trout, of which there appears to be no mention by the recorders, seems
to have been a neglected dainty. How Lucullus would have rejoiced at
the sight of the pompano--that ruby of the salt-sea wave--and Apicius
have been transported at the apparition of a puff-paste pâté of
oyster-crabs! The brilliant iridescent hues of the rainbow-trout would
have held a Roman epicure spellbound, while a dish of terrapin or a
celery-fed Chesapeake canvasback might have decided the destinies of
an empire. What a burst of applause a platter of roast ruffed-grouse
would have commanded from a senate! Were the soft-shell crab a denizen
of Baiæ, or the whitefish, as he attains supreme perfection in Lake
Ontario, a habitant of an Italian tarn, one can fancy how a feast of
Heliogabalus would have been prolonged. That there are still as good
fish in the sea as ever were caught seems an anomaly, in view of the
voracity of the old Latins for this form of food.
History has recorded less of the excesses of the table during the
reigns of Trajan, Hadrian, Marcus Aurelius, Septimius Severus, and
even during the dissolute monarchies of Commodus and Caracalla. It
would be wrong, however, to assume that these excesses were renounced,
even where the rulers did not themselves set the example, or that
they did not continue in a flagrant form. The unbridled lust and
gluttony of Commodus were scarcely equalled save by Heliogabalus.
Septimius Severus, unable to endure the tortures he experienced in
all his members, especially in his feet, in place of the poison that
was refused him eagerly devoured a quantity of rich viands and died
of indigestion. Gout and kindred maladies were notoriously common
with both men and women, and upon this subject Seneca has descanted
at length: "Is it necessary to enumerate the multitude of maladies
that are the punishment of our luxury? The multiplicity of viands has
produced a multiplicity of maladies. The greatest of physicians, the
founder of medicine, has said that women do not become bald or subject
to gout. Now they are both bald and gouty. Woman has not changed since
in her nature, but in her mode of life, and, imitating man in his
excesses, she shares his infirmities. Where is the lake, the sea, the
forest, the spot of land that is not ransacked to gratify our palates?
Our infirmities are the price of the pleasures to which we have
abandoned ourselves beyond all measure and restraint. Are you astounded
at the innumerable diseases?--count the number of our cooks!"
The favourite garum of the old Romans of itself were enough to have
invited all the diseases that indigestion is heir to. This was a
liquid, and was thus prepared: The insides of large fish and a variety
of smaller fish were placed in a vessel and well salted, and then
exposed to the sun till they became putrid. In a short time a liquor
was produced, which, being strained off, was the garum or liquamen.
With the advent of Heliogabalus upon the throne, gluttony and
extravagance reigned supreme. By this youthful monarch, during his
brief reign of four years, the tyranny of Nero, and Caligula, the
lust of Claudius and Commodus, the prodigality of Vitellius, the
saturnalia and riotous living of Verres and Domitian were trebly
exceeded. Entering Rome from Syria in a chariot drawn by naked women,
surrounded with eunuchs, courtesans, and buffoons, wearing the tiara
of the priests of the sun-god, dressed as a female in stuffs of silk
and gold, and accompanied by a historiographer whose sole function it
was to describe his orgies, he at once eclipsed all his predecessors.
The Sardanapalus of Rome, his daily feasts are said to have consisted
of over twoscore courses, and to have cost not less than ten thousand
dollars each.
As related by Lampridius, his table-couches were stuffed with hares'
down or partridges' feathers, his beds adorned with coverlets of
gold, and in his kitchens none but richly chased utensils of silver
were employed. The invention of a new sauce was royally rewarded by
him, but if it was not relished the inventor was confined, to partake
of nothing else until he had produced another more agreeable to the
imperial palate. The liver of the priceless mullet seeming too paltry
to Heliogabalus, he was served with large dishes completely filled with
the gills. He brought the soft roe of the rare sea-eel into disrepute
by maintaining a fleet of fishing craft for their capture, and ordering
that the peasants of the Mediterranean should be gorged with them.
Resides countless dishes, each of which was worth the price of a king's
ransom, he was the inventor of coloured decorations at table. "In the
summer," says Lampridius, "Heliogabalus gave feasts at which the
service was composed of different colours, constantly varied throughout
the season." The brains of partridges and ostriches were among his
favourite dainties. Frequently the brains of six hundred ostriches were
served at a single repast, as well as the heads of innumerable parrots,
pheasants, and peacocks. He had cockscombs served in pâtés, and was
therefore the inventor of _vol au vent à la financière_. The tongues of
nightingales and thrushes he had likewise served in pâtés, and hearing
that a strange bird, the phœnix, existed in Lydia, he offered two
hundred pieces of gold to him who would procure it. In the course of
his reign of four years he had depleted the treasury of an empire
largely through gluttony, and died, anticipating the assassination of
his soldiers, by his own hand.
It were superfluous to follow the subject to the decadence of the
Empire, when, with wars and contentions and invasions of conquering
hordes, came the decline of cookery, literature, and the arts. Nor
does history record a resumption of gastronomy until towards the
Renaissance--when Dante and Petrarch had touched their lyres, and
Donatello and Robbia wrought their _bassi-rilievi_; when the Medici and
the Este became the patrons of art; when Leonardo, Raffaello, Titian,
and Guido stamped their genius upon the canvas; when Michelangelo
created his "David," and Cellini his "Perseus"; when Giorgio fashioned
his gorgeous lustres, and Orazio his glorious _vasques_.
Or, rather, with the revival of cookery we find the revival of
literature and the arts, and mark the Muses resume their sway.
[Illustration: LE LIVRE DE TAILLEVENT
Facsimile of the title-page of the edition of 1545]
[Illustration]
THE RENAISSANCE OF COOKERY
"Le malheur de toutes les cuisines excepté de la cuisine
française, c'est d'avoir l'air d'une cuisine de hasard.
La cuisine française est seule raisonnée, savante,
chimique."--ALEXANDRE DUMAS: Le Caucase.
It is not unnatural that cookery as an art should finally have
been resumed in the land where it had once attained its greatest
development. First among Italian treatises on the subject was the
volume of Bartolomeo Platina, "De Honesta Voluptate et Valitudine,"
which was written in Latin and printed at Venice in 1474, a year or two
after the introduction of printing into that city. Many editions of
this appeared subsequently, as also translations in French and German.
Other Italian treatises of the sixteenth century were Rosselli's
"Opera Nova chiamata Epulario" (Venice, 1516); a work by Christoforo
di Messisbugo, chef to the Cardinal of Ferrara (Ferrara, 1549); a
manual by Bartolomeo Scappi, privy cook to Pope Pius V (Venice, 1570);
and works by Vincenzo Cervio, Domenico Romoli, and Gio. Battista
Rossetti--Cervio and Romoli having been respectively carver and cook to
Cardinal Farnese. The two most important Italian culinary publications
of the seventeenth century were those of Vittorio Lancioletti (Rome,
1627) and Antonio Frugoli (Rome, 1632). In addition to these was the
old Roman treatise "De re Culinaria" of Cœlius Apicius, published
in 1498, as well as many works relating to wines and the hygiene of
gastronomy.
Glancing for a moment across the Mediterranean, from Italy to Spain,
we find record of but one Spanish cook-book of any note during the
fifteenth and sixteenth centuries--that of Ruberto de Nola (Toledo,
1525). While Spanish cookery is far from meriting a place among the
fine arts, one must yet thank Spain for at least two things--the
dulcet Spanish onion and the poignant Spanish omelette--as one should
be grateful to Mexico for the tamale and to Russia for its caviare.
But the Spaniard boils his partridge (perdrix à l'Espagnol), as the
Hollander boils his chicken, with rice or vermicelli. The Spanish
"olla podrida"--the Alhambra of the national cuisine, wherein garlic,
onion, and red peppers are by no means forgotten--is well known to all
travellers beyond the Pyrenees; but, on account of the many native
ingredients it contains, it is difficult to be obtained in perfection
outside its original country. Its best form is the _olla en grande_,
which requires two pots to brew it in--the rich _olla_ that Don
Quixote says is eaten only by canons and presidents of colleges. With
virgin oil and a pianissimo touch, so far as the garlic is concerned,
the aristocratic _guisado_ is both an excellent and accommodating dish,
inasmuch as a fowl, pheasant, rabbit, or hare may serve as its base;
and for those who wish to try a dish with a Spanish name, prepared
somewhat on the order of the French civet of hare, the recipe may be
given: "Dress and prepare a fowl, pheasant, rabbit, or hare--whichever
is most easily obtainable--taking care to preserve the liver, giblets,
and blood. Cut it up in pieces and dry, without washing, on a cloth.
Brown a few slices of onion in a gill of boiling fat, turn them with
the pieces of meat into an earthenware pan, add a seasoning of herbs,
garlic, onions, a few chillies, salt and pepper, put in also a few
slices of bacon, and pour over all sufficient red wine and rich stock
in equal proportions to moisten. Place the pan over the fire and bring
the liquor slowly to the boiling-point, skim and stir frequently, and
let it simmer until the meat is quite tender. About half an hour before
serving, put in the liver, giblets, and blood. When ready, turn the
whole into a hot dish and serve quickly."
But Spain for its bull-fights, and France for its cuisine! With the
revival of cookery in Italy, the art gradually advanced to the home of
the Gaul, where, at a subsequent epoch, it was destined to attain its
highest development. The early cooks of France were Italians, and the
reader will recall Montaigne's picturesque passage where the author
would fain possess part of the skill which some cooks have "who can
so curiously season and temper strange odours with the savour and
relish of their meats." In this allusion special reference was made to
the artist in the service of the King of Tunis, whose viands were "so
exquisitely farced and so sumptuously seasoned with sweet odoriferous
drugs and aromaticall spices, that it was found on his booke of accompt
the dressing of one peacocke and two fesants amounted to one hundred
duckets."
While there is a flavour of pagan Rome in the price of these dishes,
they were still considerably less expensive than the boars stuffed with
fig-peckers of Trimalchio, or the flamingos' brains of Heliogabalus,
and were doubtless as well prepared; for the author adds that after
they had passed through the carver's hands their savour flooded not
only the dining-chambers, but all the rooms of the palace, and even the
streets round about it were filled with an "exceeding odoriferous and
aromaticall vapour which continued a long time after." Such an aroma,
at a later era, the passer-by might inhale daily from the ovens of the
Rocher de Cancale, Véry, Voisin, Hardy, and Riche.
These, as well as other references, would indicate that during
the latter part of the sixteenth century cookery had already made
considerable progress. To be still more explicit, it received its
impetus in France with the advent of Catherine de' Medici at the court
of Francis I, the youthful bride of the Duc d'Orléans bringing her
cooks with her from her native country. About this period the father of
Ronsard the poet was maître d'hôtel of the king. The first physician of
Francis I--Johann Gonthier of Andernach--is also credited with having
given a great stimulus to cookery, chemistry, and surgery. The first
French treatise on cookery, originally written in 1375, had appeared
in the latter part of the fifteenth century. This was the "Viandier"
of Guillaume Tirel, termed Taillevent, _premier queux_ of Charles
V--the initial volume of the "Cuisinières Bourgeoises," type of all the
succeeding manuals of recipes. At least sixteen editions of this work
are known to have been published, the first dated one being that of
1545. In 1349 the author was _queux de bouche_ of Philippe de Valois,
in 1361 _queux_ of the Duc de Normandie, and in 1373 he became _premier
queux_ of the king. The frontispiece of one of the earlier editions
depicts a personage conversing with a hunchback, who is carrying two
ducks in his left hand and a laden hamper in his right. On the left, in
a dormer-window, appears the head of a woman who is seemingly listening
to the conversation.
With better wines than Italy could boast, added to a natural aptitude
for cookery, France soon made material strides in the art of dining,
the science continuing to improve during the reigns of Francis II,
Charles IX, and Henry III. The Gaul's taste was delicate, and his touch
was true. For the garlic of the Italians he gradually substituted the
onion and shallot, or at least employed garlic more sparingly; and in
place of the heavy viands formerly in use evolved the more delicate
entrée, salmis, and entremets.
Louis XIII was accustomed not only to kill his game, but frequently to
prepare it for the table. In larding a piece of meat he vied with the
most skilful practitioners, being led to do so and to put his general
knowledge of cookery to account from his fear of being poisoned.
But his kitchen, nevertheless, was a parsimonious one; and though
he personally superintended all his gardening operations and prided
himself on raising spring vegetables earlier in the season than any
market-gardener, he ignobly disposed of his produce to the wealthy
Seigneur de Montauron, whose table far outrivalled that of his royal
green-grocer. To Montauron, counsellor of the king and first president
of the Bureau of Finance, as well as to the Duc de Montausier,[8]
who was first to introduce large silver spoons and forks, cookery
is indebted for maintaining its prestige during the reign of the
thirteenth Louis. Whether at home or absent on official duties, it
was the habit of Montauron to keep open house all the year round for
princes and distinguished personages. So great a benefice was it
considered to secure a position among the numerous serving-men of the
household that the chief steward had always a long waiting-list to draw
from to supply any vacancy, the fortunate applicant on whom his choice
fell readily paying him his customary fee of ten louis d'or.
In his munificence and hospitality, Montauron anticipated Fouquet, but,
like the princely Marquis de Belle-Isle, whose hospitality was so illy
rewarded by Louis XIV, his name remains unhonoured by an entrée or a
sauce. Richelieu, who was a distinguished gastronome, fared better, and
has had his memory perpetuated by many a savoury dish.
Thus the way was paved for the notable strides under Louis XIV and
Béchamel, Condé and Vatel--the Grand Monarque and his maître
d'hôtel, the great Condé and the equally renowned Vatel. The suppers
and entertainments of Louis XIV were in accord with the magnificence
of his court; the monarch who commanded Leveau and Mansard to render
Versailles a pleasure-house worthy of his fame, who stocked the parks
of his vast demesnes with game, and who was a passionate lover of the
chase, being naturally exacting as to the renown of his table. It was
his motto--"One eats well who works well." While Lebrun and Poussin
were decorating his regal château, and Le Nôtre was embellishing its
parks, Béchamel superintended the royal ranges and discovered new
sauces, La Quintinie presiding over his vast vegetable-gardens to
provide superior varieties of fruits and esculents. So great was the
reputation of La Quintinie that he was also called upon to establish
the splendid vegetable-gardens of the Duc de Montausier at Rambouillet,
of Fouquet at Vaux, and of Colbert at Sceaux.
Saint-Simon has left a minute account of the daily life of Louis XIV,
from his ceremonious levee to his soirée late in the evening. It was
his habit to rise at eight and partake of a simple breakfast of bread
and wine mixed with water. He dined alone, at one, at a square table in
his own chamber, where several soups, three courses, and a dessert were
regularly served, under the direction of his princely attendants. At a
quarter after ten, supper, his favourite meal, was served in state in
the Salon du Grand Couvert, in company with the royal family and the
princes of the blood.
If not the most reliable, the most graphic account of one of his
suppers is that given by Dumas in the "Vicomte de Bragelonne," when
the formidable Porthos was among his guests and charmed him with his
marvellous appetite, at the same time contributing his recipe for
serving a sheep whole, which elicited this encomium from his Majesty:
"It is impossible that a gentleman who sups so well and eats with such
splendid teeth should not be the most honest man in my kingdom."
The rejoinder of Porthos to a previous sally of his host is equally
worthy of recording:
"You have a lovely appetite, Monsieur du Vallon," said the king, "and
you are a delightful table companion."
"Ah! faith, sire, if your Majesty ever came to Pierrefonds we would
dispose of a sheep between us, for I perceive you are not lacking in
appetite, either."
D'Artagnan touched the foot of Porthos under the table.
Porthos coloured.
"At the happy age of your Majesty," continued Porthos, in order to
retrieve himself, "I belonged to the musketeers, and nothing could
appease me. Your Majesty has a superb appetite, as I had the honour
of observing, but chooses with too much delicacy to be termed a great
eater."
It will be remembered that few were as competent as Dumas to treat of
the subject of dining. To quote the appreciation of a French writer,
"Alexandre Dumas was a fine eater as well as a fine story-teller."
But the Grand Monarque, after all, was a ravenous rather than a
distinguished eater. As is not unfrequently the case with such persons,
he used alcoholic beverages in comparative moderation. He was, however,
fond of hippocras, a drink composed of white or red wine, honey, and
aromatics, borrowed from the ancients; and in his advanced age, as
is well known, cordials were invented to solace his declining years.
Champagne was his favourite wine. "Sire," said the president of a
deputation bringing specimens of the various productions of Rheims to
the monarch when he visited the city in 1666, "we offer you our wine,
our pears, our gingerbread, our biscuits, and our hearts!" The king
proved loyal to the wine of the Marne until Burgundy, largely diluted,
was prescribed by his last physician, Fagon, whom Molière satirised
as Dr. Purgon in "Le Malade Imaginaire"--a physician who, during the
old age of the king, rendered his life miserable by cutting him off
one by one from his favourite dishes. That he needed to be restrained,
despite his robust constitution and open-air life, is apparent from the
statement of the Duchesse d'Orléans that she had frequently seen him
consume four plates of different soups, a whole pheasant, a partridge,
a large plate of salad, a large portion of mutton, two good slices of
ham, a plateful of sweetmeats, and fruit and preserves.
Thus, while Louis himself is not entitled to distinction as an epicure,
and his personal example failed to furnish inspiration for his cooks,
his table was always maintained on a scale befitting his station.
There were, besides, dainty entremets to be supplied to La Vallière,
Montespan, Fontanges, and Maintenon, and new surprises must perforce
be placed before his numerous guests of distinction. Among such dishes
was the famous cod, or _morue à la crême_, which immortalised the
Marquis de Béchamel. Like Lucullus and Apicius, moreover, Condé and
Fouquet, with their princely revenues and luxurious tastes, appeared to
stimulate the art and further the pleasures of the table.
Madame de Montespan, with her temper, naturally proved a good cook,
and did not disdain an occasional séance with the stew-pans. She is
credited with having invented a sauce and encouraging every art that
ministered to the service of the table, even to expending a sum of nine
thousand livres for a wine-cooler. Fouquet's table, over which Vatel
presided, and subsequently that of Condé under the same artist, to say
nothing of the splendidly equipped establishment of Fouquet's successor
Colbert, were scarcely less renowned than the kitchens of Versailles.
The grand fête in honour of the king given by Fouquet, Marquis of
Belle-Isle, at Vaux, will be remembered, as also the jealousy of his
Majesty at the lavish hospitality of his superintendent of finance.
Equally sumptuous were the entertainments of the Prince de Condé, in
whose cuisine during certain seasons there were regularly consumed as
many as a hundred and fifty pheasants a week.
Meanwhile, Molière and Boileau had sung the praises of gastronomy, but
not to that degree which was to charm France during the consulate and
the empire, when its harp had been touched by the facile fingers of
Berchoux.
Numerous cook-books had already appeared and exerted their influence
since the "Viandier" first pointed out the way. He who would give a
dinner _à la Louis XIV_ should consult "Les Délices de la Campagne,"
a volume published in 1654, of which many editions were afterwards
issued, the author being Nicolas de Bonnefons, valet de chambre of
the king. From this treatise one may form an idea of the variety and
profusion of the dishes then in vogue, and to what perfection and
luxury the science had attained.[9] In the previous year appeared the
celebrated "Pastissier François," the Amsterdam edition of which is
among the most famous of the Elzevirs--a copy originally priced at a
few sous having been sold for ten thousand francs, which would seem a
rather exorbitant price to pay for instructions in seventeenth-century
pastry-making and preparing eggs for fat and lean days.
The tragic death of Vatel by his own hand, owing to the non-arrival
of the sea-fish at Chantilly, is too well known to need narrating.
Vatel, the victim of his art, was also an author, having contributed
an illustrated treatise on carving entitled "l'Escuyer Tranchant,"
an accomplishment which he states could scarcely be acquired without
the ministration and the precepts of the master--_sans la voye et les
preceptes du maistre_. A paragraph will serve to show the nature and
scope of his contribution to culinary literature:
"A carver should be well bred, inasmuch as he should maintain
a first rank among the servants of his master. Pleasing,
civil, amiable, and well disposed, he should present himself
at table with his sword at his side, his mantle on his
shoulder, and his napkin on his left arm, though some are in
the habit of placing it on the guard of their sword in an
unobjectionable manner. He should make his obeisance when
approaching the table, proceed to carve the viands, and
divide them understandingly according to the number of the
guests. Ordinarily he should station himself by the side of
his master, carving with knives suitable to the size of the
meats. A carver should be very scrupulous in his deportment,
his carriage should be grave and dignified, his appearance
cheerful, his eye serene, his head erect and well combed,
abstaining as much as possible from sneezing, yawning, or
twisting his mouth, speaking very little and directly, without
being too near or too far from the table."