

DREAMS.

Diet has no trifling influence on sleep and dreams.

A hungry man cannot sleep, for the pain he suffers keeps him

awake. If weakness or exhaustion overcome him, his slumber is

light, uneasy and broken.

A person, however, who has eaten too much, sinks at once to sleep.

If he dreams, he remembers nothing of it, for the nervous fluid

has been intercepted in the passages. He awakes quickly, and when

awake is very sensible of the pains of digestion.

We may then lay down, as a general rule, that coffee rejects

sleep. Custom weakens and even causes this inconvenience entirely

to disappear. Europeans, whenever they yield to it, always feel

its power. Some food, however, gently invites sleep; such as that

which contains milk, the whole family of letuces, etc., etc.

CONSEQUENCE.

Experience relying on a multitude of observations, has informed us

that diet has an influence on dreams.

In general, all stimullkt food excites dreams, such as flock game,

ducks, venison and hare.

This quality is recognised in asparagus, celery, truffles,

perfume, confectioneries and vanilla.

It would be a great mistake to think that we should banish from

our tables all somniferous articles. The dreams they produce are

in general agreeable, light, and prolong our existence even when

it is suspended.

There are persons to whom sleep is a life apart, and whose dreams

are serial, so that they end in one night a dream begun on the

night before. While asleep they distinguish faces they remember to

have seen, but which they never met with in the real world.

RESULT.

A person who reflects on his physical life and who does so

according to the principles we develop, is the one who prepares

sagaciously for rest, sleep and dreams.

He distributes his labor so that he never over-tasks himself, he

lightens it and refreshes himself by brief intervals of rest,

which relieve him, without interrupting its continuity, sometimes

a duty.

If longer rest is required during the day, he indulges in it only

in a sitting attitude; he refuses sleep unless he be forced

irresistibly to use it, and is careful not to make it habitual.

When night brings about the hour of repose, he retires to an airy

room, does not wrap himself up in curtains, which make him breathe

the same air again and again, and never closes the blinds so that

when he wakes he will meet with at least one ray of light.

He rests in a bed with the head slightly higher than the feet. His

pillow is of hair; his night cap of cloth and his breast

unincumbered by a mass of coverings; he is careful, however, to

keep his feet warm.

He eats with discretion, and never refuses good and excellent

cheer. He drinks prudently, even the best wine. At dessert he

talks of gallantry more than of politics, makes more madrigals

than epigrams. He takes his coffee, if it suits his constitution,

and afterwards swallows a spoonful of liquor, though it he only to

perfume his breath. He is, in all respects, a good guest, and yet

never exceeds the limits of discretion.

In this state, satisfied with himself and others, he lies down and

sinks to sleep. Mysterious dreams then give an agreeable life; he

sees those he loves, indulges in his favorite occupations, and

visits places which please him.

Then he feels his slumber gradually pass away, and does not regret

the time he has lost, because even in his sleep, he has enjoyed

unmixed pleasure and an activity without a particle of fatigue.

MEDITATION XXI.

OBESITY.

Were I a physician with a diploma, I would have written a whole

book on obesity; thus I would have acquired a domicil in the

domain of science, and would have had the double satisfaction of

having, as patients, persons who were perfectly well, and of being

besieged by the fairer portion of humanity. To have exactly fat

enough, not a bit too much, or too little, is the great study of

women of every rank and grade.

What I have not done, some other person will do, and if he be

learned and prudent, (and at the same time a good-fellow,) I

foretell that he will have wonderful success.

Exoriare aliquis nostris ex ossibus hoeres!

In the intereim, I intend to prepare the way for him. A chapter on

obesity is a necessary concomitant of a book which relates so

exclusively to eating.

Obesity is that state of greasy congestion in which without the

sufferer being sick, the limbs gradually increase in volume, and

lose their form and harmony.

One kind of obesity is restricted to the stomach, and I have never

observed it in women. Their fibres are generally softer, and when

attacked with obesity nothing is spared. I call this variety of

obesity GASTROPHORIA. Those attacked by it, I call GASTROPHOROUS.

I belong to this category, yet, though my stomach is rather

prominent, I have a round and well turned leg. My sinews are like

those of an Arab horse.

I always, however, looked on my stomach as a formidable enemy: I

gradually subdued it, but after a long contest. I am indebted for

all this to a strife of thirty years.

I will begin my treatise by an extract from a collection of more

than five hundred dialogues, which at various times I have had

with persons menaced with obesity.

AN OBESE.--What delicious bread! where do you get it?

I.--From Limet, in the Rue Richelieu, baker to their Royal

Highness, the Due d'Orleans, and the Prince de Conde. I took it

from him because he was my neighbour, and have kept to him because

he is the best bread maker in the world.

OBESE.--I will remember the address. I eat a great deal of bread,

and with such as this could do without any dinner.

OBESE No. 2.--What are you about? You are eating your soup, but

set aside the Carolina rice it contains! I.--Ah: that it is a

regimen I subject myself to.

OBESE.--It is a bad regimen. I am fond of rice pates and all such

things. Nothing is more nourishing.

AN IMMENSE OBESE.--Do me the favor to pass me the potatoes before

you. They go so fast that I fear I shall not be in time.

I.--There they are, sir.

OBESE.--But you will take some? There are enough for two, and

after us the deluge.

I.--Not I. I look on the potatoe as a great preservative against

famine; nothing, however, seems to me so pre-eminently fade.

OBESE.--That is a gastronomical heresy. Nothing is better than the

potatoe; I eat them in every way.

AN OBESE LADY.--Be pleased to send me the Soissons haricots I see

at the other end of the table.

I.--(Having obeyed the order, hummed in a low tone, the well known

air:)

"Les Soissonnais sont heureux, Les haricots font chez eux."

OBESE.--Do not laugh: it is a real treasure for this country.

Paris gains immensely by it. I will thank you to pass me the

English peas. When young they are food fit for the gods.

I?--Anathema on beans and peas.

OBESE.--Bah, for your anathema; you talk as if you were a whole

council. I.--(To another.) I congratulate you on your good health,

it seems to me that you have fattened somewhat, since I last saw

you.

OBESE.--I probably owe it to a change of diet.

I.--How so?

OBESE.--For some time I eat a rich soup for breakfast, and so

thick that the spoon would stand up in it.

I.--(To another.) Madame, if I do not mistake, you will accept a

portion of this charlotte? I will attack it.

OBESE.--No, sir. I have two things which I prefer. This gateau of

rice and that Savoy biscuit--I am very fond of sweet things.

I.--While they talk politics, madame, at the other end of the

table, will you take a piece of this tourte a la frangipane?

OBESE.--Yes; I like nothing better than pastry. We have a pastry-

cook in our house as a lodger, and I think my daughter and I eat

up all his rent.

I.--(Looking at the daughter.) You both are benefitted by the

diet. Your daughter is a fine looking young woman.

OBESE LADY.--Yes; but there are persons who say she is too fat.

I.--Ah! those who do so are envious, etc., etc. By this and

similar conversations I elucidate a theory I have formed about the

human race, viz: Greasy corpulence always has, as its first cause,

a diet with too much farinacious or feculent substance. I am sure

the same regime will always have the same effect. Carniverous

animals never become fat. One has only to look at the wolf,

jackal, lion, eagle, etc.

Herbiverous animals do not either become fat until age has made

repose a necessity. They, however, fatten quickly when fed on

potatoes, farinacious grain, etc.

Obesity is rarely met with among savage nations, or in that class

of persons who eat to live, instead of living to eat.

CAUSES OF OBESITY.

From the preceding observation, the causes of which any one may

verify, it is easy to ascertain the principle causes of obesity.

The first is the nature of the individual. Almost all men are born

with predispositions, the impress of which is borne by their

faces. Of every hundred persons who die of diseases of the chest,

ninety have dark hair, long faces and sharp noses. Of every

hundred obese persons, ninety have short faces, blue eyes, and pug

noses.

Then there are beyond doubt persons predestined to obesity, the

digestive powers of whom elaborate a great quantity of grease.

This physical fact, of the truth of which I am fully satisfied,

exerts a most important influence on our manner of looking at

things.

When we meet in society, a short, fat, rosy, short-nosed

individual, with round limbs, short feet, etc., all pronounce her

charming. Better informed than others, however, I anticipate the

ravages which ten years will have effected on her, and sigh over

evils which as yet do not exist. This anticipated compassion is a

painful sentiment, and proves that a prescience of the future

would only make man more unhappy.

The second of the causes of obesity, is the fact that farinacious

and feculaferous matter is the basis of our daily food. We have

already said that all animals that live on farinaceous substances

become fat; man obeys the common law.

The fecula is more prompt in its action when it is mingled with

sugar. Sugar and grease are alike in containing large quantities

of hydrogen, and are both inflammable. This combination is the

more powerful, from the fact that it flatters the taste, and that

we never eat sweet things until the appetite is already satisfied,

so that we are forced to court the luxury of eating by every

refinement of temptation.

The fecula is not less fattening when in solution, as in beer, and

other drinks of the same kind. The nations who indulge the most in

them, are those who have the most huge stomachs. Some Parisian

families who in 1817 drank beer habitually, because of the

dearness of wine, were rewarded by a degree of embonpoint, they

would be glad to get rid of.

SEQUEL.

Another cause of obesity is found in the prolongation of sleep,

and want of exercise. The human body repairs itself much during

sleep, and at the same time loses nothing, because muscular action

is entirely suspended. The acquired superfluity must then be

evaporated by exercise.

Another consequence is, that persons who sleep soundly, always

refuse every thing that looks the least like fatigue. The excess

of assimilation is then borne away by the torrent of circulation.

It takes possession, by a process, the secret of which nature has

reserved to herself, of some hundredths of hydrogen, and fat is

formed to be deposited in the tubes of the cellular tissue.

SEQUEL.

The last cause of obesity is excess of eating and drinking.

There was justice in the assertion, that one of the privileges of

the human race is to eat without hunger, and drink without thirst.

Animals cannot have it, for it arises from reflection on the

pleasures of the table, and a desire to prolong its duration.

This double passion has been found wherever man exists. We know

savages eat to the very acme of brutality, whenever they have an

opportunity.

Cosmopolites, as citizens of two hemispheres, we fancy ourselves

at the very apogee of civilization, yet we are sure we eat too

much.

This is not the case with the few, who from avarice or want of

power, live alone. The first are delighted at the idea that they

amass money, and others distressed that they do not. It is the

case, however, with those around us, for all, whether hosts or

guests, offer and accept with complaisance.

This cause, almost always present, acts differently, according to

the constitution of individuals; and in those who have badly

organized stomachs, produces indigestion, but not obesity.

ANECDOTE.

This one instance, which all Paris will remember.

M. Lang had one of the most splendid establishments of the

capital; his table especially, was excellent, but his digestion

was bad as his gourmandise was great. He did the honors with

perfect taste, and ate with a resolution worthy of a better fate.

All used to go on very well, till coffee was introduced, but the

stomach soon refused the labor to which it had been subjected, and

the unfortunate gastronomer was forced to throw himself on the

sofa and remain in agony until the next day, in expiation of the

brief pleasure he had enjoyed.

It is very strange that he never corrected this fault: as long as

he lived, he was subjected to this alternative, yet the sufferings

of the evening never had any influence on the next days' meal.

Persons with active digestion, fare as was described in the

preceding article. All is digested, and what is not needed for

nutrition is fixed and turned into fat.

Others have a perpetual indigestion, and food is passed without

having left any nourishment. Those who do not understand the

matter, are amazed that so many good things do not produce a

better effect.

It may be seen that I do not go very minutely into the matter, for

from our habits many secondary causes arise, due to our habits,

condition, inclinations, pleasures, etc.

I leave all this to the successor I pointed out in the

commencement of this work, and satisfy myself merely with the

prelibation, the right of the first comer to every sacrifice.

Intemperance has long attracted the attention of observers.

Princes have made sumptuary laws, religion has moralized for

gourmandise, but, alas, a mouthfull less was never eaten, and the

best of eating every day becomes more flourishing.

I would perhaps be fortunate in the adoption of a new course, and

in the exposition of the physical causes of obesity. Self-

preservation would perhaps be more powerful than morals, or

persuasive than reason, have more influence than laws, and I think

the fair sex would open their eyes to the light.

INCONVENIENCE OF OBESITY.

Obesity has a lamentable influence on the two sexes, inasmuch as

it is most injurious to strength and beauty.

It lessens strength because it increases the weight to be moved,

while the motive power is unchanged. It injures respiration, and

makes all labor requiring prolonged muscular power impossible.

Obesity destroys beauty by annihilating the harmony of primitive

proportions, for all the limbs do not proportionately fatten.

It destroys beauty by filling up cavities nature's hand itself

designed.

Nothing is so common as to see faces, once very interesting, made

common-place by obesity.

The head of the last government did not escape this law. Towards

the latter portion of his life, he (Napoleon) became bloated, and

his eyes lost a great portion of their expression.

Obesity produces a distaste for dancing, walking, riding, and an

inaptitude for those amusements which require skill or agility.

It also creates a disposition to certain diseases, such as

apoplexy, dropsy, ulcers in the legs, and makes all diseases

difficult to cure.

EXAMPLES OF OBESITY.

I can remember no corpulent heroes except Marius and John

Sobieski.

Marius was short, and was about as broad as he was long. That

probably frightened the Cimber who was about to kill him.

The obesity of the King of Poland had nearly been fatal to him,

for having stumbled on a squadron of Turkish cavalry, from which

he had to fly, he would certainly have been massacred, if his aids

had not sustained him, almost fainting from fatigue on his horse,

while others generously sacrificed themselves to protect him.

If I am not mistaken, the Duc de Vendome, a worthy son of Henry

IV., was also very corpulent. He died at an inn, deserted by all,

and preserved consciousness just long enough to see a servant

snatch away a pillow on which his head was resting.

There are many instances of remarkable obesity. I will only speak,

however, of my own observations.

M. Rameau, a fellow student of mine and maire of Chaleur, was

about five feet two inches high, but weighed five hundred pounds.

The Duc de Luynes, beside whom I often sat, became enormous. Fat

had effaced his handsome features, and he slept away the best

portion of his life.

The most remarkable case, though, I saw in New York, and many

persons now in Paris will remember to have seen at the door of a

cafe in Broadway, a person seated in an immense arm-chair, with

legs stout enough to have sustained a church. [Footnote: Many

persons in New York remember the person referred to. The

translator has heard, that as late as 1815, he was frequently to

be seen at the door of a house near where the Atheneum Hotel was.

Brillat Savarin is said scarcely to exaggerate.]

Edward was at least five feet ten inches, and was about eight feet

(French) in circumference. His fingers were like those of the

Roman Emperor, who used to wear his wife's bracelets as rings. His

arms and legs were nearly as thick as the waist of a man of medium

size, and his feet were elephantine, covered by fat pendant from

his legs. The fat on his cheek had weighed down his lower eye-lid,

and three hanging chins made his face horrible to behold.

He passed his life near a window, which looked out on the street

and drank from time to time a glass of ale from a huge pitcher he

kept by his side.

His strange appearance used to attract the attention of passers,

whom he used always to put to flight by saying in a sepulchral

tone "What are you staring at like wild cats? Go about your

business, you blackguards," etc.

Having spoken to him one day, he told me that he was not at all

annoyed and that if death did not interrupt him, he would be glad

to live till the day of judgment.

From the preceding, it appears that if obesity be not a disease,

it is at least a very troublesome predisposition, into which we

fall from our own fault.

The result is, that we should all seek to preserve ourselves from

it before we are attacked, and to cure ourselves when it befalls

us. For the sake of the unfortunate we will examine what resources

science presents us.

MEDITATION XXII.

PRESERVATIVE TREATMENT AND CURE OF OBESITY. [Footnote: About

twenty years ago I began a treatise, ex professo, on obesity. My

readers must especially regret the preface which was of dramatic

form. I averred to a physician that a fever is less dangerous than

a law suit; for the latter, after having made a man run, fatigue,

and worry himself, strips him of pleasure, money, and life. This

is a statement which might be propagated as well as any other. ]

I WILL begin by a fact which proves that courage is needed not

only to prevent but to cure obesity.

M. Louis Greffulhe, whom his majesty afterwards honored with the

title of count, came one morning to see me, saying that he had

understood that I had paid great attention to obesity, and asked

me for advice.

"Monsieur," said I, "not being a doctor with a diploma, I might

refuse you, but I will not, provided you give me your word of

honor that for one month you will rigorously obey my directions."

M. Greffulhe made the promise I required and gave me his hand. On

the next day, I gave him my directions, the first article of which

demanded that he should at once get himself weighed, so that the

result might be made mathematically.

After a month he came to see me again, and spoke to me nearly

thus:

"Monsieur," said he, "I followed your prescription as if my life

depended on it, and during the month I am satisfied that I have

lost three pounds and more; but have for that purpose to violate

all my tastes and, habits so completely, that while I thank you

for your advice I must decline to follow it, and await quietly the

fate God ordains for me."

I heard this resolution with pain. M. Greffulhe became every day

fatter and subject to all the inconveniences of extreme obesity,

and died of suffocation when he was about forty.

GENERALITIES.

The cure of obesity should begin with three precepts of absolute

theory, discretion in eating, moderation in sleep, and exercise on

foot or horseback.

These are the first resources presented to us by science. I,

however, have little faith in them, for I know men and things

enough to be aware that any prescription, not literally followed,

has but a light effect.

Now, imprimus, it needs much courage to be able to leave the table

hungry. As long as the want of food is felt, one mouthful makes

the succeeding one more palatable, and in general as long as we

are hungry, we eat in spite of doctors, though in that respect we

follow their example.

In the second place to ask obese persons to rise early is to stab

them to the heart. They will tell you that their health will not

suffer them, that when they rise early they are good for nothing

all day. Women will plead exhaustion, will consent to sit up late,

and wish to fatten on the morning's nap. They lose thus this

resource.

In the third place, riding as an exercise is expensive, and does

not suit every rank and fortune.

Propose this to a female patient and she will consent with joy,

provided she have a gentle but active horse, a riding dress in the

height of the fashion, and in the third place a squire who is

young, good-tempered and handsome. It is difficult to fill these

three requisites, and riding is thus given up.

Exercise on foot is liable to many other objections. It is

fatiguing, produces perspiration and pleurisy. Dust soils the

shoes and stockings, and it is given up. If, too, the patient have

the least headache, if a single shot, though no larger than the

head of a pin, pierce the skin it is all charged to the exercise.

The consequence is that all who wish to diminish embonpoint should

eat moderately, sleep little, and take as much exercise as

possible, seeking to accomplish the purpose in another manner.

This method, based on the soundest principles of physics and

chemistry, consists in a diet suited to the effects sought for.

Of all medical powers, diet is the most important, for it is

constant by night and day, whether waking or sleeping. Its effect

is renewed at every meal, and gradually exerts its influence on

every portion of the individual. The antiobesic regimen is

therefore indicated by the most common causes of the diseases, and

by the fact that it has been shown that farina or fecula form fat

in both men and animals. In the latter, the case is evident every

day, and from it we may deduce the conclusion that obtaining from

farinaceous food will be beneficial.

But my readers of both sexes will exclaim, "Oh my God, how cruel

the professor is. He has at once prescribed all we like, the white

rolls of Limet, the biscuit of Achard. the cakes of ... and all

the good things made with sugar, eggs, and farina. He will spare

neither potatoes nor macaroni. Who would have expected it from a

man fond of everything good?"

"What is that?" said I, putting on my stern look which I call up

but once a year. "Well, eat and grow fat, become ugly, asthmatic

and die of melted fat. I will make a note of your case and you

shall figure in my second edition. Ah! I see, one phrase has

overcome you, and you beg me to suspend the thunderbolt. Be easy,

I will prescribe your diet and prove how much pleasure is in the

grasp of one who lives to eat."

"You like bread? well, eat barley-bread. The admirable Cadet de

Vaux long ago extolled its virtues. It is not so nourishing and

not so agreeable. The precept will then be more easily complied

with. To be sure one should resist temptation. Remember this,

which is a principle of sound morality.

"You like soup? Eat julienne then, with green vegetables, with

cabbage and roots. I prohibit soup au pain, pates and purees.

"Eat what you please at the first course except rice aux volailles

and the crust of pates. Eat well, but circumspectly.

"The second course will call for all your philosophy. Avoid

everything farinacious, under whatever form it appears. You have

yet the roasts, salads, and herbacious vegetables.

"Now for the dessert. This is a new danger, but if you have acted

prudently so far, you may survive it. Avoid the head of the table,

where things that are dangerous to you are most apt to appear. Do

not look at either biscuits or macaronies; you have fruits of all

kinds, confitures and much else that you may safely indulge in,

according to my principles.

"After dinner I prescribe coffee, permit you liqueurs, and advise

you to take tea and punch.

"At breakfast barly-bread is a necessity, and take chocolate

rather than coffee. I, however, permit strong cafe au lait. One

cannot breakfast too soon. When we breakfast late, dinner time

comes before your digestion is complete. You eat though, and

eating without appetite is often a great cause of obesity, when we

do so too often."

SEQUEL OF THE REGIMEN.

So far I have, like a tender father, marked out a regimen which

will prevent obesity. Let us add a few remarks about its cure.

Drink every summer thirty bottles of Seltzer water, a large glass

in the morning, two before breakfast and another at bed-time.

Drink light white acid wines like those of Anjon. Avoid beer as

you would the plague. Eat radishes, artichokes, asparagus, etc.

Eat lamb and chicken in preference to other animal food; eat only

the crust of bread, and employ a doctor who follows my principles,

and as soon as you begin you will find yourself fresher, prettier,

and better in every respect.

Having thus placed you ashore, I must point out the shoals, lest

in excess or zeal, you overleap the mark.

The shoal I wish to point out is the habitual use made by some

stupid people of acids, the bad effects of which experience has

demonstrated.

DANGERS OF ACIDS.

There is a current opinion among women, which every year causes

the death of many young women, that acids, especially vinegar, are

preventives of obesity. Beyond all doubts, acids have the effect

of destroying obesity, but they also destroy health and freshness.

Lemonade is of all acids the most harmless, but few stomachs can

resist it long.

The truth I wish to announce cannot be too public, and almost all

of my readers can bring forward some fact to sustain it.

I knew in 1776, at Dijon, a young lady of great beauty, to whom I

was attached by bonds of friendship, great almost as those of

love. One day when she had for some time gradually grown pale and

thin (previously she had a delicious embonpoint) she told me in

confidence that as her young friends had ridiculed her for being

too fat, she had, to counteract the tendency, been in the habit

every day of drinking a large glass of vinaigre.

I shuddered at the confession, and made every attempt to avoid the

danger. I informed her mother of the state of things the next day,

and as she adored her daughter, she was as much alarmed as I was.

The doctors were sent for, but in vain, for before the cause of

her malady was suspected, it was incurable and hopeless.

Thus, in consequence of having followed imprudent advice, our

amiable Louise was led to the terrible condition of marasmus, and

sank when scarcely eighteen years old, to sleep forever.

She died casting longing looks towards a future, which to her

would have no existence, and the idea that she had involuntarily

attempted her own life, made her existence more prompt and

painful.

I have never seen any one else die; she breathed her last in my

arms, as I lifted her up to enable her to see the day. Eight days

after her death, her broken hearted mother wished me to visit with

her the remains of her daughter, and we saw an extatic appearance

which had not hitherto been visible. I was amazed, but extracted

some consolation from the fact. This however is not strange, for

Lavater tells of many such in his history of physiogomy.

ANTIOBESIC BELT.

All antiobesic tendencies should be accompanied by a precaution I

had forgotten. It consists in wearing night and day, a girdle to

repress the stomach, by moderately clasping it.

To cause the necessity of it to be perceived, we must remember

that the vertebral column, forming one of the walls in the cavity

containing the intestines, is firm and inflexible. Whence it

follows, that the excess of weight which intestines acquire as

soon as obesity causes them to deviate from the vertical line,

rests on the envelopes which compose the skin of the stomach. The

latter being susceptible of almost infinite distention, would be

unable to replace themselves, when this effort diminishes, if they

did not have a mechanical art, which, resting on the dorsal

column, becomes an antagonist, and restores equilibrium. This belt

has therefore the effect of preventing the intestines from

yielding to their actual weight, and gives a power to contract

when pressure is diminished. It should never be laid aside, or the

benefit it exerts in the day will be destroyed in the night. It is

not, however, in the least troublesome, and one soon becomes used

to it.

The belt also shows when we have eaten enough; and it should be

made with great care, and so contrived as to diminish as the

embonpoint decreases.

One is not forced to wear it all life long, and it may be laid

aside when the inconvenience is sufficiently reduced. A suitable

diet however, should be maintained. I have not worn it for six

years.

QUINQUINA.

One substance I think decidedly antiobesic. Many observations have

induced me to think so, yet I leave the matter in doubt, and

submit it to physicians.

This is quinquina.

Ten or twelve persons that I know, have had long intermittent

fevers; some were cured by old women's remedies, powders, etc.

Others by the continued use of quinquina, which is always

effective.

All those persons of the same category, gradually regained their

obesity. Those of the second, lost their embonpoint, a

circumstance which leaves me to think the quinquina which produced

the last result had the effect I speak of.

Rational theory is not opposed to this deduction, for quinquina,

exciting all the vital powers, may give the circulation an impetus

which troubles all, and dissipates, the gas destined to become

fat. It is also shown that quinquina contains a portion of tannin

which is powerful enough to close the cells which contain grease.

It is possible that these two effects sustain each other.

These two ideas, the truth of which any one may understand, induce

me to recommend quinquina to all those who wish to get rid of

troublesome embonpoint. Thus dummodo annuerit in omni medicationis

genere doctissimi Facultatis professores. I think that after the

first month of any regimen, the person who wishes to get rid of

fat, should take every day before breakfast, a glass of white

wine, in which was placed a spoonful of coffee and red quinquina.

Such are the means I suggest to overcome a very troublesome

affection. I have accommodated them to human weakness and to our

manners.

In this respect the experimental truth is relied on, which teaches

that in proportion as a regime is vigorous, it is dangerous, for

he who does not follow it literally, does not follow it all.

Great efforts are rare, and if one wishes to be followed, men must

be offered things vacile, if not agreeable.

MEDITATION XXIII.

THINNESS.

DEFINITION.

THINNESS is the state of that individual, the muscular frame of

whom is not filled up by strength, and who exhibits all angles of

the long scaffolding.

VARIETIES.

There are two kinds of thinness; the first is the result of the

primitive disposition of the body, and is accompanied by health,

and a full use of the organic functions of the body. The second is

caused by the fact that some of the organs are more defective than

others, and give the individual an unhappy and miserable

appearance. I once knew young woman of moderate stature who only

weighed sixty-five pounds.

EFFECTS OF THINNESS.

Thinness is a matter of no great trouble to men. They have no less

strength, and are far more active. The father of the young woman I

spoke of, though, very thin, could seize a chair by his teeth and

throw it over his head.

It is, however, a terrible misfortune to women, to whom beauty is

more important than life, and the beauty of whom consists in the

roundness and graceful contour of their forms. The most careful

toilette, the most, sublime needle-work, cannot hide certain

deficiencies. It has been said that whenever a pin is taken from a

thin woman, beautiful as she may be, she loses some charm.

The thin have, therefore, no remedy, except from the interference

of the faculty. The regimen must be so long, that the cure must be

slow.

Women, however, who are thin, and who have a good stomach, are

found to be as susceptible of fat as chickens. A little time,

only, is necessary, for the stomach of chickens is comparatively

smaller, and they cannot be submitted to as regular a diet as

chickens are.

This is the most gentle comparison which suggested itself to me. I

needed one, and ladies will excuse me for the reason for which I

wrote this chapter.

NATURAL PREDESTINATION.

Nature varies its works, and has remedies for thinness, as it has

for obesity.

Persons intended to be thin are long drawn out. They have long

hands and feet, legs thin, and the os coxigis retroceding. Their

sides are strongly marked, their noses prominent, large mouths,

sharp chins and brown hair.

This is the general type, the individual elements may sometimes

vary; this however happens rarely.

Thin people sometimetimes eat a great deal. All I ever even talked

with, confess that they digest badly. That is the reason they

remain thin.

They are of every class and temperament. Some have nothing salient

either in feature or in form. Their eyes are inexpressive, their

lips pale, and every feature denotes a want of energy, weakness,

and something like suffering. One might almost say they seemed to

be incomplete, and that the torch of their lives had not been well

lighted.

FATTENING REGIMEN.

All thin women wish to be fat; this is a wish we have heard

expressed a thousand times. To render, then, this last homage to

the powerful sex, we seek to replace by folds of silk and cotton,

exposed in fashion shops, to the great scandal of the severe, who

turn aside, and look away from them, as they would from chimeras,

more carefully than if the reality presented themselves to their

eyes.

The whole secret of embonpoint consists in a suitable diet. One

need only eat and select suitable food.

With this regimen, our disposition to sleep is almost unimportant.

If you do not take exercise, you will be exposed to fatness. If

you do, you will yet grow fat.

If you sleep much, you will grow fat, if you sleep little, your

digestion will increase, and you will eat more.

We have then only to speak of the manner they who wish to grow fat

should live. This will not be difficult, according to the many

directions we have laid down.

To resolve this problem, we must offer to the stomach food which

occupies, but does not fatigue it, and displays to the assimilant

power, things they can turn into fat.

Let us seek to trace out the daily diet of a sylph, or a sylph

disposed to materialize itself.

GENERAL RULE. Much fresh bread will be eaten during the day, and

particular care will be taken not to throw away the crumbs.

Before eight in the morning, soup au pain or aux pates will be

taken, and afterwards a cup of good chocolate.

At eleven o'clock, breakfast on fresh broiled eggs, petit pates

cotelettes, and what you please; have eggs, coffee will do no

harm.

Dinner hour should be so arranged that one should have thoroughly

digested before the time comes to sit down at the table. The

eating of one meal before another is digested, is an abuse.

After dinner there should be some exercise; men as much as they

can; women should go into the Tuilleries, or as they say in

America, go shopping. We are satisfied that the little gossip and

conversation they maintain is very healthful.

At times, all should take as much soup, potage, fish, etc., and

also meat cooked with rice and macaronies, pastry, creams, etc.

At dessert such persons should eat Savoy biscuits, and other

things made up of eggs, fecula, and sugar.

This regimen, though apparently circumscribed, is yet susceptible

of great variety: it admits the whole animal kingdom, and great

care is necessarily taken in the seasoning and preparation of the

food presented. The object of this is to prevent disgust, which

prevents any amelioration.

Beer should be preferred--if not beer, wines from Bourdeaux or

from the south of France.

One should avoid all acids, except salads. As much sugar as

possible should be put on fruits and all should avoid cold baths.

One should seek as long as possible, to breathe the pure country

air, eat many grapes when they are in season, and never go to the

ball for the mere pleasure of dancing.

Ordinarily one should go to bed about eleven, P. M., and never,

under any circumstances, sit up more than an hour later.

Following this regime resolutely, all the distractions of nature

will soon be repaired. Health and beauty will both be advanced,

and accents of gratitude will ring in the ears of the professor.

Sheep are fattened, as are oxen, lobsters and oysters. Hence, I

deduce the general maxim; viz: "He that eats may be made fat,

provided that the food be chosen correctly, and according to the

physiology of the animal to be fattened."

MEDITATION XXIV.

FASTING.

DEFINITION.

FASTING is a moral abstinence from food, from some religious or

moral influence.

Though contrary to our tastes and habits, it is yet of the

greatest antiquity.

ORIGIN.

Authors explain the matter thus:

In individual troubles, when a father, mother, or beloved child

have died, all the household is in mourning. The body is washed,

perfumed, enbalmed, and buried as it should be--none then think of

eating, but all fast.

In public calamites, when a general drought appears, and cruel

wars, or contagious maladies come, we humble ourselves before the

power that sent them, and mortify ourselves by abstinence.

Misfortune ceases. We become satisfied that the reason was that we

fasted, and we continue to have reference to such conjectures.

Thus it is, men afflicted with public calamities or private ones,

always yield to sadness, fail to take food, and in the end, make a

voluntary act, a religious one.

They fancied they should macerate their body when their soul was

oppressed, that they could excite the pity of the gods. This idea

seized on all nations and filled them with the idea of mourning,

prayers, sacrifice, abstinence, mortification, etc.

Christ came and sanctified fasting. All Christian sects since then

have adopted fasting more or less, as an obligation.

HOW PEOPLE USED TO FAST.

The practice of fasting, I am sorry to say, has become very rare;

and whether for the education of the wicked, or for their

conversion, I am glad to tell how we fast now in the XVIII.

century.

Ordinarily we breakfast before nine o'clock, on bread, cheese,

fruit and cold meats.

Between one and two P. M., we take soup or pot au feu according to

our positions.

About four, there is a little lunch kept up for the benefit of

those people who belong to other ages, and for children.

About eight there was a regular supper, with entrees roti

entremets dessert: all shared in it, and then went to bed.

In Paris there are always more magnificent suppers, which begin

just after the play. The persons who usually attend them are

pretty women, admirable actresses, financiers, and men about town.

There the events of the day were talked of, the last new song was

sung, and politics, literature, etc., were discussed. All persons

devoted themselves especially to making love.

Let us see what was done on fast days:

No body breakfasted, and therefore all were more hungry than

usual.

All dined as well as possible, but fish and vegetables are soon

gone through with. At five o'clock all were furiously hungry,

looked at their watches and became enraged, though they were

securing their soul's salvation.

At eight o'clock they had not a good supper, but a collation, a

word derived from cloister, because at the end of the day the

monks used to assemble to comment on the works of the fathers,

after which they were allowed a glass of wine.

Neither butter, eggs, nor any thing animal was served at these

collations. They had to be satisfied with salads, confitures, and

meats, a very unsatisfactory food to such appetites at that time.

They went to bed, however, and lived in hope as long as the fast

lasted.

Those who ate these little suppers, I am assured, never fasted.

The chef-d'oeuvre of a kitchen of those days, I am assured, was a

strictly apostolic collation, which, however, was very like a good

supper.

Science soon resolved this problem by the recognition of fish,

soups, and pastry made with oil. The observing of fasting, gave

rise to an unknown pleasure, that of the Easter celebration.

A close observation shows that the elements of our enjoyment are,

difficult privation, desire and gratification. All of these are

found in the breaking of abstinence. I have seen two of my grand

uncles, very excellent men, too, almost faint with pleasure, when,

on the day after Easter, they saw a ham, or a pate brought on the

table. A degenerate race like the present, experiences no such

sensation.

ORIGIN OF THE REMOVAL OF RESTRICTION IN FASTING.

I witnessed the rise of this. It advanced by almost insensible

degrees.

Young persons of a certain age, were not forced to fast, nor were

pregnant women, or those who thought themselves so. When in that

condition, a soup, a very great temptation to those who were well,

was served to them.

Then people began to find out that fasting disagreed with them,

and kept them awake. All the little accidents man is subject to,

were then attributed to it, so that people did not fast, because

they thought themselves sick, or that they would be so. Collations

thus gradually became rarer.

This was not all; some winters were so severe that people began to

fear a scarcity of vegetables, and the ecclesiastical power

officially relaxed its rigor.

The duty, however, was recognised and permission was always asked.

The priests were refused it, but enjoined the necessity of extra

alms giving.

The Revolution came, which occupied the minds of all, that none

thought of priests, who were looked on as enemies to the state.

This cause does not exist, but a new one has intervened. The hour

of our meals is totally changed; we do not eat so often, and a

totally different household arrangement would be required for

fasting. This is so true, that I think I may safely say, though I

visit none but the best regulated houses, that, except at home, I

have not seen a lenten table, or a collation ten times in twenty-

five years.

We will not finish this chapter without observing the new

direction popular taste has taken.

Thousands of men, who, forty years ago would have passed their

evenings in cabarets, now pass them at the theatres.

Economy, certainly does not gain by this, but morality does.

Manners are improved at the play, and at cafes one sees the

journals. One certainly escapes the quarrels, diseases, and

degradation, which infallibly result from the habit of frequenting

cabarets.

MEDITATION XXV.

EXHAUSTION.

BY exhaustion, a state of weakness, languor or depression, caused

by previous circumstances is understood, rendering the exercise of

the vital functions more difficult. There are various kinds of

exhaustion, caused by mental labor, bodily toil and the abuse of

certain faculties.

One great remedy is to lay aside the acts which have produced this

state, which, if not a disease, approximates closely to one.

TREATMENT.

After these indispensable preliminaries, gastronomy is ready with

its resources.

When a man is overcome by too long fatigue, it offers him a good

soup, generous wine, flesh and sleep.

To a savant led into debility by a too great exercise of his

mental faculties, it prescribes fresh air, a bath, fowl and

vegetables.

The following observation will explain how I effected a cure of

another kind of exhaustion. [The translator thinks it best not to

translate this anecdote, but merely to append the original.]

CURE BY THE PROFESSOR.

J'allai un jour faire visite a un de mes meilleurs amis (M.

Rubat); on me dit qu'il etait malade, et effectivement je le

trouvai en robe de chambre aupres de son feu, et en attitude

d'affaissement.

Sa physionomie m'effraya: il avait le visage pale, les yeux

brillants et sa levre tombait de maniere a laisser voir les dents

de la machoire inferieure, ce qui avait quelque chose de hideux.

Je m'enquis avec interet de la cause de ce changement subit; il

hesita, je le pressai, et apres quelque resistance: "Mon ami, dit-

il en rougissant, tu sais que ma femme est jalouse, et que cette

manie m'a fait passer bien des mauvais moments. Depuis quelques

jours, il lui en a pris une crise effroyable, et c'est en voulant

lui prouver qu'elle n'a rien perdu de mon affection et qu'il ne se

fait a son prejudice aucune derivation du tribut conjugal, que je

me suis mis en cet etat.--Tu as done oublie, lui dis-je, et que tu

as quarante-cinq ans, et que la jalousie est un mal sans remede?

Ne sais-tu pas furens quid femina possit?" Je tins encore quelques

autres propos peu galants, car j'etais en colere.

"Voyons, au surplus, continuai-je: ton pouls est petit, dur,

concentre; que vas-tu faire?--Le docteur, me dit-il, sort d'ici;

il a pense que j'avais une fievre nerveuse, et a ordonne une

saignee pour laquelle il doit incessamment m'envoyer le

chirurgien.--Le chirurgien! m' ecriai-je, garde-t'en bien, ou tu

es mort; chasse-le comme un meurtrier, et dis lui que je me suis

empare de toi, corps et ame. Au surplus, ton medecin connait-il la

cause occasionnelle de ton mal?--Helas! non, une mauvaise honte

m'a empeche de lui fairs une confession entiere.--Eh bien, il faut

le prier de passer cher toi. Je vais te faire une potion

appropriee a ton etat; en attendant prends ceci." Je lui presentai

un verre d'eau saturee de sucre, qu'il avala avec la confiance

d'Alexandre et la foi du charbounier.

Alors je le quittai et courus chez moi pour y mixtionner,

fonctionner et elaborer un magister reparateur qu'on trouvera dans

les Varietes, avec les divers modes que j'adoptai pour me hater;

car, en pareil cas, quelques heures de retard peuvent donner lieu

a des accidents irreparables.

Je revins bientot arme de ma potion, et deja je trouvai du mieux;

la couleur reparaissait aux joues, l'oeil etait detendu; mais la

levre pendait toujours avec une effrayante difformite.

Le medecin ne tarda pas a reparaitre; je l'instruisis de ce que

j'avais fait et le malade fit ses aveux. Son front doctoral prit

d'abord un aspect severe; mais bientot nous regardant avec un air

ou il y avait un peu d'ironie: "Vous ne devez pas etre etonne,

dit-il a mon ami, que je n'aie pas devine une maladie qui ne

convient ni a votre age ni a votre etat, et il y a de votre part

trop de modestie a en cacher la cause, qui ne pouvait que vous

faire honneur. J'ai encore a vous gronder de ce que vous m'avez

expose a une erreur qui aurait pu vous etre funeste. Au surplus,

mon confrere, ajouta-til en me faisant un salut que je lui rendis

avec usure, vous a indique la bonne route; prenez son potage, quel

que soit le nom qu'il y donne, et si la fievre vous quitte, comme

je le crois, dejeunez demain avec une tasse de chocolat dans

laquelle vous ferez delayer deux jaunes d'oeufs frais."

A ces mots il prit sa canne, son chapeau et nous quitta, nous

laissant fort tentes de nous egayer a ses depens.

Bientot je fis prendre a mon malade une forte tasse de mon elixir

de vie; il le but avec avidite, et voulait redoubler; mais

j'exigeai un, ajournement de deux heures, et lui servis une

seconde dose avant de me retirer.

Le lendemain il etait sans fievre et presque bien portant; il

dejeuna suivant l'ordonnance, continua la potion, et put vaquer

des le surlendemain a ses occupations ordinaires; mais la levre

rebelle ne se releva qu'apres le troisieme jour.

Pen de temps apres, l'affaire transpira, et toutes les dames en

chuchotaient entre elles.

Quelques-unes admiraient mon ami, presque toutes le plaignaient,

et le professeur gastronome fut glorifie.

MEDITATION XXVI

DEATH.

Omnia mors poscit; lex est, non poena, perire.

God has subjected man to six great necessities: birth, action,

eating, sleep, reproduction and death.

Death is the absolute interruption of the sensual relations, and

the absolute annihilation of the vital powers, which abandons the

body to the laws of decomposition.

These necessities are all accompanied and softened by a sensation

of pleasure, and even death, when j natural, is not without

charms. We mean when a man has passed through the different phases

of growth, virility, old age, and decrepitude.

Had I not determined to make this chapter very short, I would

invoke the assistance of the physicians, who have observed every

shade of the transition of a living to an inert body. I would

quote philosophers, kings, men of letters, men, who while on the

verge of eternity, had pleasant thoughts they decked in the

graces; I would recall the dying answer of Fontinelle, who being

asked what he felt, said, "nothing but the pain of life;" I

prefer, however, merely to express my opinion, founded on analogy

as sustained by many instances, of which the following is the

last:

I had a great aunt, aged eighty-three when she died. Though she

had long been confined to her bed, she preserved all her

faculties, and the approach of death was perceived by the

feebleness of her voice and the failing of her appetite.

She had always exhibited great devotion to me, and I sat by her

bed-side anxious to attend on her. This, however, did not prevent

my observing her with most philosophic attention.

"Are you there, nephew?" said she in an almost inaudible voice.

"Yes, aunt! I think you would be better if you would take a little

old wine." "Give it to me, liquids always run down." I hastened to

lift her up and gave her half a glass of my best and oldest wine.

She revived for a moment and said, "I thank you. If you live as

long as I have lived, you will find that death like sleep is a

necessity."

These were her last words, and in half an hour she had sank to

sleep forever.

Richerand has described with so much truth the gradations of the

human body, and the last moments of the individual that my readers

will be obliged to me for this passage.

"Thus the intellectual faculties are decomposed and pass away.

Reason the attribute of which man pretends to be the exclusive

possessor, first deserts him. He then loses the power of combining

his judgment, and soon after that of comparing, assembling,

combining, and joining together many ideas. They say then that the

invalid loses his mind, that he is delirious. All this usually

rests on ideas familiar to the individual. The dominant passion is

easily recognized. The miser talks most wildly about his

treasures, and another person is besieged by religious terrors.

"After reasoning and judgment, the faculty of association becomes

lost. This takes place in the cases known as defaillances, to

which I have myself been liable. I was once talking with a friend

and met with an insurmountable difficulty in combining two ideas

from which I wished to make up an opinion. The syncopy was not,

however, complete, for memory and sensation remained. I heard the

persons around me say distinctly he is fainting, and sought to

arouse me from this condition, which was not without pleasure.

"Memory then becomes extinct. The patient, who in his delirium,

recognized his friends, now fails even to know those with whom he

had been on terms of the greatest intimacy. He then loses

sensation, but the senses go out in a successive and determinate

order. Taste and smell give no evidence of their existence, the

eyes become covered with a mistful veil and the ear ceases to

execute its functions. For that reason, the ancients to be sure of

the reality of death, used to utter loud cries in the ears of the

dying. He neither tastes, sees, nor hears. He yet retains the

sense of touch, moves in his bed, changes the position of the arms

and body every moment, and has motions analogous to those of the

foetus in the womb. Death affects him with no terror, for he has

no ideas, and he ends as he begun life, unconsciously.

"(Richerand's Elements on Physiology, vol. ii. p. 600.)

MEDITATION XXVII.

PHILOSOPHICAL HISTORY OF THE KITCHEN.

COOKERY is the most ancient of arts, for Adam must have been born

hungry, and the cries of the infant are only soothed by the

mother's breast.

Of all the arts it is the one which has rendered the greatest

service in civil life. The necessities of the kitchen taught us

the use of fire, by which man has subdued nature.

Looking carefully at things, three kinds of cuisine may be

discovered.

The first has preserved its primitive name.

The second analyzes and looks after elements: it is called

chemistry.

The third, is the cookery of separation and is called pharmacy.

Though different objects, they are all united by the fact that

they use fire, furnaces, etc., at the same time.

Thus a morsel of beef, which the cook converts into potage or

bouilli, the chemist uses to ascertain into how many substances it

may be resolved.

ORDER OF ALIMENTATION.

Man is an omnivorous animal: he has incisors to divide fruits,

molar teeth to crush grain, and canine teeth for flesh. Let it he

remarked however, that as man approaches the savage state, the

canine teeth are more easily distinguishable.

The probability was, that the human race for a long time, lived on

fruit, for it is the most ancient food of the human race, and his

means of attack until he had acquired the use of arms are very

limited. The instinct of perfection attached to his nature,

however, soon became developed, and the sentiment attached to his

instinct was soon exhibited, and he made weapons for himself. To

this he was impelled by a carniverous instinct, and he began to

make prey of the animals that surrounded him.

This instinct of destruction yet exists: children always kill the

animals that surround them, and if they were hungry would devour

them.

It is not strange that man seeks to feed on flesh: He has too

small a stomach, and fruit has not nourishment enough to renovate

him. He could subsist on vegetables, but their preparation

requires an art, only reached after the lapse of many centuries.

Man's first weapons were the branches of trees, and subsequently

bows and arrows.

It is worthy of remark, that wherever we find man, in all climates

and latitudes, he has been found with and arrows. None can see how

this idea presented itself to individuals so differently placed:

it must be hidden by the veil of centuries.

Raw flesh has but one inconvenience. Its viscousness attaches

itself to the teeth. It is not, however, disagreeable. When

seasoned with salt it is easily digested, and must be digestible.

A Croat captain, whom I invited to dinner in 1815, was amazed at

my preparations. He said to me, "When in campaign, and we become

hungry, we knock over the first animal we find, cut off a steak,

powder it with salt, which we always have in the sabretasche, put

it under the saddle, gallop over it for half a mile, and then dine

like princes."

When the huntsmen of Dauphiny go out in Septemher to shoot, they

take both pepper and salt with them. If they kill a very fat bird

they pluck, season it, carry it some time in their caps and eat

it. They say it is the best way to serve it up.

If our ancestors ate raw food we have not entirely gotten rid of

the habit. The most delicate palates like Aries' sausages, etc.,

which have never been cooked, but which are not, on that account,

the less appetising.

DISCOVERY OF FIRE.

Subsequently to the Croat mode, fire was discovered. This was an

accident, for fire is not spontaneous. Many savage nations have

been found utterly ignorant of it.

BAKING.

Fire having been discovered it was made use of to perfect food; at

first it was made use of to dry it, and then to cook it.

Meat thus treated was found better than when raw. It had more

firmness, was eaten with less difficulty, and the osmazome as it

was condensed by carbonization gave it a pleasing perfume.

They began, however, to find out that flesh cooked on the coals

became somewhat befouled, for certain portions of coal will adhere

to it. This was remedied by passing spits through it, and placing

it above burning coals at a suitable height.

Thus grillades were invented, and they have a flavor as rich as it

is simple. All grilled meat is highly flavored, for it must be

partially distilled.

Things in Homer's time had not advanced much further, and all will

be pleased here to read the account of Achilles' reception of the

three leading Greeks, one of whom was royal.

I dedicate this story to the ladies, for Achilles was the

handsomest of all the Greeks, and his pride did not prevent his

weeping when Briseis was taken from him, viz:

[verse in Greek]

The following is a translation by Pope:

"Patroclus, crown a larger bowl, Mix purer wine, and open every

soul. Of all the warriors yonder host can send, Thy friend most

honours these, and these thy friend."

He said: Patroclus o'er the blazing fire Heaps in a brazen vase

three chines entire: The brazen vase Automedon sustains, 'Which

flesh of porket, sheep, and goat contains: Achilles at the genial

feast presides, The parts transfixes, and with skill divides.

Meanwhile Patroclus sweats the fire to raise; The tent is

brightened with the rising blaze:

Then, when the languid flames at length subside, He strews a bed

of glowing embers wide, Above the coals the smoking fragments

turns And sprinkles sacred salt from lifted urns; With bread the

glittering canisters they load. Which round the board Menoetius'

son bestow'd: Himself, opposed to Ulysses, full in sight, Each

portion parts, and orders every rite. The first fat offerings, to

the immortals due, Amid the greedy Patroclus threw; Then each,

indulging in the social feast, His thirst and hunger soberly

repress'd. That done, to Phoenix Ajax gave the sign; Not

unperceived; Ulysses crown'd with wine The foaming bowl, and

instant thus began, His speech addressing to the godlike man:

"Health to Achilles!"

Thus then a king, a son of a king, and three Grecian leaders dined

very comfortably on bread, wine, and broiled meat.

We cannot but think that Achilles and Patroclus themselves

prepared the entertainment, if only to do honor to the

distinguished guests they received. Ordinarily the kitchen

business was abandoned to slaves and women, as Homer tells us in

Odyssey when he refers to the entertainment of the heralds.

The entrails of animals stuffed with blood were at that time

looked on as very great delicacies.

At that time and long before, beyond doubt, poetry and music, were

mingled with meals. Famous minstrels sang the wonders of nature,

the loves of the gods, and warlike deeds of man. Theirs was a kind

of priesthood and it is probable that the divine Homer himself was

sprung from one of those men favored by heaven. He would not have

been so eminent had not his poetical studies begun in his

childhood.

Madame Dacier observes that Homer does not speak of boiled meat

anywhere in his poems. The Jews had made much greater progress in

consequence of their captivity in Egypt. They had kettles. Esau's

mess of potage must have been made thus. For this he sold his

birthright.

It is difficult to say how men learned the use of metals. Tubal

Cain, it is said, was the inventor.

In the present state of knowledge, we use one metal to

manufacture another. We overcome them with iron pincers; cut them

with steel files, but I never met with any one who could tell me

who made the first file or pair of pincers.

ORIENTAL ENTERTAINMENTS.--GRECIAN.

Cookery made great advances. We are ignorant however of its

utensils, whether of iron, pottery or of tin material.

The oldest books we know of make honorable mention of oriental

festivals. It is not difficult to believe that monarchs who

ruled such glorious realms abounded in all that was grateful. We

only know that Cadmus who introduced writing into Greece, was cook

of the king of Sidon.

The idea of surrounding the table with couches, originated from

this voluptuous prince.

Cookery and its flavors were then highly esteemed by the

Athenians, a people fond of all that was new. From what we read in

their histories, there is no doubt but that their festivals were

true feasts.

The wines of Greece, which even now we find excellent, have been

estimated by scientific gourmands the most delicious that were.

The most beautiful women that ever came to adorn our

entertainments were Greeks, or of Grecian origin.

The wisest men of old were anxious to display the luxury of such

enjoyments. Plato, Atheneus, and many others, have preserved their

names. The works of all of them, however, are lost, and if any

remember them, it is only those who have heard of a long forgotten

and lost book, the Gastronomy [Greek word]--the friend of one of

the sons of Pericles.

Such was the cookery of Greece, which sent forth a few men who

first established themselves in the Tiber, and then took

possession of the world.

ROMAN FESTIVALS.

Good cheer was unknown to the Romans as long as they thought to

preserve their independence or to overcome their neighbors, who

were poor as they were. Their generals therefore lived on

vegetables. Historians have never failed to praise these times,

when frugality was a matter of honor. When, however, their

conquests had extended into Africa, Sicily and Hellas, when they

had to live as people did where civilization was more advanced,

they brought back to Rome the tastes which had attended them in

foreign lands.

The Romans sent to Athens a deputation charged to bring back the

laws of Solon. They also sent them thither to study belles lettres

and philosophy. While their manners became polished they became

aware of the attractions of festivals. And poets, philosophers,

orators, etc., all came to Rome at once.

As time advanced, and as the series of events attracted to Rome

almost all the riches of the world, the luxury of the table became

incredible.

Every thing was eaten--the grass-hopper and the ostrich, the

squirrel and the wild-boar--all imaginable vegetables were put in

requisition.

Armies and travellers put all the world in requisition. The most

distinguished Roman citizens took pleasure, not only in the

cultivation of fruits once known, such as pears, apples, etc., but

sought out things Lucullus never dreamed of. These importations

which naturally had a great influence, prove at least that the

impulse was general, that each one sought to contribute to the

enjoyment of those around him.

Our drinks were not the object of less attention, nor of less

attentive cares. The Romans were delighted with the wines of

Italy, Greece, and Sicily. As they estimated their value from the

year in which they were made, we may understand Cicero's much

abused line,

Oh tortuna tam, natura, me consule Roman.

This was not all. In consequence of an instinct hitherto referred

to, an effort was made to make them more highly perfumed, and

flowers, aromatics, etc., were infused. Such things which the

Romans called condita, must have had a very bad effect on the

stomach.

Thus the Romans came to dream of alcohol, which was not discovered

until long after they were born.

RESURRECTION OF LUCULLUS.

The glorious days of old might arise again, and nothing but a

Lucullus is needed, to bring this about. Let us fancy that any

man, known to be rich, should wish to celebrate any great act, and

give in this manner an occasion for a famous entertainment.

Let us suppose that he appeals to every one to adorn his

entertainment, and orders every possible resource to be prepared.

Let him make every imaginable preparation and Lucullus would be as

nothing compared with the civilized world as it is.

Both the Romans and the Athenians had beds to eat on. They

achieved the purpose but indirectly.

At first they used beds only for the sacred festivals offered to

the gods. The magistrates and principal men, adopted the custom,

and ere long, it became general and was preserved until in the

beginning of the fourth century.

These couches were at first, only boxes filled with straw, and

covered with skins. Gradually, however, they became more

luxurious, and were made of the most precious woods, inlaid with

ivory, and sometimes with gems. Their cushions were soft and their

covers magnificently embroidered.

People only laid down on the left elbow. Three usually slept

together.

This the Romans called lectisternium. It is not a very bad name.

In a physical point of view incubitation demands a certain

exhibition of power to preserve equlibrium, and is not without a

degree of pain; the elbow supporting an undue proportion of the

weight of the body.

In a physiological point of view, something also is to be said.

Imbuccation (swallowing) is effected in a less natural manner. The

food is passed with more difficulty into the stomach.

The ingestion of liquids, or drinking, is yet more difficult. It

required particular attention not to spill the wine from the large

cups on the tables of the great. Thence came the proverb:

"Between the cup and lip,

There is often time a slip."

None could eat comfortably when reclining, especially when we

remember that many of the guests had long beards, and that

fingers, or at least only knives were used. Forks are an invention

of modern times, for none were found at Herculaeneum.

Some violations of modesty must also have occurred at repasts

which frequently exceeded the bounds of temperance, and where the

two sexes have fallen asleep, and were mingled together. A poet

says:

"Nam pransus, jaceo, et satur supinus,

Pertimdo tunicamque, palliumque."

When Christianity had acquired some power, its priests lifted up

their voices against intemperance. They declaimed against the

length of meals which violated all prudence by surrounding persons

by every species of voluptuousness. Devoted by choice to an

austere regimen, they placed gourmandise in the list of capital

sins, and rigidly commented on the mingling of sexes and the use

of beds, a habit which they said produced the luxury they

deplored.

Their menacing voice was heard; couches disappeared, and the old

habit of eating sitting, was restored. Fortunately this did not

violate the demands of pleasure.

POETRY.

Convivial poetry then underwent a new modification, and in the

mouths of Horace and Tibullus assumed a languor the Greeks were

ignorant of.

Dulce ridentem Lalagem amabo,

Dulce luquentem.

HOR.

Quaeris quot mihi batiationes

Tuae, Lesbia, sint satis superque.

CAT.

Pande, puella, pande capillulos

Mavos, lucentus ut aurum nitidum.

Pande, puella, collum candidum

Productum bene candidis humeris.

GALLUS.

IRRUPTION OF THE BARBARIANS.

The five or six centuries we shall run over in a few pages, were

glorious days for the cuisine; the irruption however of northern

men overturned and destroyed everything.

When the strangers appeared, alimentary art made its appearance,

as did the others that are its companions. The greater portion of

the cooks were massacred in the palaces they served. The

foreigners came and they were able to eat as much in an hour as

civilized people did in a week.

Although that which is excessive is not durable--conquerors are

always cruel. They united themselves with the victors, who

received some tints of civilization, and began to know the

pleasures of civilized life.

* * * * * * *

About the seventeenth century, the Dutch imported coffee into

Europe. Solyman Agu, a Turk, whom our great, great grandfathers

well remember, sold the first cups in 1760. An American sold it in

1670, and dealt it out from a marble bar, as we see now.

The use of coffee then dates from the eighteenth century.

Distillation, introduced by the crusades, remained arcana, with

few adepts. About the commencement of the reign of Louis XIV,

alambics became more common, but not until the time of Louis XV.,

did the drink become really popular.

About the same time the use of tobacco was introduced. So that

sugar, coffee and tobacco, the three most important articles of

luxury in Europe, are scarcely two centuries old.

[The translator here omits a whole Meditation. It would now be

scarcely pleasant.]

MEDITATION XXVIII.

RESTAURATEURS.

A restaurateur is one, the business of whom is to offer a dinner

always ready, and with prices to suit those that consume them.

Of all those who frequent restaurants, few persons cannot

understand that a restorateur is not necessarily a man of genius.

We shall follow out the affiliation of ideas which has led to the

present state of affairs.

ESTABLISHMENT.

About 1770, after the glorious days of Louis XIV., and the frolics

and tranquility of the regency of Cardinal Fleury, foreigners had

few means of good cheer.

They were forced to have recourse to inn-keepers, the cookery of

whom was generally very bad. A few hotels kept a table d'hote

which generally contained only what was very necessary, and which

was always ready at an appointed hour.

The people we speak of only ordered whole joints, or dishes, and

consequently such an order of things could not last.

At last a man of sense arose, who thought that an active cause

must have its effect. That as the same want sent people every day

to his house, consumers would come whenever they were satisfied

that they would be served. They saw that if a wing was cut from a

fowl for one person, some one would be sure to taste the thigh.

The separation of one limb would not injure the flavor of the rest

of the animal. More pay the least attention to the increase of

prices, when one considers the prompt service of what was served.

This man thought of many things, which we may now easily devise.

The one who did so was the first restaurateur and the inventor of

a business which is a fortune to all who exercise it promptly and

honorably.

[The translator here omits a whole chapter.]

From the examination of the bills of fare of different

restaurants, any one who sets down at the table, has the choice of

the following dishes:--

12 soups.

24 side dishes.

15 or 20 preparations of beef.

20 of mutton.

30 of fowl or game.

16 or 20 of veal.

12 of pastry.

24 of fish.

15 roasts.

50 side dishes.

50 desserts.

Besides the fortunate gastronomer has thirty kinds of wine to

select from, passing over the whole scale from Burgundy to Tokay,

and Constantia, and twenty various kinds of essences, without

taking into consideration such mixed drinks as punch, negus,

sillabubs and the like.

Of the various parts of a good dinner, many are indigenous, such

as butcher's meat, fowl and fruits. Others for instance, the beef-

stake, Welch rare-bit, punch, etc., were invented in England.

Germany, Spain, Italy, Holland, all contribute, as does India,

Persia, Arabia, and each pay their quota, in sour-krout, raisins,

parmera, bolognas, curacao, rice, sago, soy, potatoes, etc. The

consequence is, that a Parisian dinner is perfectly cosmopolitan.

[The translator here omits two Meditations, which refer

exclusively to Paris is 1825. Few Frenchmen NOW would understand

them, and none but a Frenchman could.]

PHYSIOLOGY OF TASTE

PART SECOND.

TRANSITION.

If I have been read with the attention I wished, all must have

seen that I had a double purpose in view. The first was to

establish the theoretical basis of Gastronomy, so as to place it

among sciences where it should doubtless be. The second was to

define gourmandise, and to separate this social character, as free

from gluttony and intemperance, with which it is often confounded.

This equivoque has been introduced by intolerant moralists, who,

deceived by too much zeal, saw excesses where there was only

innocent enjoyment. The treasures of creation were not made to be

trodden under the feet. It was afterwards propagated by

grammarians who defined it as blind men do, and who swore in verba

magistri.

It is time that such an error should cease, for now all the world

understand each other. This is true, for there never was a person

who would not confess to some tincture of gourmandise, and even

would not boast of it, none however would not look on gluttony as

an insult, just as they do on intemperance and voracity.

About these two cardinal points, it seems that what I have

described should satisfy all those who do not refuse conviction. I

might then lay down my pen and look on the task I have imposed on

myself as finished. As however, I approached those subjects which

belong to every thing, I remembered many things which it did not

seem to me fit to write, such as anecdotes, bon mots, recipes, and

other odd things.

Had they been put in the theoretical portion of the book they

would have taken the connection; place them all together, they

will not be disadvantageous because they contain some experimental

truths and useful explanations.

I have also inserted personal biography, but when I read them

over, I feel to a degree uneasy.

This anxiety originated in my last lectures and glossaries, which

are in the hands of every body. I think, however, that I may be

tranquil, having sheltered myself under the mantle of philosophy,

I insist that my enemies have uneasy consciences and sleep badly.

VARIETIES.

I.

L'OMELETTE DU CURE.

All know that twenty years ago, Madame R---- was the most

beautiful woman in Paris. All know that she was very charitable

and took an interest in the various enterprises, the object of

which was the alleviation of misery, perhaps greater in the

capital than elsewhere.

Having business with the cure of----, she went thither about five

P. M., and was surprised to find him at dinner.

She believed that every body dined at six P. M., and was not aware

that ecclesiastics dined earlier, from the fact that they were

used to take light collations.

Madame R---- wished to retire, but the cure would not permit her

to do so, either because the matter under discussion would not

interrupt conversation, or that a pretty woman never disturbs any

entertainment.

The table was very well arranged; old wine sparkled in a chrystal

flagon, and the porcelain was faultless. The plates were kept hot

by boiling water, and an old housekeeper was in attendance.

The meal was half way between luxury and abstinence. A soup of

ecrevisses was removed and a salmon trout, an omelette, and a

salad were placed on the table.

"My dinner tells you," said the priest "what you do not know, that

to day is a fast day." My friend assented with a blush.

They began with the trout, the shoulders of which were soon eaten.

The sauce was made by a competent person and the pastor's brow was

irradiated with joy.

Then the omelette, which was round and done to a point, was

attached.

As soon as the spoon touched it, the odor and perfume it contained

escaped, and my friend owns that it made her mouth water.

The curel had a sympathetic movement for he was used to watch my

passions. In reply to a question he saw Madame R---- was about to

ask, he said, "It is an omelette au thon. My cook understands them

simply, and few people ever taste them without complimenting her."

"I am not amazed," said his lady guest, "for I never ate anything

so delightful."

Then came the salad. (I recommend it to those who have confidence

in me. It refreshes without exciting. I think it makes people

younger.)

Dinner did not interrupt conversation. They talked of the affair

which had occasioned the visit, of the war, of business, of other

things which made a bad dinner passably good.

The dessert came. It consisted of septmoncel cheese, of apples and

preserves.

At last the house-keeper brought forward a little round table,

such as once was called a gueridon, on which was a cup of strong

mocha, the perfume of which filled the room.

Having sipped it, the cure said grace, and arose, adding "I never

take spirits, though I offer them to my guests. I reserve them as

a succor for extreme old age."

While all this was progressing, time had passed, and as it was six

o'clock, Madame R---- was anxious to get into her carriage, for

she had several friends to dine with her. She came late, and told

her guests, of whom I was one, what she had seen.

The conversation passed from subject to subject, but I, as a

philosopher, thought the secret of the preparation of such a dish

must be valuable. I ordered my cook to obtain the recipe in its

most minute details. I publish it the more willingly now, because

I never saw it in any book.

OMELETTE AU THON.

Take for six persons the roe of four cash [Footnote: the

translator has followed this recipe with shad, pike, pickerel,

etc., and can recommend it with a quiet conscience. Any fish is a

substitute for tunny] and steep them for a few minutes in salt

water just below boiling point.

Put in also a fresh tunny about as large as an egg, to which you

must add a charlotte minced.

Mix the tunny and the roes together, and put the whole in a kettle

with a portion of good butter, and keep it on the fire until the

butter has melted. This is the peculiarity of the omelette.

Take then another piece of butter and mix it with parsely and

sage. Put it in the dish intended to receive the omelette, cover

it with lemon juice and put it on hot coals.

Then beat twelve eggs, (fresh as possible), pour in the fish and

roe so that all may be perfectly mixed.

Then cook the omelette as usual, making it thin and firm. Serve it

up hot.

This dish should be reserved for breakfasts, where all the guests

are connoisseurs. It is caviare to the vulgar.

OBSERVATIONS.

1. The roes and fish should be warmed, not boiled. They will thus

mingle more easily with the eggs.

2. The plate should be deep.

3. It should be warm, for a cold porcelain plate would extract the

caloric of the omelette and make it insipid.

II. A NATIONAL VICTORY.

When I lived in New York I used every once in a while to pass the

evening in a kind of tavern kept by a man named Little, (the old

lank coffee house) where one could always get turtle soup and all

the dishes common in the United States.

I often went thither with the Vicomte de la Massue and M. Fehr, an

old broker of Marsailles; all three of us were emigrants, and we

used to drink ale and cider, and pass the evening very pleasantly

together.

There I became acquainted with a Mr. Wilkinson, who was a native

of Jamaica, and a person he was very intimate with, for he never

left him. The latter, the name of whom I do not remember was one

of the most extraordinary men I ever met. He had a square face,

keen eyes, and appeared to look attentively at everything, though

his features were motionless as those of a blind man. When he

laughed it was with what the English call a horse-laugh, and

immediately resumed his habitual taciturnity. Mr. Wilkinson seemed

about forty, and, in manner and appearance, seemed to be a

gentleman.

The Englishman seemed to like our company, and more than once

shared the frugal entertainment I offered my friends, when Mr.

Wilkinson took me one evening aside and said he intended to ask us

all to dine with him.

I accepted the invitation for three o'clock on the third day

after.

The evening passed quietly enough, but when I was about to leave,

a waiter came to me and said that the West Indian had ordered a

magnificent dinner, thinking their invitation a challenge. The man

with the horse-laugh had undertaken to drink us Frenchmen drunk.

This intelligence would have induced me, if possible, to decline

the banquet. It was, however, impossible, and following the advice

of the Marshal de Saxe, we determined, as the wine was uncorked,

to drink it.

I had some anxiety, but being satisfied that my constitution was

young, healthy and sound, I could easily get the better of the

West Indian, who probably was unused to liquors.

I however, went to see Messrs. Fehr and Massue, and in an occular

allocution, told them of my plans. I advised them to drink as

little as possible, and to avoid too many glasses, while I talked

to our antagonists. Above all things, I advised them to keep up

some appetite, telling them that food had the effect of moderating

the fumes of wine.

Thus physically and morally armed, we went to the old bank coffee

house, where we found our friends; dinner was soon ready. It

consisted of a huge piece of beef, a roasted turkey, (plain)

boiled vegetables, a salad and pastry.

Wine was put on the table. It was claret, very good, and cheaper

than it then was in France.

Mr. Wilkinson did the honors perfectly, asking us to eat, and

setting us an example, while his friend, who seemed busy with his

plate, did nothing but laugh at the corners of his mouth.

My countrymen delighted me by their discretion.

After the claret came the port and Madeira. To the latter we paid

great attention.

Then came the dessert composed of butter, cheese and hickory nuts.

Then came the time for toasts, and we drank to our kings, to human

liberty, and to Wilkinson's daughter Maria, who was, as he said,

the prettiest woman in Jamaica.

Then came spirits, viz., rum, brandy, etc. Then came songs, and I

saw things were getting warm. I was afraid of brandy and asked for

punch. Little brought a bowl, which, doubtless, he had prepared

before. It held enough for forty people, and was larger than any

we have in France.

This gave me courage; I ate five or six well buttered rolls, and I

felt my strength revive. I looked around the table and saw my

compatriots apparently fresh enough, while the Jamaican began to

grow red in the face, and seemed uneasy. His friend said nothing,

but seemed so overcome that I saw the catastrophe would soon

happen.

I cannot well express the amazement caused by this denouement, and

from the burden of which I felt myself relieved. I rang the bell;

Little came up; I said, "see these gentlemen well taken care of."

We drank a glass to their health. At last the waiter came and bore

off the defeated party feet foremost. Wilkinson's friend was

motionless, and our host would insist on singing, "Rule

Britannia." [Footnote: The translator is sorry to say, that at the

time Savarin speaks of, "Rule Britannia" was not written.]

The New York papers told the story the next day, and added that

the Englishman had died. This was not so, for Mr. Wilkinson had

only a slight attack of the gout.

III.

MYSTIFICATION OF THE PROFESSOR AND DEFEAT OF A GENERAL.

Several years ago the newspapers told us of the discovery of a new

perfume called the emerocallis, a bulbous plant, which has an odor

not unlike the jasmin.

I am very curious, and was, therefore, induced in all probability

to go to, the Foubourg St. Germain, where I could find the

perfume.

I was suitably received, and a little flask, very well wrapped up,

was handed me, which seemed to contain about two ounces. In

exchange for it I left three francs.

An etourdi would at once have opened, smelled and tasted it. A

professor, however, acts differently, and I thought modesty would

become me. I took the flagon then and went quietly home, sat on my

sofa and prepared to experience a new sensation.

I took the package from my pocket and untied the wrappings which

surrounded it. They were three different descriptions of the

emerocallis, and referred to its natural history, its flower, and

its exquisite perfume, either in the shape of pastilles, in the

kitchen, or in ices. I read each of the wrappings. 1. To indemnify

myself as well as I could for the price I have spoken of above. 2.

To prepare myself for an appreciation of the new and valuable

extract I have spoken of.

I then opened, with reverence, the box I supposed full of

pastilles. To my surprise, however, I found three other copies of

the edition I had so carefully read. Inside I found about two

dozen of the cubes I had gone so far for.

I tasted them, and must say that I found them very agreeable. I

was sorry though, that they were so few in number, and the more I

thought of the matter, the more I became mystified.

I then arose with the intention of carrying the box back to its

manufacturer. Just then, however, I thought of my grey hairs,

laughed at my vivacity, and sat down.

A particular circumstance also recurred to me. I had to deal with

a druggist, and only four days ago I had a specimen of one of that

calling.

I had one day to visit my friend Bouvier des Eclats.

I found him strolling in a most excited state, up and down the

room, and crushing in his hands a piece of poetry, I thought a

song.

He gave it to me and said, "look at this, you know all about it."

I saw at once that it was an apothecary's bill. I was not

consulted as a poet, but as a pharmaceutist.

I knew what the trade was, and was advising him to be quiet, when

the door opened, and we saw a man of about fifty-five enter. He

was of moderate stature and his whole appearance would have been

stern, had there not been something sardonic about his lips.

He approached the fire-place, refused to sit down, and I heard the

following dialogue I have faithfully recorded.

"Monsieur," said the general, "you sent me a regular apothecary's

bill."

The man in black said that he was not an apothecary.

"What then are you?" said the general.

"Sir, I am a pharmaceutist."

"Well," said the general, "your boy--"

"Sir, I have no boy."

"Who then was the young man you sent thither?"

"My pupil--"

"I wish to say, sir, that your drugs--"

"Sir, I do not sell drugs--"

"What then do you sell?"

"Remedies."

The general at once became ashamed at having committed so many

solicisms in a few moments, and paid the bill.

IV.

THE SNARE.

The chevalier de Langeac was rich, but his fortune was dispensed

as is the fortune of all rich men.

He funded the remnants, and aided by a little pension from the

government, he contrived to lead a very pleasant life.

Though naturally very gallant, he had nothing to do with women.

As his other powers passed away, his gourmandise increased. He

became a professor and received more invitations than he could

accept.

Lyons is a pleasant city, for there one can get vin de Bourdeaux,

Hermitage and Burgundy. The game of the neighborhood is very good,

and unexceptionable fish is taken from the lakes in the vicinity.

Every body loves Bresse chickens.

Langeac was therefore welcome at all the best tables of the city,

but took especial delight in that of a certain M. A.

In the winter of 1780, the chevalier received a letter, inviting

him to sup ten days after date, (at that time I know there were

suppers) and the chevalier quivered with emotion at the idea.

He, at the appointed time, made his appearance, and found ten

guests. There was at that time no such A grand dinner was soon

served, consisting of fish, flesh, and fowl.

All was very good, but the chevalier was not satisfied with the

hopes he had entertained.

Another thing amazed him. His guests did not seem to eat. The

chevalier was amazed to see that so many anti-convivial persons

had been collected, and thinking that he had to do justice to all

these fasting people set to work at once.

The second service was solid as the first. A huge turkey was

dressed plain, flavored by salads and macaroni au parmesan.

When he saw this, the chevalier felt his strength revive; all the

other guests were overpowered, excited by the changes of wines, he

triumphed over their impotence, and drank their health again and

again. Every time he drank their health, he took a slice from the

turkey.

Due attention was paid to the side-dishes, and the chevalier stuck

to business longer than any one would have thought possible. He

only revived when the becfigues appeared, and became fully aroused

when truffles were put on the table.

THE TURBOT.

Discord one day sought to effect an entrance into one of the most

harmonious houses of Paris. A turbot was to be cooked.

The fish was on the next day to be served to a company of which I

was one; it was fresh, fat, and glorious, but was so large that no

dish in the house could hold it.

"Let us cut it in half," said the husband.

"Would you thus dishonor it?" said the wife.

"We must, my dear."

"Well, bring the knife, we will soon do it."

"Wait though, our cousin, who is a professor, will soon be here.

He will relieve us from the dilemma."

The gordian knot was about to be released, when I came in hungry,

as a man always is at seven P. M.

When I came in I tried in vain to make the usual compliments. No

one listened, and for that reason no one replied to me. The

subject in discussion was at once submitted to me.

I made up my mind at once, went to the kitchen, found a kettle

large enough to boil the whole fish, and did so. There was a

procession composed of the master, mistress, servants, and

company, but they all approved of what I did. With the fish we

boiled bulbous root and other vegetables. [Footnote: From the

above it is very clear that Brillat Savarin made what the late D.

Webster called a "chowder."] When the fish was cooked we sat down

at the table, our ideas being somewhat sharpened by the delay, and

sought anxiously for the time, of which Homer speaks, when

abundance expells hunger. [The translator here omits a very

excellent recipe for a fish-chowder. Everybody knows it.]

VI.

PHEASANTS.

None but adepts know what a pheasant is. They only can appreciate

it.

Everything has its apogee of excellence, some of which, like

capers, asparagus, partridges, callow-birds, etc., are eatable

only when they are young. Others are edible only when they obtain

the perfection of their existence, such as melons and fruits, and

the majority of the beasts which furnish us with animal food.

Others are not good until decomposition begins, such as the snipe

and pheasant.

When the pheasant is eaten only three days after its death, it has

no peculiarity; it has not the flavor of a pullet, nor the perfume

of a quail.

It is, however, a highly flavored dish, about half way between

chicken and venison.

It is especially good when the pheasant begins to be decomposed--

an aroma and exciting oil is then produced, like coffee, only

produced by torrefaction.

This becomes evident by a slight smell and change of color.

Persons possessed, however, of the instincts of gourmandise see it

at once, just as a good cook knows whether he should take his bird

from the spit or give it a turn or two more.

When the pheasant is in that condition it should he plucked, and

not before.

The bird should then he stuffed, and in the following manner:

Take two snipe and draw them so as to put the birds on one plate,

and the livers, etc., on another.

Take the flesh and mingle it with beef, lard and herbes fines,

adding also salt and truffles enough to fill the stomach of the

pheasant.

Cut a slice of bread larger, considerably, than the pheasant, and

cover it with the liver, etc., and a few truffles. An anchovy and

a little fresh butter will do no harm.

Put the pheasant on this preparation, and when it is boiled

surround it with Florida oranges. Do not be uneasy about your

dinner.

Drink burgundy after this dish, for long experience has taught me

that it is the proper wine.

A pheasant served in this way is a fit dish for angels, if they

visited the world as they did in Lot's day.

What I say, experience has already proved. A pheasant thus stuffed

by Picard at La Grange [Footnote: Does he refer to La Fayette's

estate?] was brought on the table by the cook himself. It was

looked on by the ladies as they would have looked at one of Mary

Herbault's hats. It was scientifically tasted, and in the interim

the ladies eyes shone like stars, and their lips became coral.

I did more than this; I gave a similar proof to the judges of the

supreme court. They are aware that the toga is sometimes to be

laid aside, and I was able to show to several that good CHEER was

a fit companion and reward for the labors of the senate. After a

few moments the oldest judge uttered the word excellent. All

bowed, and the court adopted the decision. I had observed that the

venerable old men seemed to take great delight in smelling the

dish, and that their august brows were agitated by expressions of

extreme serenity, something like a half smile hanging on their

lips.

All this thing, however is naturally accounted for. The pheasant,

itself, a very good bird, had imbibed the dressing and the flavor

of the truffle and snipe. It thus becomes thrice better.

Thus of all the good things collected, every atom is appreciated

and the consequence is, I think the pheasant fit for the table of

a prince.

Parve, nec invideo, sine me liber, ibis in aulam.

VII.

GASTRONOMICAL INDUSTRY OF THE EMIGRES.

Toute Francaise, a ce que j'imagine,

Salt, bien ou mal faire, un peu de cuisine.

Belle Arsene, Act. III.

In a chapter written for the purpose, the advantages France

derived from gourmandise in 1815, were fully explained. This was

not less useful to emigres; all those, who had any alimentary

resources, received much benefit from it.

When I passed through Boston, I taught a cook, named Julien, who

in 1794 was in his glory, how to serve eggs with cheese. Julien

was a skilful lad, and had, he said, been employed by the

Archbishop of Bourdeaux. This was to the Americans a new dish, and

Julien in return, sent me a beautiful deer he had received from

Canada, which those I invited to do honour to it, thought

admirable.

Captain Collet also, in 1794 and 1795 earned much money by the

manufacture of ices and sherbets.

Women always take care to enjoy any pleasures which are new to

them. None can form an idea of their surprise. They could not

understand how it could remain so cold, when the thermometer was

at 26 [degrees] Reaumur.

When I was at Cologne, I found a Breton nobleman, who thought

himself very fortunate, as the keeper of a public house; and I

might multiply these examples indefinitely. I prefer however to

tell of a Frenchman, who became very rich at London, from the

skill he displayed in making salad.

He was a Limousin, and if I am not mistaken, was named Aubignac,

or Albignac.

Poor as he was, he went, however, one day to dine at one of the

first restaurants of London. He could always make a good dinner on

a single good dish.

While he was discussing a piece of roast beef, five or six dandies

sat at the next table, and one of them advanced and said, "Sir,

they say your people excel in the art of making a salad. Will you

be kind enough to oblige us?"

After some hesitation d'Albignac consented, and having set

seriously to work, did his best.

While he was making his mixture, he replied frankly to questions

about his condition, and my friend owned, not without a little

blushing, that he received the aid of the English government, a

circumstance which doubtless induced one of the young men to slip

a ten pound bank bill into his hand.

He gave them his address, and not long after, was much surprised

to receive a letter inviting him to come to dress a salad at one

of the best houses in Grosvenor square.

D'Albignac began to see that he might draw considerable benefit

from it, and did not hesitate to accept the offer. He took with

him various preparations which he fancied would make his salad

perfect as possible.

He took more pains in this second effort, and succeeded better

than he had at first. On this occasion so large a sum was handed

to him that he could not with justice to himself refuse to accept

it.

The young men he met first, had exaggerated the salad he had

prepared for them, and the second entertainment was yet louder in

its praise. He became famous as "the fashionable salad-maker," and

those who knew anything of satirical poetry remembered:

Desir do nonne est un feu pui devore,

Desir d'Anglaise est cent fois piri encore.

D'Albignac, like a man of sense, took advantage of the excitement,

and soon obtained a carriage, that he might travel more rapidly

from one part of the town to the other. He had in a mahogany case

all the ingredients he required.

Subsequently he had similar cases prepared and filled, which he

used to sell by the hundred.

Ultimately he made a fortune of 80,000 francs, which he took to

France when times became more peaceful.

When he had returned to France, he did not hurry to Paris, but

with laudable precaution, placed 60,000 francs in the funds, and

with the rest purchased a little estate, on which, for aught I

know, he now lives happily. His funded money paid him fifty per

cent.

These facts were imparted to me by a friend, who had known D

'Albignac in London, and who had met him after his return.

VIII.

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE EMIGRATION.

THE WEAVER

In 1794, M. de Rostaing, my cousin and friend, now military

intendant at Lyons, a man of great talent and ability, and myself

were in Switzerland.

We went to Mondon, where I had many relations, and was kindly

received by the family of Troillet. I will never forget their

hospitality.

I was there shown a young French officer who was a weaver, and who

became one thus:--

This young man, a member of a very good family, was passing

through Mondon, to join Condes army, and chanced to meet an old

man with one of the animated heads usually attributed by painters

to the companions of the famous Tell.

At their dessert, the officer did not conceal his situation, and

received much sympathy from his new friend. The latter complained

that at such an age, he had now to renounce all that was pleasant,

and that every man should, as Jean Jacques, says, have some trade

to support themselves in adversity.

The conversation paused there; and a short time after, he joined

the army of Conde. From what he saw there, however, he saw he

never could expect to enter France in that way.

Then he remembered the words of the weaver; and finally making up

his mind, left the army, returned to Mondon, and begged the weaver

to receive him as an apprentice.

On the next day the officer set to work, dining and sleeping with

the weaver, and was so assiduous, that after six months, his

master told him, he had nothing to teach him, thought himself

repaid for the care he had bestowed, and that all he earned

henceforth was his own profit.

When I was at Mondon, the new artisan had earned money enough to

purchase a shop and a bed. He worked with great assiduity, and

such interest was taken in him, that some of the first houses of

the city enquired after him every day.

On Sunday, he wore his uniform, and resumed his social rights. As

he was very well read, all took pleasure in his company, and he

did not seem discontented with his fate.

THE STARVING.

To this picture of the advantage of industry, I am about to add an

altogether different one.

I met at Lausanne, an emigre from Lyons, who to avoid work used to

eat but twice a week. He would have died beyond a doubt, if a

merchant in the city had not promised to pay for his dinner every

Sunday, and Wednesday of the week.

The emigre came always at the appointed time, and always took away

a large piece of bread.

He had been living in this manner some three months, when I met

him; he had not been sick, but he was so pale that it was sad to

see him.

I was amazed that he would suffer such pain rather than work. I

asked him once to dine with me, but did not repeat the invitation

because I believe in obeying that divine precept, "By the sweat of

thy brow shalt thou earn thy bread."

SOJOURN IN AMERICA.

From Switzerland I went to America.

* * * * * * *

ASPARAGUS.

Passing one day in February, by the Palais Royal, I paused before

the shop of Mme Chevet, the largest dealer in comestibles in

Paris, who always wished me well. Seeing a large box of asparagus,

the smallest of which was large as my finger, I asked the price.

"Forty francs," said she. "They are very fine, but only a king or

prince could eat at such a rate." "You are wrong sir," said she,

"such things never go to palaces, but I will sell the asparagus.

"There are now in this city at least three hundred rich men,

capitalists and financiers, retained at home by gout, colds, and

doctors. They are always busy to ascertain what will revive them

and send their valets out on voyages of discovery. Some one of

them will remark this asparagus, and it will be bought. It may be,

some pretty woman will pass with her lover, and say, 'what fine

asparagus. How well my servant dresses it.' The lover then does

not hesitate, and I will tell you a secret, that dear things are

sold more easily than cheap ones."

As she spoke two fat Englishmen passed us. They seemed struck at

once. One seized hold of the asparagus and without asking the

price paid for it, and as he walked away whistled "God save the

King."

"Monsieur," said Madame Chevet, "a thousand things like this

happen every day."

FONDUE.

Fondue is a soup dish, and consists only in frying eggs in cheese

in proportions revealed by experience. I will give the recipe. It

is a pleasant dish, quickly made and easily prepared for

unexpected guests. I refer to it here only for my peculiar

pleasure, and because it preserves the memory of things which the

old men of Belley recollect.

Towards the end of the 17th century M. Madot became bishop of

Belley, and took possession of the diocese.

Those to whom his reception had been confided had provided an

entertainment worthy of the occasion, and made use of all the

preparations then known in the kitchen, to welcome my lord.

There was an immense fondue, to which the prelate paid great

attention; to the surprise of all he ate it with a spoon, instead

of a fork, as people had been used to do.

All the guests looked at each other with a perceptible smile on

every face. A bishop from Paris, however, must know how to eat. On

the next day there was a great deal of gossip, and people that met

at the corners, said "Well did you see how our bishop ate his

fondue? I heard from a person who was present that he used a

spoon!"

The bishop had some followers, innovators who preferred the spoon,

but the majority preferred the fork, and an old grand-uncle of

mine used to laugh as if he would die, as he told how M. de Madot

ate fondue with a spoon.

RECIPE FOR FONDUE, COPIED FROM THE PAPERS OF M. TROLLET, BAILLI OF

MONDON IN BERNE.

Calculate the number of eggs in proportion to the guests.

Take one-third of the weight of Gruyere and one-sixth of the

weight of butter.

Beat the eggs and mingle them with the butter and cheese in a

casserole.

Put the kettle on a hot fire and stir it until the mixture is

perfect. Put in more or less salt in proportion as the cheese is

old or new. Serve it hot, with good wine, of which one should

drink much. The feast will see sights.

DISAPPOINTMENT.

All one day was quiet at the Ecu de France, between Bourg and

Bresse, when the sound of wheels was heard, and a superb English

berline drove up, on the box of which were two pretty Abigails,

wrapped in blue and red cloths.

At the sight, which announced a nobleman on his travels, Chicot,

that was his name, hurried to the door of the equipage. The wife

stood at the door, the girls near by, while the boys from the

stable hurried forward satisfied that they would receive a

handsome gratuity.

The women were unpacked and there came from the berline, 1st, a

fat Englishman, 2d, two thin, pale, red-haired girls, and 3d, a

lady, apparently in the first stage of consumption.

The last spoke:

"Landlord," said she, "take care of the horses, give us a room and

the women refreshments. All must cost only six francs; act

accordingly."

Chicot put on his bonnet, madame went into the house, and the

girls to their garrets.

The horses were, however, put into the stable, the Englishman read

the papers, and the women had a pitcher of pure water. The ladies

went up stairs. The six francs were received as a poor

compensation for the trouble caused.

WONDERFUL EFFECTS OF A CLASSICAL DINNER.

"Alas! how much I am to be pitied," said the elegiac voice of a

gastronomer of the royal court of the Seine. "Hoping to be soon

able to return home, I left my cook there; business detains me at

Paris, and I have to depend on an old women the preparations of

whom make me sick. Anything satisfies my wife and children, but I

am made a martyr of the spit and pot."

Luckily a friend heard the complaint, who said, "You will not, my

friend, be a martyr. Deign to accept a classical dinner to-morrow,

and after a game of piquet we will bury all in the abyss of the

past."

The invitation was accepted, the mystery was solved, and since the

23d June, 1825, the professor has been delighted at having one of

his best friends in royal court.

EFFECT AND DANGER OF STRONG DRINKS.

The artificial thirst we previously alluded to, is that which for

the moment appeals to strong drinks as a momentary relief. It

gradually becomes so habitual that those who grow used to it

cannot do without it even through the night, and have to leave

their bed to appease it.

This thirst then becomes a real disease, and when he has reached

that point, it may safely be said that he has not two years to

live.

I travelled in Holland with a rich Dantzick merchant, who had for

fifty years kept the principal house for the sale of brandy.

"Monsieur," said he "none in France are aware of the importance of

the trade in brandy, which for nearly a century my father and

myself have carried on. I have watched with attention the workmen

who yield to it as too many Germans do, and they generally die in

the same manner."

"At first they take simply a glass in the morning, and for many

years this suffices. It is a common habit with all workmen, and

any one who did not indulge in it would be ridiculed by his

companions. Then they double the dose, that is to say, take a

glass at morning and night. Thus things continue about three

years, when they begin to drink three times a day, and will only

taste spirits in which highly scented herbs have been infused.

Having reached that point, one may be sure they have not more than

six months to live, for they go to the hospital and are seen no

more."

CHEVALIERS AND ABBES.

I have already referred to these categories of gourmandise

destroyed by time.

As they disappeared thirty years since, few of the present

generation ever saw them.

About the end of the century they will probably reappear, but as

such a phenomenon demand the coincidence of many future

contingencies, I think few who live will ever witness this

palingenesia.

As a painter of manners I must give the last touch to my portrait,

and will borrow the following passage from an author, who, I know,

will refuse me nothing.

"The title of Chevalier was only correctly granted to persons who

had been decorated, or to the younger sons of noble houses. Many

of the Chevaliers of other families would take the title for

themselves, and if they had education and good manners, none

doubted the accolade.

"They were generally young, wore the sword vertically and kept a

stiff upper lip. They gamed and fought and were a portion of the

train of any fashionable beauty."

At the commencement of the revolution many of the Chevaliers

joined the army of the emigres, enlisted or dispersed. The few who

survive can yet be recognized by their military air; almost all of

them, however, have the gout.

When any noble family had many children, one was dedicated to the

church; at first some benefice, barely sufficient to pay for the

expenses of education, was obtained, and ultimately he became

Prince, Abbe, or Bishop, as circumstances dictated.

This was the real Abbe; but many young men who disliked the perils

of the Chevalier, called themselves Abbes when they came to Paris.

Nothing was so convenient, for, with a slight change of dress,

they could appear as priests and the equals of anybody. There was

a great advantage in this for every house had its Abbe

They were generally small, round, well dressed and agreeable. They

were gourmands, active and pleasant. The few that remain have

became very devout and very fat.

None could be more comfortable than a rich prior or abbot. They

had no superiors and nothing to do. If there be a long peace, the

priors will turn up again, but unless there be a great change in

the ecclesiastical organization, the Abbes are lost for ever.

MISCELLANY.--WINE.

"Monsieur," said an old marquise to me one day, "which do you like

best, Burgundy or Bordeaux?" "Madame," said I, "I have such a

passion for examining into the matter, that I always postpone the

decision a week."

STRAWBERRIES.

The Count de la Place recommends that strawberries should always

be dressed with orange juice.

JUDGMENT.

"He is not a man of mind," said the Count de M---- "Why?" "Ah! he

does not eat pudding a la Richelieu, nor cutlets a la Soubise."

RAISINS.

"Take a raisin--"

"No I thank you; I do not like wine in pills."

A DAY WITH THE BERNARDINES.

It was about one A. M., on a fine summer night, and I set out

after having been serenaded by many who took an interest in us.

This was about 1782.

I then was the chief of a troop of amateur musicians All of whom

were young and healthy.

"Monsieur," said the abbe of Saint Sulpice to me one day, and he

drew me into a window recess, "you would enjoy yourself very much

if you come some day to play for us at Saint Bernard's. The Saints

would be delighted."

I accepted the offer at once, for it seemed to promise us an

agreeable evening. I nodded assent, and all were amazed.

Annuit, et totum nutu tremefecit olympum.

Every precaution had previously been taken, for we had yet to go

four leagues, a distance sufficient to terrify the persons who had

ascended Mont Martre.

The monastery was in a valley, enclosed on the west side by a

mountain, and on the east by a hill that was not so high.

The eastern peak was crowned by a forest of immense pines. The

valley was one vast prairie, and the beech grows much like the

arrangements of an English garden.

We came about evenfall, and were received by the cellarer who had

a nose very rich-like an obelisk.

"Gentlemen," said he, "our abbe will be glad when he hears you

have come. He is yet in bed; but come with me, and you will see

whether we have expected you or not."

We followed him, and besought him to take us to the refectory.

Amid the display of the table arose a pate like a cathedral; on

one side was a quarter of cold veal, artichokes, etc., were also

on the eastern range.

There were various kinds of fruits, napkins, knives and plate; at

the foot of the table were many attentive servants.

At one corner of the refrectory was seen more than an hundred

bottles, kept cool by a natural fountain. We could snuff the aroma

of mocha, though in those venerable days none ever drank mocha so

early in the morning.

The reverend cellarer for a time laughed at our emotion, and then

spoke to us as follows:

"Gentlemen," said he, "I would be pleased to keep you company, but

as yet I have not kept my mass. I ought to ask you to drink, but

the mountain air dispenses the necessity. Receive, then, what we

offer you. I must to matins."

He went to matins.

We did our best to eat up the abbe's dinner, but could not. People

from Sirius might, but it was too much for us.

After dinner we dispersed. I crept into a good bed until mass;

like the heroes of Rocroy, who slept until the battle began.

I was aroused by a great fat friar, who had nearly pulled my arm

out of its socket, and went to the church where I found all at

their posts.

We played a symphony at the offertory and sung a motet at the

elevation, concluding with four wind instruments.

We contrived, in spite of the jests usually expended on amateurs,

to get out of the difficulty very well.

We received with great benignity the praises heaped on us, and

having received the abbot's thanks went to the table.

The dinner was such as people used to eat in the fifteenth

century. There were few superfluities, but the choice of dishes

was admirable. We had plain, honest, substantial stews, good

meats, and dishes of vegetables, which made one regret they were

not more general.

The dessert was the more remarkable, as it was composed of fruits

not produced at that altitude. The gardens of Machuras, of

Morflent and other places had contributed.

There was no want of liqueurs, but coffee needs a particular

reference.

It was clear, perfumed and strong, but was not served in what are

called tasses on the Seine, but in huge bowls, into which the

monks dipped their lips and smacked them with delight.

After dinner we went to vespers, and between the psalms executed

antiphones I prepared for the purpose. That style of music was

then fashionable. I cannot say if mine was good or bad.

Our DAY being over, my orchestra was enabled to look and walk

around. On my return the abbe said, "I am about to leave you, and

will suffer you to finish the night. I do not think my presence at

all importunate to the fathers; but I wish them to do as they

please."

When the abbot had left, the monks drew more closely together, and

a thousand jokes were told, not the less funny because the world

knows nothing of them.

About nine a glorious supper was served, long in advance of the

dinner.

They laughed, sang, told stories, and one of the fathers recited

some very good verses he had himself composed.

At last a monk arose, and said, "Father Cellarer, what have you to

say?"

"True," said the father, "I am not cellarer for nothing."

He left, and soon returned with three servitors, the first of whom

brought some glorious fresh buttered toast. The others had a table

on which was a sweetened preparation of brandy and water--vulgo,

punch.

The new comers were received with acclamation; the company ate the

toasts, drank the toddy, and when the abbey clock struck twelve,

all went to their cells to enjoy a repose they had richly earned.

PROSPERITY EN ROUTE.

One day I rode a horse I called la Joie through the It was at the

worst era of the revolution, and I went to see Mr. Prot to obtain

a passport which, probably, might save me from prison or the

scaffold.

At about 11 P. M., I reached a little bourg or village called Mont

St. Vaudrey, and having first attended to my horse, was struck by

a spectacle no traveller ever saw without delight.

Before a fire was a spit covered with cock quails and the rails

that are always so fat. All the juice from the quails fell on an

immense rotie so built up that the huntsman's hand was apparent.

Then came one of those leverets, the perfume of which Parisians

have no faith in though they fill the room.

"Ah ha!" said I; "Providence has not entirely deserted me. Let us

scent this perfume and die afterwards."

Speaking to the landlord who, while I was making my examinations,

walked up and down the room, I said, "Mon cher, what can you give

us for dinner?"

"Nothing very good, Monsieur. You can have potatoes. The beans are

awful. I never had a worse dinner."

The landlord seemed to suspect the cause of my disappointment. I

said, however, "for whom is all this game kept?"

"Alas, Monsieur," said he, "it is not mine but belongs to some

lawyers and judges who have been here several days on a business

which concerns a very rich old lady. They finished yesterday, and

wish to celebrate the event by a revolt."

"Monsieur," said I, "be pleased to say that a gentleman asks the

favor of being permitted to dine with them, that he will pay his

portion of the expense, and also be much obliged to them."

He left me and did not return, but after a few minutes a little

fat man entered, who hovered around the kitchen, lifted up the

covers and disappeared.

"Ah, ha!" said I. The tiler has come to look at me. I began to

hope, for I knew my appearance was not repulsive. My heart beat

quickly as a candidate's does after the ballot-box is opened, and

before he knows the result, when the landlord told me the

gentlemen only waited for me to sit down.

I went at once, and was received in the most flattering manner.

The dinner was glorious, I will not describe it, but only refer to

an admirable fricassee of chicken not often seen in such

perfection in the country. It had so many truffles that it would

have revived an old Titan.

We sang, danced, etc., and passed the evening pleasantly.

[The translator here omits half a dozen songs, which are

essentially French, and which no one can do justice to in another

tongue.]

H. ... DE P ...

I believe I am the first person who ever conceived the idea of a

gastronomical academy. I am afraid, however, I was a little in

advance of the day, as people may judge by what took place fifteen

years afterwards.

The President, H. de P., the ideas of whom braved every age and

era, speaking to three of the most enlightened men of his age,

(Laplace, Chaptal, and Berthollet,) said "I look in the history of

the discovery of a new dish, which prolongs our pleasures, as far

more important than the discovery of a new star."

I shall never think science sufficiently honored until I see a

cook in the first class of the institute.

The good old President was always delighted when he thought of his

labor. He always wished to furnish me an epigraph, not like that

which made Montesquieu a member of the academy. I therefore, wrote

several verses about it, but to be copied.

Dans ses doctes travaux il fut infatigable;

Il eut de grands emplois, qu'il remplit dignement:

Et quoiqu'il filt profond, erudit et savant,

Il ne se crut jamais dispense d'etre aimable.

CONCLUSION.

My work is now done, yet I am not a bit out of breath.

I could give my readers countless stories, but all is now over,

and as my book is for all time, those who will read it now will

know nothing of those for whom I write.

Let the Professor here end his work.