First parents of the human species, whose gormandizing is historic, you
who fell for the sake of an apple, what would you not have done for a
turkey with truffles? But there were in the terrestrial Paradise neither
cooks nor confectioners.
How I pity you!
Mighty kings, who laid proud Troy in ruins, your valor will be handed
down from age to age; but your table was poor. Reduced to a rump of beef
and a chine of pork, you were ever ignorant of the charms of the
_matelote_ and the delights of a fricassée of chicken.
How I pity you!
Aspasia, Chloe, and all of you whose forms the chisel of the Greeks
immortalized, to the despair of the belles of to-day, never did your
charming mouths enjoy the smoothness of a meringue _à la vanille_ or _à
la rose_; hardly did you rise to the height of a spice-cake.
How I pity you!
Gentle priestesses of Vesta, at one and the same time burdened with so
many honors and menaced with such horrible punishments, would that you
might at least have tasted those agreeable syrups which refresh the
soul, those candied fruits which brave the seasons, those perfumed
creams, the marvel of our day!
How I pity you!
Roman financiers, who made the whole known universe pay tribute, never
did your far-famed banquet-halls witness the appearance of those
succulent jellies, the delight of the indolent, nor those varied ices
whose cold would brave the torrid zone.
How I pity you!
Invincible paladins, celebrated by flattering minstrels, when you had
cleft in twain the giants, set free the ladies, and exterminated armies,
never, alas! never did a dark-eyed captive offer you the sparkling
champagne, the malmsey of Madeira, the liqueurs, creation of this great
century: you were reduced to ale or to some cheap herb-flavored wine.
How I pity you!
Crosiered and mitred abbots, dispensers of the favors of heaven; and
you, terrible Templars, who donned your armor for the extermination of
the Saracens,--you knew not the sweetness of chocolate which restores,
nor the Arabian bean which promotes thought.
How I pity you!
Superb châtelaines, who during the loneliness of the Crusades raised
into highest favor your chaplains and your pages, you never could share
with them the charms of the biscuit and the delights of the macaroon.
How I pity you!
And lastly you, gastronomers of 1825, who already find satiety in the
lap of abundance, and dream of new preparations, you will not enjoy
those discoveries which the sciences have in store for the year 1900,
such as esculent minerals and liqueurs resulting from a pressure of a
hundred atmospheres; you will not behold the importations which
travelers yet unborn shall cause to arrive from that half of the globe
which still remains to be discovered or explored.
How I pity you!