The Pantropheon; Or, History of Food, Its Preparation, from the Earliest Ages of the World

XX. FEATHERED GAME.

Moses permitted his people to eat game, with the exception of birds of prey and some other species whose flesh appeared to him hard and unwholesome.[XX_1]

The Egyptians piously offered to their priests the most delicate birds, which they willingly accepted, and eat, in order not to weaken their intelligence by the use of more simple and heavy food.[XX_2]

Among the Greeks, at the commencement of the repast, little birds were served roasted, on which was poured a boiling sauce, composed of scraped cheese, oil, vinegar, and silphium.[XX_3]

Feathered game appeared in Italy only at the second course. The Romans were very partial to it, and many epicureans, possessing strange tastes, found means to ruin themselves by eating pheasants and flamingoes.

The celebrated comedian, Æsopus, whom Cicero thought worthy of being his master in the art of declamation, had one day the fancy to regale himself with a dish of birds, the whole of which, when living, had both learned to sing and speak.[XX_4] This gluttony of a new kind cost him very dear, and the supper of the barbarian was not any the better for it.

Some modern nations—the French among others—formerly eat the heron, crane, crow, stork, swan, cormorant, and bittern; the first three especially were highly esteemed, and Taillevant, cook of Charles VII., teaches us how to prepare these meagre, tough birds. Belon says that, in spite of its revolting taste when unaccustomed to it, the bittern is, however, among the delicious treats of the French.[XX_5] This writer asserts also that a falcon, or a vulture, either roasted or boiled, is excellent eating; and that if one of these birds happened to kill itself in flying after the game, the falconer instantly cooked it. Liebaut calls the heron a royal viand!

These same men who eat vultures, herons, and cormorants, did not touch young game: they thought it indigestible; and, for instance, abstained from leverets and partridges.

The internal parts being the first to corrupt, the ancients carefully drew the game they wished to preserve. That done, they filled the inside with wheat or oats, and then placed it in the midst of a heap of flour or grain, with the feathers or hair on.

Thus protected from the contact of the air or insects, the game kept remarkably well.

THE PHEASANT.

The Argonauts discovered this magnificent bird on the shores of Phasis, a celebrated river of Colchis, and introduced it into Greece, where it was unknown.[XX_6] This tradition, sung by the poets,[XX_7] has only met with one contradictor, Isidorus,[XX_8] who pretends that the pheasant is a native of an island of Greece, called Phasis.

All nations soon hastened to receive it with the favour its rich plumage and the exquisite delicacy of its flesh deserve. Carried in cages composed of precious wood, it adorned the triumphal march of Ptolemy Philadelphus, at his entry into Alexandria.[XX_9] Ptolemy Evergetes, successor to that prince, caused pheasants to be sent from Media, which he destined for his aviary; and he never eat them, so much did he dread the idea of diminishing their number.[XX_10] But, alas! custom and time, those jealous enemies of the greatest glories, eventually put an end to that. The unfortunate creature was stripped of its feathers and roasted; gluttony, an insatiable monster that never says “enough,” rejoiced at being able to count it among the number of its conquests. The Greeks had coops for pheasants as we have for fowls, not to please the eye, but to ornament the table,[XX_11] and a foolish prodigality caused a whole pheasant to be served to each guest in those luxurious repasts which the Athenians gave to display their pomp and ostentatious hospitality.[XX_12]

Among the Romans, Pliny is the first (or we are mistaken) who mentions this bird, then very uncommon in Italy, since they went in quest of it to the banks of the Phasis.[XX_13] Its rarity did not prevent Vitellius from having a ragoÛt of pheasants’ brains,[XX_14] mixed with other viands of an unheard-of delicacy, in the immense dish called by him “the Shield of Minerva.”[XX_15]

Pertinax willingly partook of pheasant, but on condition that they cost his miserly sensuality nothing. Heliogabalus would only eat them three times a week. Alexander Severus reserved them for solemn occasions.[XX_16] They were sacrificed each morning to the statue of Caligula,[XX_17] at the foot of which the vile troop of courtiers prostrated themselves at the very time even when CÆsar, in a fit of sanguinary monomania, wished that the Roman people had but one neck, that he might sever it at a blow.[XX_18]

It is especially from the commencement of the 14th century that the pheasant, better appreciated in Europe, has resumed in banquets that remarkable place,[XX_19] constantly assigned to it throughout this new era, in which our taste maintains it, and from which our posterity will never remove it, if they inherit that wonderful sentiment of the good and beautiful which so eminently distinguishes the epicures of the present day.

Let us add, for the comfort of weak stomachs, that the medical light of Pergamo—the illustrious Galen—recommends them the use of the flesh of pheasants;[XX_20] that he prescribed it for himself, and found it a most delightful remedy.

“Mingrelia, or the antique Colchis, is the cradle of pheasants, that species of birds being stronger and finer there than anywhere else, but it is seen, however, all over Europe, in Africa, and Asia, even in the cold countries of the north. This beautiful bird forms an article of commerce with the Chinese, who sell them frozen in the market of Kiakta.”—Sonnini.

THE PARTRIDGE.

The Greeks and Romans were acquainted with partridges, and eat them.[XX_21] The red, at first very rare in Italy, were, however, advantageously replaced by the white, which true amateurs procured at a great expense from the Alps.[XX_22]

The Athenians were fond of seeing them fight, and raised them for this cruel sport.[XX_23] Alexander Severus also sought in these sanguinary struggles relief from the cares of royalty.[XX_24]

Aristippus, a more humane, perhaps a more luxurious, philosopher, gave as much as fourteen shillings for a fine fat partridge,[XX_25] which, passing from the aviary to the kitchen, escaped the fatal vicissitudes of a desperate combat.

In Greece, people who knew how to enjoy life thought much of the leg of this warlike bird.[XX_26] It was fashionable not to touch any other part. At Rome, when politeness was not of so much consequence, they sometimes ventured on the breast. We, barbarians, eat the entire partridge.

THE QUAIL.

The dead may be raised by the means of a quail, said the ancients. Now for the proof: Hercules having been killed in Lybia, IolaÜs took one of these birds, which fortunately happened to be at hand, and placed it beneath his friend’s nose. The hero no sooner smelt it than his eyes opened to the light, and Acheron was forced to give up his prey.[XX_27]

The learned Bochart denies this prodigy.[XX_28] He affirms that Hercules was subject to epileptic attacks, and that, during a fit, they caused him to smell a quail, whose odour quickly cured him.[XX_29]

The Phoenicians insisted that he was quite dead, and they all cried out, “A miracle!”[XX_30] The reader must decide between them and Bochart.

In the Desert the Israelites fed on quails;[XX_31] and this food, reserved for them by Divine goodness, caused no discomfort among the fugitive tribes. The Greeks served them on their tables with partridges:[XX_32] they raised them in aviaries, and eat them all the year round.[XX_33] Aristotle speaks most highly of them, and does not attribute to them any dangerous property.[XX_34] However, quails were banished from all Roman tables: they were no longer carefully fattened:[XX_35] they were cursed, and accused of causing epilepsy in those who partook of their fatal and seductive flesh.[XX_36] The authority of Galen confirmed this strange prejudice,[XX_37] and these innocent birds, having lost all reputation in Italy, no doubt easily consoled themselves for the happy ostracism which delivered them from a too expensive glory.

At all events, it is probable that Rome had wickedly calumniated quails; two skilful men, devoted to the cause, undertook to defend them: they were called Hippolochus and Antiphanus.[XX_38] Their eloquent pleadings caused a sensation; the epicureans were moved, and some of these birds were recalled, fattened, and roasted.

Quails, like cocks and partridges, seem born to fight to excess.[XX_39] The Grecians encouraged their warlike ardour, and threw them into the arena, where they contemplated their furious attacks with as much pleasure as they experienced at the sight of gladiators murdering each other in order to amuse them.[XX_40] Solon—the wise Solon—required that young men should be trained to courage at the school of these bold champions, and learn from them to despise danger, pain, and death.[XX_41] We know that sensibility was little thought of in the plan of education formed by the great legislator. Long after him, however, the Areopagus gave a dreadful proof of this, by condemning to death a little boy who had amused himself by pulling out the eyes of all the quails unfortunate enough to fall into his hands. This precocious monster was too promising.[XX_42]

THE THRUSH.

The immortal author of the Iliad did not disdain, it is said, to compose a poem in praise of thrushes. These verses were so beautiful that the Greeks learned them all by heart in their infancy.[XX_43] The singular love of the ancients for this bird renders these poetical honours tolerably probable. More than once Comus has borrowed the lyre of Apollo.

In Greece, children were not allowed to eat thrushes, because it was feared that their delicious flesh might cause them to contract too early habits of gluttony and effeminacy. Young girls received them as presents from their betrothed on the day of their marriage.[XX_44] They were served at the most sumptuous feasts,[XX_45] and Attica enriched with its gold the bird-catchers of that Daphne,[XX_46] so celebrated for her luxury and scandalous voluptuousness.

Rome inherited this gastronomic rage. One of Varro’s aunts reared thrushes in the country, and sold 60,000 of them every year, to the numerous epicures of the metropolis of the world. She derived an immense revenue from this speculation.[XX_47] Magnificent aviaries were soon seen in all rich Roman villas; they were filled with thrushes; and the multitude of these birds became such that they furnished a plentiful manure for the land.[XX_48] They were fed on crushed figs, mixed with wheaten flour; they had also millet, add great care was taken to preserve in the aviary a current of fresh and pure water to slake their thirst.[XX_49] On days of triumph and rejoicing, a dozen of these tempting thrushes cost no less than twenty-seven shillings.[XX_50]

On those solemn occasions more than one generous citizen, consulting his prodigality more than his purse, ruined himself[XX_51] for love of his guests. More than one obsequious dependant spent his last sesterces in composing ingenious crowns of thrushes,[XX_52] which his haughty patrons deigned to receive as a homage. It is true he was sometimes allowed to become a spectator of the repast which his gift was to embellish[XX_53]—certainly a most flattering recompense for his gratitude and servility!

DESCRIPTION OF PLATE No. IX.

Varro’S Magnificent Aviary.—Adjoining his villa was a part of the house called the Ornithon, or the Aviary, of which some ruins are still remaining, between the two small rivers Vinius and Casinus, but can hardly be made out. More, perhaps, was in existence when the famous architect and antiquarian, Pierre Ligorio, drew the plan and profile more than 200 years ago. This drawing of Plate IX. is conformable with Varro’s own description, who says that: “At the entrance there are two porticoes, or two large cages (in the Plate these are omitted for want of space); they are buildings with colonnades all round, on the top and sides there are nettings spread to prevent the escape of the birds. The entrance to the yards is between the two pavilions; two basins, long and wide, are alongside of the court-yard on the right and left of it; from them you pass to the grand double colonnade, the first circumference of which is of stone, and the second of pine; the distance from each other is five feet, and the whole of this middle space is filled with birds, which are prevented from escaping by small fillets all over the top and sides. There are, between the columns, like a small theatre, rails, like steps, put forward for the birds to perch upon. There are birds of various species, particularly singing birds, such as nightingales and blackbirds; a small canal supplies them with fresh water, and they are fed from under the netting. Facing the pedestals of the column is a stone, raised one foot nine inches above the quay, and that is elevated two feet above the level of the water; its width is five feet, to enable the visitor to walk round. At the lower part of the quay, on the water-side, there are holes practised where the ducks can retire. In the centre of the large basin, about 200 feet in diameter, is a small island, bordered by a small colonnade, under which Varro treats his friends; in the middle, a round table, which a servant turns on a pivot, so that in succession the guests are supplied with dishes, plates, cups, and goblets. There is seen also an hemisphere, where the star Lucifer turns in the day, and Hesperus at night; both mark the hour, and are variable; on the same hemisphere the winds, to the number of eight, are marked with a hand that is always moving as the wind changes, the same as the clock of Cyprestus, at Athena.”

The drawing of this Aviary is beautiful. It appears that Pierre Ligorio followed Varro’s description; at all events, the drawing of this Plate perfectly agrees with it.

Image not available: Pl. 9.
Pl. 9.

Heliogabalus eat only the brains of these birds.[XX_54] This dish appeared to him most excellent, for it was very costly.

The extreme delicacy of this volatile, which poetical connoisseurs have celebrated in their verses,[XX_55] recommends it to those with weak stomachs and to convalescents. Pompey being ill, his physician ordered him a thrush, but it was impossible to find one in Rome. Some one advised the celebrated general to apply to Lucullus, who fattened them throughout the year. “What,” cried Pompey, ill-humouredly, “shall I have to thank Lucullus’s pompous luxury for life!” He refused to eat the thrush, and he recovered.[XX_56]

THE BLACKBIRD.

What has been already said of the thrush precludes the necessity of writing much on the blackbird, for both these kinds of birds were equally dear to the gastronomists of Greece and Italy.[XX_57] They were fattened in the same manner,[XX_58] served on the same tables. The blackbird, in fact, like the thrush, re-established the strength and health of the rich.[XX_59] The poor were compelled to have recourse to less expensive remedies.

“The flesh of the blackbird, so delicate in the time of gathering grapes, acquires at that period a savour which makes it as precious as the quail, but becomes bitter when they feed on the juniper berries, the ivy, or other similar fruits. Some medicinal properties are attributed to it; the oil in which the blackbirds have been cooked is recommended to persons afflicted with sciatica: and the soil of these birds, dissolved in vinegar, is, we are informed, a certain specific for removing the freckles of the face or spots on the skin.”—Vieillot.

In 1468, Louis XI. ordered one of his authorised ruffians, named Perdriel, to seize all the tame blackbirds he could find in Paris. These poor birds were sent to Amboise, where a register was kept of what they said or sung. It appears that the king intended to punish those citizens of his capital who taught these innocent volatiles to repeat abuse of the sovereign, after which he would have wrung the necks of the too intelligent birds. Louis XI. could not carry out this singular idea, because he himself was shortly after the Duke of Burgundy’s prisoner at PÉronne. Blackbirds and citizens had a narrow escape.[XX_60]

THE STARLING.

Drusus and Britannicus, sons of the Emperor Claudius, had a starling which spoke admirably the Greek and Latin. Alone he studied his lessons, and afterwards recited them to the astonished princes.[XX_61] Science protected the learned bird from the fate reserved by the Greeks and Romans for the rest of its family, less distinguished by their erudition than by their culinary qualities. Starlings, roasted in the kitchens, honourably associated with partridges, blackbirds, and thrushes,[XX_62] and the disciples of Galen recommended them to their patients, who willingly submitted to so nourishing and light a food.[XX_63]

THE FLAMINGO.

A profound study of the art of good cheer caused the Romans to discover that the thick tongue of the phenicopter, or flamingo, presents towards its root a rather considerable adipose appendage. They tasted this lump of fat, and Rome was enriched with another dish.

It has been asserted that the glory of inventing this refinement in gluttony is due to Apicius. Italy possessed three gastrophiles of this name: the first flourished a short time before the dictatorship of Julius CÆsar; the second, Marcus Gabius, held a school of sensuality at Rome, under the reigns of Augustus and Tiberius; the third, CÆlius, was contemporary with Trajan, and poisoned himself for fear of dying of hunger.

We possess, under the name of this last, a Latin work in ten books, from which we have borrowed largely, as the reader may have already remarked. It would be difficult to decide to which of the three Apicii it belongs. The author speaks of the flamingo, but does not mention its tongue: the treatise, then, is not the work of M. Gabius, who would doubtless have indicated the preparation of a dish of which Pliny assures us he was so fond.[XX_64] As to CÆlius, if he were the compiler of this

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APICIUS

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EPICURUS

curious volume, as it is thought, how comes it he has forgotten a dish so justly celebrated, in this magiric catalogue, in which no detail, however minute, seems to escape him? It would appear that this contested paternity rightfully belongs to the first Apicius, unless some of the learned contest it on the ground that the style of the work nowise agrees with the latinity of his century.[XX_65]

May one of the learned societies of Europe some day take up this arduous question, and restore the ancient masterpiece to its admirable author. In the meantime the writer of the present work will continue to venerate the memory of CÆlius Apicius, and offer him crowns of smallage, roses, and parsley, for his name embellishes the frontispiece of those pages which reveal to us the secrets of Roman cookery; and we repeat, with Sosie:—

“Le vÉritable Amphitryon
Est l’Amphitryon oÙ l’on dine.”[XX_66]

Honour is due also to the other Apicius for his ingenious sauce of flamingo tongues. True, we have never tasted it, for this expensive fancy can only be satisfied in the marshes of the Nile.[XX_67] It is still little known in Europe, but the most fastidious of the Romans regaled themselves with it.[XX_68] Three Emperors, Caligula, Vitellius, and Heliogabalus—immortal triumvirate of incomparable polyphagists!—carried to indigestion their gastronomic delirium, their love for this famous ragoÛt.[XX_69] These great authorities are conclusive.

The traveller, Dampier, wished to try the flesh of the flamingo, and he thought it very good, though lean, and very black.[XX_70]

“The flesh of the phenicopterus is a dish more sought after in Egypt than in Europe; however, Catesby compares it for its delicacy to the partridge; Dampier says it has a fine flavour, although lean; Dutertre finds it excellent notwithstanding its marshy taste; the tongue is the most delicious part.”—Vieillot.

FIG-PECKER, or, BECAFICO.

The Duke of C—— had received from nature one of those culinary organizations which the vulgar assimilate with gluttony, and the man of art calls genius. Greece would have raised statues to him; the Roman emperor Vitellius would have shared the Empire with him. In France he gained the esteem of all parties by inviting them to sumptuous banquets.

This rich patrician brought up with tender care a young chef de cuisine, whom his major-domo had bequeathed to him on his death-bed, as Mazarin did Colbert to Louis XIV. The disciple profited by the learned lessons of the Duke; already the young chef’s head, eye, and hand possessed that promptitude and certainty whose union is so rarely combined: there remained for him only the instruction of experience.

One day, in the month of September, some guests of the highest class, all professed judges in the order of epicureans, met together at the residence of the noble Amphitryon, who often claimed the authority of their enlightened judgment. The learned AreopagitÆ had to pronounce on certain new dishes: it was necessary, by dint of seduction, to captivate the favour and patronage of these judges by disarming their severity.

Everything was served to the greatest nicety, everything was deemed exquisite, and they only awaited the dessert—that little course which causes the emotion of the great culinary drama to be forgotten—when the young chef appeared, and placed in the centre of the table a silver dish, containing twelve eggs. “Eggs!” exclaimed the Duke. The astonished guests looked at each other in silence. The cook took one of the eggs, placed it in a little china boat, slightly broke the shell, and begged his master to taste the contents. The latter continued to remove the white envelope, and at length discovered a savoury and perfumed ball of fat. It was a fig-pecker of a golden colour—fat, delicate, exquisite—surrounded by a wonderful seasoning.[XX_71]

The good old man cast on his pupil a look full of tenderness and pride; and, holding out his hand to him: “You are inspired by Petronius,” said he; “to imitate in such a manner is to create. Courage! I am much pleased with you.”

This classic dish—a revival from the feasts of Trimalcio—enjoyed only an ephemeral glory. Europe was on fire; a warlike fever raged everywhere; and Paris soon forgot the eggs of Petronius.

The fig-pecker merits the attention of the most serious gastronomists. The ancients reckoned it among the most refined of dishes.[XX_72] The Greeks made delicate pies of this bird, which exhaled an odour so tempting, that criticism was disarmed beforehand.[XX_73]

The Romans gave it their entire esteem,[XX_74] and prepared it with truffles and mushrooms.[XX_75] Among them, men who knew what good cheer means, thought there was nothing worth eating in birds but the leg and lower part of the body. Fig-peckers were the only exception to this rule: they were served and eaten entire.

“In the southerly parts of France, and in Italy, all the different species of linget, and almost all birds with a slender beak, are commonly called becafico, because in the autumn they attack and eat the figs, and thereby the flesh of these birds becomes then fat and exquisite; but that really known as the becafico is remarkable for its delicacy; therefore it has at all times been recherchÉ as an excellent eating. It is like a small lump of light fat—savoury, melting, easy of digestion; and, in truth, an extract of the juice from the delicious fruits it has fed upon.”—Vieillot.

THE ORTOLAN.

Florence and Bologna sent to Rome cases of ortolans, the enormous price of which irritated instead of discouraging gluttony.[XX_76] They arrived in the metropolis of the world, picked and separated one from the other by layers of flour to prevent decomposition.[XX_77] Each of these little birds furnished only a mouthful; but this incomparable mouthful eclipsed everything else, and produced a sort of epicurean extacy which may be called the transcendantalism of gastronomy.

Ortolans were submitted to the same treatment as fig-peckers in their preparation.

THE OSTRICH.

There were tribes formerly in Arabia who fed on ostriches, and who for this reason were called strutiophagists.[XX_78] Marmot asserts that, in his time, they were eaten in Africa, although their flesh was glutinous, and had a bad smell. When the people of Numidia took any that were young, they reared and fatted them, and led them to feed by flocks in the Desert; and as soon as they were fat they killed and salted them.[XX_79]

The Arabs of the present day abstain from them; but it is said they seek much the fat, which they use plentifully in cooking.

They were served at Rome on a few tables. This was nothing but a depravation of taste.

Heliogabalus, who understood good living better, contented himself with the brains of ostriches. Six hundred of these animals furnished enough for one meal.[XX_80] The devastation was great, but the emperor had made a good supper.

The ostrich’s eggs are very hard, very heavy, and very large; their weight often equals three pounds. The colour is of a dirty white, with light yellow veins; they are good to eat. In Africa they are sought after as a friandise, and cooked in various ways. The commonest and the best is, after breaking, to mix and cook them with a good deal of butter. They are large enough and sufficient for a man’s meal.

When the Arabs have killed an ostrich they open its throat, and make a ligature under the opening; three or four men take the bird, and shake it, the same as rincing a pouch; after which, the ligature being undone, a considerable quantity of a greasy substance comes out, mixed with blood and fat as thick as coagulated oil. One ostrich produces as much as twenty pounds of it, and it is used for the preparation of dishes, for the cure of rheumatism, humeurs froides, and paralysis. The Romans used this grease for the same purposes, and believed it possessed the most precious qualities.

THE STORK.

In spite of the religious respect of the Romans for this bird, the emblem of peace[XX_81] and domestic virtues, Sempronius Rufus, an ancient prÆtor, caused his cook to dress some young storks; and this brought into fashion[XX_82] a dish which caprice alone could introduce at feasts.[XX_83]

THE SEA-SWALLOW.

Among the ancients, the swallow—joyous herald of spring—possessed little attraction for those men whom their gluttony has rendered so justly celebrated. Alas! they knew not the “Salangan swallow,” hirundo esculenta; they never tasted those birds’ nests which Europe still envies the East.

The inhabitants of the Philippine Islands give the designation of salangan swallow to a little coast bird (the halcyon, or kingfisher), celebrated for the singular construction of its nest. These nests have been compared to those which the Greeks and Romans called halcyon’s nests; but this comparison is false, since the marine productions to which they gave this name are not birds’ nests but polypus’s, or the cylindrical covering of the polypi—the halcyonium—a kind of medicament, of which there were several varieties.[XX_103]

All travellers agree that the Chinese, and other eastern nations, have an extreme partiality for the salangan’s nest, as a delicious seasoning for their viands, and that they value it excessively; but they differ strangely as to its nature, its form, and the places where it is found.

According to some, the material of these nests is a froth of the sea, or the spawn of fish, and strongly aromatic. Others say it has no taste. Some pretend that it is a juice gathered by the salangans from the tree called salambouc; some maintain that it is a viscous humour that they give out from the beak at a certain period of the year; and, lastly, many affirm that these birds compose it entirely from the remains of fish-zoophytes.

With respect to the form, some say that it is hemispherical; others that it resembles a shell valve.

As to the places where the salangans build their nests, some observers assure us that it is fixed on the rocks a little above the level of the sea; in the hollows of those same rocks; and, lastly, that they conceal them in holes which they burrow under ground. According to Koempfer, these nests, so far as they are known to us, are nothing more than a preparation concocted from the flesh of the polypi.

The celebrated traveller Poivre, while occupied one day in picking up shells and coral near Java, penetrated a rather deep cavern at a short distance from the sea shore, and found the sides of it covered with little nests, in the form of a deep shell, firmly fixed to the rock. These nests were taken on board, and several persons who had been in China immediately recognised them as being identical with those that the Chinese seek with such avidity. The birds which had built them were true swallows, of about the size of the humming bird. Poivre adds that, in the months of March and April, the sea from Java to Cochin China is covered with spawn, which has the appearance of half-dissolved glue, and that he had learned from the Malays and the Cochin Chinese that the salangan builds its nest with this spawn. All agreed on this point. The bird picks it up as he skims the water, or from the rocks where the spawn coagulates. It is at the end of July and the commencement of August that the Cochin Chinese collect the nests, and, as the young birds are hatched in March and April, the species do not suffer by it.

By the subsequent examination of these nests it was found that they presented the form of the half of a hollow, lengthened ellipsoid. They are composed, externally, of very thin laminÆ, nearly concentric, and laid one over the other. The interior presents several layers of irregular net-work, superposed one over another, and formed of a multitude of threads of the same matter as the external laminÆ, and which cross and re-cross in every direction.

Their composition, which has a slight taste of salt, is of a yellowish white and demi-transparent; it softens in warm water without dissolving, and increases in volume. It is a substantial food, and would be excellent for persons suffering from exhaustion, whose debile stomachs ill perform their functions. Poivre declares that he never eat anything more fortifying than a pottage made with these nests and some good meat.

The salangan nests are of two sorts—the white and the black. It appears that the white nests are those of the same year, and that the black ones belong to an epoch less recent. The birds are engaged about two months in preparing them, and the Chinese do not take them away until the young ones are feathered, and begin to be pretty strong on the wing.[XX_104]

This nomenclature would be incomplete, did we not briefly mention some kinds of game which appeared with more or less favour on the tables of the ancients.

The Wood-Hen, dear to the Greeks,[XX_84] was not common at Rome in the time of Varro. The curious reared them in aviaries with other rare birds.[XX_85]

The Bustard, the Water-Hen, and the Teal, found many admirers.[XX_86] The Romans reared the last-named,[XX_87] and judged it worthy of notice among the most delicate morsels of the feast.

The Woodcock, which is thought to be the rustica perdix of Martial,[XX_88] and the Snipe do not appear to have obtained from the gastrophilists of antiquity that attention they deserved. This delicious game was ill-appreciated in Italy and at Athens. History, that “conscience of posterity,” reproaches them with this oversight, and is astonished that the Curlew should have usurped, particularly in Greece,[XX_89] a pre-eminence which it certainly does not deserve.

“The fat of the snipe is of a most delicate savour, which it acquires only after the first appearance of the frosty season. It is cooked like the woodcock, without being drawn.”—Vieillot.

The gourmets have a way of knowing when the flesh of the woodcock is arrived at the degree of flavour required to be sought after: the bird is suspended by the beam-feather of the middle of its tail; when the body gets loose and full, then is the time to eat it.

“The woodcock is cooked with the entrails in, which, being pounded with what they contain, form its own and best seasoning.”—Sonnini.

The Crow, an object of superstitious worship among the Egyptians,[XX_90] offered to the less scrupulous inhabitants of Alexandria a dish unequalled in delicacy;[XX_91] but which never seems to have tempted the nations of the west.

The Turtle Dove,[XX_92] whose timid innocence caused it to be revered in Assyria,[XX_93] had a less glorious destiny at Rome. It was roasted, and epicures greedily devoured the legs.[XX_94]

The Lark joined to the delicate flavour of its flesh a more precious quality; either roast or boiled, it infallibly cured persons attacked with the colic.[XX_95] We cannot say whether it possesses this useful property at the present day.

“The common lark, which is called at Paris mauviette, is generally looked upon as a wholesome, delicate, and light game. It is dressed in various ways; and the gourmets appreciate the value of the excellent lark pies which have established the reputation of the town of Pithiviers in France.”—Sonnini.

The Romans went to almost fabulous expenses in order to procure game. What enormous sums, may we not imagine, were given for those dishes of flamingoes’ tongues and ostriches’ brains already mentioned! What must have been the cost of the seven thousand birds which the brother of Vitellius served to the voracious emperor![XX_96] And yet all these follies fall far short of those they committed through their love of fish.

The inventive genius of the Greeks discovered in ichthyophagy strange refinements, though always impressed with we know not what kind of propriety, which seems to palliate their excesses. The Romans at first imitated, and soon afterwards surpassed them. Their frightful gluttony was revived by crime, and exulted in barbarity. The sea eels (conger, or murÆna helena) will not eat; let a slave be thrown to them, young and healthy, his flesh will be more tempting and alive, that his struggle against unspeakable tortures may the better irritate the devouring ardour of these beloved fish. And a few days afterwards, the grave patrician, or the noble knight, again offered them this human food; and no remorse, no doubt, no gloom, ever clouded his brow; no thrill of horror crossed his mind, while he feasted on those sea eels he had fattened so well.

More than two-thirds of the inhabitants of the most civilised countries were plunged in slavery, and employed solely to gratify the sensuality of the other third. That alone gives a terrifying idea of the contempt in which man was held by his fellow-man, of the power of egotism, and of the vast corruption resulting from it. And what cruelties were committed in the face of heaven, sanctioned by the law, and by the manners and customs of society! The masters had absolute power over their slaves, and could punish them with blows or death at their own will and pleasure.[XX_97] If an unfortunate servant happened to taste a sauce, or the remains of a fish, this unpardonable crime was often punished by crucifixion.[XX_98] The virtuous Cato sold his old slaves at whatever price they would fetch, rather than feed useless beings.[XX_99] The senator, Q. Flaminius, put one of his domestics to death as a new spectacle for one of his friends, who had never enjoyed the pleasure of seeing a man killed.[XX_100] If the father of a family was assassinated in his house, and the murderer was not discovered, all the slaves were subject to the capital punishment. One of the grandees of Rome, who possessed four hundred of them, having been killed by one of the number, they were all put to death.[XX_101] At the funeral of rich persons, a certain number of slaves were often slain as victims agreeable to their manes.

And what is remarkable is, that these things, which we can hardly believe, were not viewed as excesses, not even as an abuse of power, but simply as the exercise of a natural right. Such scenes were witnessed daily, without exciting the least censure, or the slightest protestation, on the part of those numerous writers and sophists, who passed their whole lives in declaiming against the manners of the age. It is true that legislation had taken the lead by applying to slaves this dreadful aphorism: “They are still more null than vile;”—Non tam viles quam nulli sunt.[XX_102]

Such were the conquerors of the world! Such were those Romans who invented dreadful crimes through love of good living!

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