Mortals were formerly remarkably sober, and the gods themselves set them the example, by feeding exclusively on ambrosia and nectar. The vigorous but uncultivated appetites of these heroes were hardly satisfied when everything disappeared, and none of them thought to prolong the pleasures of good cheer. It must not, however, be imagined that they were entirely destitute of more refined aliments. Homer gives to the Hellespont the epithet of fishy; Ithaca, and several other islands of Greece, abounded in excellent game; Beware, however, of a mistake: those men—with so little choice respecting their viands—all possessed stomachs of astounding capacity. These are facts of which we do not exactly guarantee the truth, for history—it is no secret—has some little resemblance to the microscope: it frequently magnifies objects by presenting them to us through its deceitful prism. We close this singularly incomplete list of the ancient polyphagists by adding that the Pharsalians In more modern times, some men have acquired, by the energy of their hunger, an illustration they would have vainly demanded from their genius or their virtues. The Emperor Claudius sat down to table at all hours and in any place. One day, when he was dispensing justice according to his own fashion in the market-place of Augustus, his olfactory nerves scented the delicious odour of a feast which exhaled from one of the neighbouring temples. It was the priests of Mars, who were merry-making at the expense of the good souls in the surrounding locality. The glutton emperor immediately left his judgment-seat, and, without any further ceremony, went and asked them for a knife and fork. Galba could taste nothing if he was not served with inconceivable profusion. His stomach imposed limits upon him, but his eyes knew none; and when he had gloated to his heart’s content upon the magnificent spectacle of innumerable viands for which the universe had been ransacked, he would have the imperial dessert taken slowly round the table, and then heaped up to a prodigious height before the astonished guests. Vitellius, the boldest liver, perhaps, of the whole imperial crew, and the most active polyphagist of past times, caused himself to be invited the same day to several senatorial families. This deplorable honour often caused their ruin, for each repast cost not less than 400,000 sesterces (£3,200). The intrepid Vitellius was equal to the whole, True, this poor prince was continually tormented with a hunger that no aliment seemed capable of satisfying. In the sacrifices, like the Harpies of whom Virgil speaks, Such were the masters of the world, the proud CÆsars! before whom haughty Rome bowed the head and trembled, and from whom it basely implored a smile, up to that day when some soldiers, tired of their shameful obedience, kicked the imperial corpse into the Tiber, after having mutilated it in presence of the populace, who crowded joyously around the GemoniÆ. These terrific examples of insatiable voracity have become rare and obscure. A few isolated facts may perhaps be met with at very distant periods, which remind us of the polyphagic celebrities of Greece and Italy. There are, however, two which would have merited the attention of Vitellius himself. The ingenuous Fuller The second anecdote is from Berchoux:— Marshal Villars had a house-porter who was an enormous eater. “Franz,” said he, one day, “tell me, now, how many loins you could eat?” “Ah! my lord, as for loins, not many: five or six at most.” “And how many legs of mutton?” “Ah! as for legs of mutton, not many: seven or eight perhaps.” “And fatted pullets?” “Ah! as for pullets, my lord, not many: not more than a dozen.” “And pigeons?” “Ah! as for pigeons, not many: perhaps forty—fifty at A truce to gluttons. Let us speak of epicureans. It is to them that gastronomic civilization owes the laws by which it is regulated; they were the legislators of the table: they introduced regularity and order at repasts. The breakfast, dinner, collation, and supper were created by those sages. Fashion has often modified the nomenclature, but assuredly it will never be able to supersede it. The Greeks submitted to it for many years; The Greek manners were introduced in Rome, and persons of a certain rank, who did not make a profession of gluttony, gave themselves up to the pleasures of the table only once a day. The tyranny of fashion was not, however, such that all persons thought themselves bound to obey it under pain of being shamed and ridiculed. Many unscrupulously transgressed its laws, and more than one respectable Greek of good family, following the example of Ulysses, who prepared his breakfast at sun-rise, The Romans, when they were not asleep, breakfasted at three or four o’clock in the morning. It would appear that the Jews dined at mid-day; About mid-day The senators, the knights, and the luxurious freed-men, spared no expense either for dinner or supper. The priests of Mars, of whom we have already spoken, set them an example too seductive for them not to follow it. The collation—merenda—was little in use. It took place about the end of the day, before supper, particularly in summer, among the workmen and farm labourers. We now come to the principal repast, to that which threw such brilliancy over the latter centuries of Rome, when a culinary monomania, a sort of gastronomic furor, seemed to have seized the sovereign people, who, no longer great by their conquests, betrayed a desire to become so by the number and audacity of their follies. The Hebrews supped at the ninth hour, that is to say, about three o’clock in the afternoon. In the primitive times, kings prepared their own suppers. The fierce warriors of that warlike period never forgot to invoke the gods before they satisfied their appetites: libations of wine rendered them favourable. It often happened that each one paid his share, or brought provisions with him It was then that pleasure presided at those repasts; dulness had its turn when luxury proscribed the supper in open air, and in common, The breakfast has always taken place after rising; dinner in the middle of the day; the collation in the course of the afternoon; and the supper in the evening. In the 14th century, people dined at ten o’clock in the morning. The Sicilian cooks taught unheard-of refinements, and were sought after with strange eagerness. It appears that three or four o’clock in the afternoon—the ninth hour—was the time invariably fixed for the supper of the Romans. These suppers, the details of which always appear to us as bearing the impress of exaggeration, notwithstanding the authority of the writers who furnish them, were insufficient for certain prodigies of extravagance and furious gluttony, who were served at midnight with a sort of “wake” (comissatio), Vitellius was renowned for this kind of nocturnal debauchery; Sensual enjoyments, and every variety of barbarity that follows in their train, were carried to the highest pitch. There was something vast and monstrous, of which nothing can give us an idea, in the eclipse of mind, and the depravity of their hearts. All that force of intelligence and will which, under the influence of Christian spiritualism, has revealed itself in modern times by so many chivalric inspirations, so many moral institutions, so many scientific discoveries, so many industrial works, then ingulfed in the senses, was taxed solely for their gratification. The sensual organization of man had acquired a development apparently as vast as that of intelligence, because intelligence had become the handmaid of the senses: hence those colossal proportions in the tastes, the banquets, the pleasures of the ancients, when compared with ours, which make us regard them as an extinct race of giants, if we consider them in a sensual point of view; and as a race of pygmies, if we measure them by that power of ideas—that metaphysical and moral elevation—to which we have attained, and which would make a child of our days the catechist of all the philosophers of antiquity. Down to the time of the conquest of the north of Europe by the Romans, the food was very simple. Chopped herbs boiled in cauldrons, served in wooden bowls on the hide of an ox, spread on the ground, in the midst of the forest; balls composed of different kinds of flour, and some strips of meat grilled on the embers—such was the food of our forefathers. The table at which the Anglo-Saxons took their repasts, was covered with a very clean cloth. Each one received a horn cup, which contained some kind of pottage, or ale—the beverage for which they had a predilection. The Anglo-Saxons were particularly fond of boiled meat. They cut up the animal they intended to cook, put the pieces into a cauldron, supported by a tripod, and then lighted a fire on the ground. They stirred their ragoÛt incessantly with a long two-pronged fork, which also served them to take out the meat when it was done. All the deplorable excesses of the Romans ought not to divert us from the fact, that religion and sound policy seem to have consecrated repasts in common, as one of the means best calculated to unite men more closely in the bonds of concord and friendship. The first Christians promptly adopted this custom: their love feasts—their agapÆ—were served in the church, after the Communion. The rich contributed to them abundantly; the poor according to their means; and the indigent who presented themselves with nothing in their hands, were received and treated as brethren. As an act of justice to Pagan legislators, we are compelled to say that sometimes they had excellent views, which go far to extenuate many of their aberrations. The laws of Minos prescribed to the Cretans the annual levy of an impost, the half of which was to be consecrated to the nourishment of the people. No one could eat alone; a certain number of families met together to take their repasts in common. Solon decreed that the Athenians should assemble at the Prytanea to eat together—sometimes one, sometimes another—at the public expense. Each was invited in his turn, and was expected to be there on the day named. The founder of Rome also had the wisdom to ordain that, in certain cases, the inhabitants of the same ward should take their repasts in common, as a sign of peace and good feeling; nay, more: he decreed these suppers to be a part of the religious worship, and they were called “sacred banquets.” Man abuses every thing. The Romans, tired of eating merely to support life, and disdaining, little by little, that austere sobriety which rendered them the masters of the world, gave themselves up at last to unbridled luxury, which appears to have redoubled during the war of Italy, and the civil wars of Marius, 83 B.C. Cornelius Sylla assumed the government, and one of the terrible dictator’s laws (Lex Cornelia) renewed the ancient sumptuary regulations, and fixed the prices of provisions. Tiberius granted still more. Under his reign, a worthy citizen might spend for supper the sum of four pounds, without having to fear that any one would find fault with it. Caligula, Claudius, and Nero—doubtless better judges of liberty than their predecessors—allowed every one the right to ruin himself as joyously as he pleased. These good princes, so far from repressing the luxury of the table, strove to fortify it with the authority of their examples. Vitellius was by nature a non-reformer. That voracious CÆsar operated on a large scale; he spent in four months, for his suppers, a little more than five millions sterling. We find in the history of “Jack of Newbury” “You feed your folks with the best of beef and the finest of wheat, which is an oversight; neither do I hear of any knight in this country that doth it, and, to say the truth, how were they able to bear that part which they do, if they saved it not by some means? Come thither, and I warrant you that you shall see brown bread upon the board; if it be of wheat and rye mingled together, it is a great matter, and bread most highly commended, but most commonly they eat barley bread, or rye mingled with peasen or such-like coarse grain, which is doubtless of small price, and there is no other bread allowed except it be at their own board; and in like manner for their meat, it is well known that necks and points of beef is their ordinary fare; which, because it is commonly lean, they seeth therewith now and then a piece of bacon or pork, whereby they make their pottage fat, and therewith drive out the rest with more content: and this you must do. And besides that, the midriffs of oxen, and the cheeks, the sheep’s heads, and the gathers, which you give away at your gate, might serve them well enough; this would be a great spareing to your meat, and by this means you would save much money in the year, whereby you might better maintain your French hood and silk gown.” The following is the style of living at the court of the Dauphin of France in the 14th century:— As in all well-regulated houses, there were five repasts, viz.: the As an every-day fare, the Dauphin took for his dinner a rice pottage, with leeks or cabbage, a piece of beef, another of salt pork, a dish of six hens or twelve pullets, divided in two, a piece of roast pork, cheese, and fruit; at supper, a piece of roast beef, a dish of brains, neat’s feet, with vinegar, cheese and fruit. Other days, other dishes, which were also pre-arranged with respect to kind and quantity. The barons of the court had always the half of the quantity of the Dauphin; the knights, the quarter; the equerries and chaplains, the eighth. The distributions of wine and bread were made in the same proportions; such a rank, such weight, such measure; so that the young and delicate baroness had four pots of wine, while the chorister and the chaplain had but one. We are indebted to the learned Monteil for the following details relative to the public repasts of Louis XIV.:— The usher of the court, at the hour named, goes and knocks with his wand at the door of the hall of the body-guard, and says: “Gentlemen, to the king’s table!” a guard is dispatched, who follow him to the goblet, where one of the officers for the service of the table takes the nave. The guard accompany him, marching by his side, sword in hand. Having arrived at the dining-room, the officers spread the cloth, try the napkins, the fork, the spoon, the knife, and the tooth-picks; that is to say, they touch them with a morsel of bread, which they afterwards eat. The usher returns again to the hall of the body-guard, knocks at the door with his wand, and cries: “Gentlemen, the king’s meat!” Four guards then follow him to the ambry, where the equerry of the household and the chief steward, or major-domo, test the dishes, by dipping a piece of bread, which they eat. After this, the king’s meat is carried, the guards marching with their drawn swords on either side; the chief steward, preceded by the usher, walking in front. When he arrives near the table, he approaches the nave, and makes his obeisance to it; and if the announcer, or any other person desire also to do it, he may. The gentlemen-in-waiting place the dishes successively, and the table being covered with them, the king then enters. It is to be remarked, that it is always a prince or a great personage who presents the wet napkin to him with which to wash his hands, whereas it is a simple valet who presents him with the dry napkin to wipe them. The king takes his seat. The equerry-carver carves the viands. The king serves himself on a plate of gold. When he asks for drink, the cup-bearer calls aloud: “Drink for the king!” At the same time he makes his obeisance to him, goes to the buffet, takes two crystal decanters, one of which is filled with wine, and the other with water, returns to the king, makes another obeisance, removes the cover of the glass, and presents it to the king, who pours out wine and water according to his own pleasure. During the dinner or supper of the king, a group of lordly courtiers stand behind his chair, and endeavour—though frequently in vain—to divert him, and make him laugh; and another group, composed of ladies of the court, stand behind the queen’s chair, who, on their part, try to amuse her, and excite a smile. Whether the king eat in public or private, the table is always served in the same manner:—
The king eats only with the royal family and princes of the blood. Sometimes, however, the Pope’s nuncio has the honour of sitting at his table, but always at the distance of four places. The luxury of the table was carried so far under Edward III. of England, that that prince was constrained, in the 17th year of his reign, to impose sumptuary laws on his subjects, forbidding the common people the indulgence of costly food and fine wines. The necessity for this measure is demonstrated by the fact, of which we read in the chronicles of Stow, The same chronicler also informs us that King Richard II. held the Christmas feasts in the great hall of Westminster in 1399, “and such numbers came, that every day there were slain twenty-six or twenty-eight oxen and three hundred sheep, besides fowls without number.” Richard Nevil, Earl of Warwick, kept so good a table, that his guests often eat six fat oxen for their breakfast. So early as the 16th century the inhabitants of the City of London were remarkable for the astonishing profusion of their repasts, if we are to believe the poet Massinger— “Men may talk of country Christmas, and court gluttony, Their thirty pounds for buttered eggs, their pies of carps’ tongues, Their pheasants drenched with ambergrise; the carcases Of three fat wethers bruised for gravy, to Make sauce for a single peacock:—yet their feasts Were fasts, compared with the City’s.” The description of one dish will enable us to judge of the others— “Three sucking pigs, served up in a dish, Took from the sow as soon as she had farrowed, A fortnight fed with dates and muskadine, That stood my master in twenty marks a piece; Besides the puddings in their bellies, made Of I know not what.” In the comedy of the “Parson’s Wedding,” The luxurious munificence of Norman kings is almost as remarkable as that of the emperors of degenerate Rome. William the Conqueror had himself crowned three times in the same year, and the banquets he gave on those occasions were such that they impoverished the kingdom. At the dinner given on the marriage of Richard, Earl of Cornwall, and brother of Henry III., with the daughter of Raymond, Earl of Provence, more than thirty thousand dishes were served on the table of the bride and bridegroom. In the year 1252, “John Mansel, the king’s counsellor, gave a stately dinner to the kings of England and Scotland and their queens; there was also present Edward, the king’s son, the Bishop of London, and many earls, barons, knights, and citizens; in short, so large was his company, that his house at Totehill could not contain them; therefore he set up tents and pavilions for their reception; seven hundred messes of meat was not sufficient to serve them for the first course.” The following details, which we borrow from Monteil’s excellent work, “Whenever there is a dinner of ceremony, the clerks of the church are requested to bring holy water. The repast is commenced and concluded with fruit. The bread eaten is in loaves of nine ounces only. Every bason of meat is surrounded with sage, lavender, or other aromatic herbs; and on Sunday, or any holiday, negus is given. The sideboard, or buffet, is always in the middle of the room, covered with jugs and large drinking cups of gold and silver. “The cellars, store-rooms, kneading troughs, dairies, and fruit-stores, are filled and emptied unceasingly—take who will, when he will, and as “The great number of nobles, knights, huntsmen, falconers, pages, kitchen servants, butlers, bakers, the numerous valets, workmen, gardeners, harbingers, door-keepers, porters, and guards are not equal to the task of consuming so much. From all sides come relations, allies, neighbours, friends, pilgrims, and travellers, all of whom remain or depart at will, being feasted as if it were the morrow of a wedding, or a patronal festivity. “The kitchen chimney-places are not less than twelve feet in width. One man would not have strength sufficient to use the tongs or the shovels. The andirons do not weigh less than a hundred pounds, the trivets forty pounds; copper saucepans of thirty pounds are common, and so are spits of eleven and twelve pounds. One roast is composed of one, two, or three calves, two, three, or four sheep, besides game, venison, and poultry. The boiling of the saucepans, the exhalations from the grease, render the atmosphere so fat, so thick, that it is only necessary to breathe in it to feed. A person would not dare enter one of those kitchens on the eve of a feast day, for fear, as it were, of breaking his fast. “In the 16th century persons washed their hands at the commencement of a repast, and a second time when it was concluded. When the master of the house was particular on the point of civility, he had a bason sent round at this second ablution, filled with perfumed water. “When the person seated in the chief place was a guest of distinction, politeness made it indispensable to present him with water to rinse his mouth. “One of the most difficult points of French civility in the 16th century was to drink to a person’s health, or return the compliment in a proper manner. |