Destined by Providence to wander over the globe, and to live in various
climes, man is essentially an omnivorous animal. According to the country
he inhabits, its productions and the nature of his pursuits, his mode of
living differs. The inhabitant of cold and sterile regions on the borders
of the ocean becomes ichthyophagous; and fish, fresh, dried, smoked, or
salted, is his principal nourishment. The bold huntsman lives upon the
game he pursues; while the nomadian shepherd, who tends his herd over
boundless steeps, supports himself on the milk of his flock. In warm
countries fruits and vegetables constitute the chief support of life; and
there the disciples of Pythagoras can luxuriate on the rich produce of a
bountiful soil, solely debarring themselves from beans, which, like all
flesh, they consider to have been created by putrefaction. What would
these good people have done among the Scythians and the Getæ, who,
according to Sidonius Apollinaris, mingled blood and milk for food—
————————Solitosque cruentum
Lac potare Getas, ac pocula tingere venis;
or the stunted natives of the arctic regions, who feed upon whales and
seals, drink deep potations of train-oil, and consider the warm blood of
the seal an exquisite beverage, dried herrings moistened with blubber a
dainty, and the flesh of the seal half frozen in snow during winter, or
half corrupted in the earth in summer, the most delicious morsel. The
semi-barbarous Russians, who during the late wars enjoyed the abundant
bills of fare of France and Italy, accustom themselves easily to this
disgusting diet on their return; and their troops, who live amongst the
Samoiedes, thrive uncommonly well on raw flesh and rein-deer blood. It is
in temperate regions that man displays his omnivorous propensities: there,
animal food can be abundantly procured; and every description of grain,
roots, and fruit, is easily cultivated. It is as we pass from these middle
climes towards the poles, that animal substances are more exclusively
consumed; and towards the equator that we enjoy refreshing fruits, and
nourishing roots and vegetables. So scarce is food in some desolate
tracts of the globe, that we find the wandering Indian satisfying his
cravings with earth and clay: and Humboldt informs us that the Ottomaques,
on the banks of the Mata and Oronoco, feed on a fat unctuous earth, in the
choice of which they display great epicurean skill, and which they knead
into balls of four or six inches in diameter, and bake slowly over the
fire. When about to be used, these clods are soaked in water, and each
individual consumes about a pound of them in the day; the only addition
which they occasionally make to this strange fare consists in small fish,
lizards, and fern-roots.
The art of cookery has improved, no doubt, with the progressive advance
and development of our other institutions; and it seems to prove that the
employment of all kinds of food is as natural to man, as a stationary
uniformity and restriction of one species of aliment is to animals. A most
erroneous idea has prevailed regarding the use of animal food, which has
been considered as the best calculated to render mankind robust and
courageous. This is disproved by observation. The miserable and timid
inhabitants of Northern Europe and Asia are remarkable for their moral and
physical debility, although they chiefly live on fish or raw flesh;
whereas the athletic Scotch and Irish are certainly not weaker than their
English neighbours, though consuming but little meat. The strength and
agility of the negroes is well known, and the South Sea islanders can vie
in bodily exercises with our stoutest seamen. We have reason to believe,
that, at the most glorious periods of Grecian and Roman power, their
armies were principally subsisted upon bread, vegetables, and fruits.
Man by his natural structure was created omnivorous, and there is no doubt
but that a judicious mixed alimentation is the best calculated to ensure
health and vigour, and enable the ambitious or the industrious wanderer to
spend his winters near the poles, colonize beneath the equator, or inhabit
regions where the hardiest of animals must starve and die. The teeth, the
jaws, all the digestive organs fit him for this mode of existence. There
is a curious passage in one of Dr. Franklin’s letters in regard to wine:
he pleasantly observes, that the only animals created to drink water are
those who from their conformation are able to lap it on the surface of the
earth, whereas all those who can carry their hands to their mouth were
destined to enjoy the juice of the grape.
The diversity of substances which we find in the catalogue of articles of
food is as great as the variety with which the art or the science of
cookery prepares them: the notions of the ancients on this most important
subject are worthy of remark. Their taste regarding meat was various. Beef
they considered the most substantial food; hence it constituted the chief
nourishment of their athletæ. Camels’ and dromedaries’ flesh was much
esteemed, their heels most especially. Donkey-flesh was in high repute;
Mæcenas, according to Pliny, delighted in it; and the wild ass, brought
from Africa, was compared to venison. In more modern times we find
Chancellor Dupret having asses fattened for his table. The hog and the
wild boar appear to have been held in great estimation; and a hog was
called “animal propter convivia natum;” but the classical portion of the
sow was somewhat singular—“vulvâ nil dulcius amplâ.” Their mode of
killing swine was as refined in barbarity as in epicurism. Plutarch tells
us that the gravid sow was actually trampled to death, to form a delicious
mass fit for the gods. At other times, pigs were slaughtered with red-hot
spits, that the blood might not be lost; stuffing a pig with asafœtida
and various small animals, was a luxury called “porcus Trojanus;”
alluding, no doubt, to the warriors who were concealed in the Trojan
horse. Young bears, dogs, and foxes, (the latter more esteemed when fed
upon grapes,) were also much admired by the Romans; who were also so fond
of various birds, that some consular families assumed the names of those
they most esteemed. Catius tells us how to drown fowls in Falernian wine,
to render them more luscious and tender. Pheasants were brought over from
Colchis, and deemed at one time such a rarity, that one of the Ptolemies
bitterly lamented his having never tasted any. Peacocks were carefully
reared in the island of Samos, and sold at such a high price, that Varro
informs us they fetched yearly upwards of 2000l. of our money. The
guinea-fowl was considered delicious; but, wretched people! the Romans
knew not the turkey, a gift which we moderns owe to the Jesuits. Who could
vilify the disciples of Loyola after this information! The ostrich was
much relished; Heliogabalus delighted in their brains, and Apicius
especially commends them. But, of all birds, the flamingo was not only
esteemed as a bonne-bouche, but was most valuable after dinner; for,
when the gluttonous sensualists had eaten too much, they introduced one of
its long scarlet feathers down their throats, to disgorge their dinner.
The modern gastronome is perhaps not aware that it is to the ancients he
owes his delicious fattened duck and goose livers,—the inestimable foies
gras of France. Thus Horace:
Pinguibus et ficis pastum jecur anseris albi.
The swan was also fattened by the Romans, who first deprived it of sight;
and cranes were by no means despised by people of taste. In later days the
swan seems to have been in great estimation in our own country. We find in
the Northumberland household book that in one year twenty of these birds
were consumed at the earl’s table.
While the feathered creation was doomed to form part of ancient delights,
the waters yielded their share of enjoyments, and several fishes were
immortalized. The muræna Helena was educated in their ponds, and
rendered so tame that he came to be killed at the tinkling of his master’s
bell or the sound of his voice.
Natat ad magistrum delicta muræna,
says Martial. Hirtius ceded six thousand of these fish to Cæsar as a great
favour, and Vitellius delighted in their roe. The fame of the lamprey,
mustela of Ausonius and Pliny, is generally known; and the sturgeon, the
acipenser sturio, was brought to table with triumphant pomp: but the
turbot, one of which was brought to Domitian from Ancona, was considered
such a present from the gods, that this emperor assembled the senate to
admire it. Soles were also so delectable that punning on the word solea,
they were called the soles of the gods: the dorad, sparus auratus, was
consecrated to Venus; the labrus scarus was called the brain of Jupiter,
and Apuleius and Epicharmus maintain that its very entrails would be
relished in Olympus.
To these dainties may be added the Alphestæ, a fish always caught in
pairs from their eagerness to be eaten. The Amia so very delicious that
the Athenians defied the worst cook to spoil them. The Gnaphius that
imparted to the water that had had the honour to boil them, the facility
of taking out all stains. The Pompilus which sprang with Venus from the
blood of the sky. The fish called fox by the Rhodians, and dog by the
Bœotians, was considered such a dainty that Archestratus recommended
epicures to steal them if they could not procure them by honest means;
adding, that all calamities should be considered immaterial after a man
had once feasted on such a luscious morsel, too divine to be gazed upon
by vulgar eyes, and which ought to be procured by the wealthy, if they did
not wish to incur the wrath of the gods, for not appreciating at its true
value the flower of their nectar. Eels were also highly esteemed by the
ancients. The preference being given to the Copaic, which the
Bœotians offered to the gods crowned with flowers, giving them the same
rank among fish that Helen held amongst women.
The garum, or celebrated fish-sauce of the Romans, was principally made
out of the sciæna umbra, and the mackerel; the entrails and blood being
macerated in brine until they became putrid.
Expirantis adhuc scombri, de sanguine primo
Accipe fastosum munera cara garum:—
thus says Martial: and Galen affirms that this disgusting preparation was
so precious, that a measure of about three or four pints fetched two
thousand silver pieces. So delightful was the effluvium of the garum
considered, that Martial informs us it was carried about in onyx
smelling-bottles. But our luxurious civic chiefs are not aware that the
red mullet—for such I believe was the mullus—was held in such a
distinguished category among genteel fishes, that three of them, although
of small size, were known to fetch upwards of 200l. They were more
appreciated when brought alive, and gradually allowed to die, immersed in
the delicious garum; when the Romans feasted their eyes in the anticipated
delight of eating them, by gazing on the dying creature as he changed
colour like an expiring dolphin. Seneca reproaches them with this
refinement of cruelty—“Oculis quoque gulosi sunt;” and the most renowned
of Apicius’s culinary discoveries was the alec, a compound of their
livers.
Snails were also a great dainty. Fulvius Herpinus was immortalized for the
discovery of the art of fattening them on bran and other articles; and
Horace informs us they were served up, broiled upon silver gridirons, to
give a relish to wine. Oysters were brought from our coasts to Rome, and
frozen oysters were much extolled. Grasshoppers, locusts, and various
insects, were equally acceptable to our first gastronomic legislators.
Acorns, similar to those now eaten in Spain, formed part of a Roman
dessert; the best were brought from Naples and Tarentum. It does not
appear that the ancients had a great variety in their vegetable diet;
condiments to stimulate the sluggish appetite seemed to be their principal
research: amongst these the asafœtida, which is to this day highly
relished in the East, was an indispensable ingredient; this has been
doubted by various naturalists, but it appears certain, since Pliny
informs us that it was frequently adulterated by sagapenum, which bears
the strongest resemblance to it. This substance was called laser, and by
many tasteless persons, such as Aristophanes and Apuleius, considered
offensive and disgusting; hence the latter, “lasere infectas carnes,” and
“laseratum porcellum.” According to Theophrastus, asafœtida was
collected and preserved, as it is at present, in skins; and, despite its
estimation as a culinary ingredient, it was not unfrequently named
stercus diaboli. In addition to this gum, they seasoned their food with
various other strong articles, such as coriander and cummin seeds, sumac,
saffron, cinnamon, thyme; with divers peppers, salt, and sal-ammoniac.
Instead of bread, which was only introduced in Rome 580, A. D. they used a
heavy kind of unleavened paste, similar to the present polenta. This
nourishment occasioned frequent indigestion, hence the use of warm water
after meals, and the necessity of emetics. Warm water was sold about the
streets in their thermopolia, and Seneca observed the paleness and
debility that arose from its use and abuse; a practice recorded by
Martial:
Et potet calidam, qui mihi livet, aquam.
While water was thus freely drunk, wine was not disregarded; but the
various articles with which it was adulterated, must have rendered it any
thing but a delectable potation according to our received ideas. Thus we
see the Greeks putting salt and sea-water in theirs; at other times
dissolving mastic and myrrha, or infusing wormwood, in their choicest
Falernian. Like modern tasters, however, they knew the method of
developing the bouquet by warmth; and, to appreciate the flavour, they
frequently added hot water. That wines of a resinous taste were esteemed,
appears from Martial:
Resinata bibis vina, Falerna fugis.
But we may conclude that, according to our modern taste, their boasted
wines did not equal ours either in flavour or in delicacy.
The ancients however were very careful in the preparation of their bread,
justly called the “staff of life,” as constituting one of the most
wholesome and nutritious parts of our food. The Athenian bakers bore the
palm in the confection of this article. Archestratus recommended the
wheaten bread of Athens and the barley meal of Lesbos, which their poets
asserted was supplied to the gods. The Grecian millet bread was also in
great repute, while delicious bread was also made with the Zea, the
Triticum Spella of Linnæus and the Far of the Romans. A species of
wheat called Tiphe was also much esteemed. Brown bread was made of a
grain called Olyra, and it was with loaves of this description that
Homer’s heroes fed their horses.
It appears that great attention was paid to the kneeding and the boulting:
unboulted meal was called Syncomista, and when finely boulted in a
woollen cloth, Semidalis. The most approved method of baking was in the
Cribanus or Clibanus, an earthen or iron vessel, which they surrounded
with charcoal. Bread according to its superior or inferior quality was
consecrated to various divinities. Thus the goddesses used the Homoros,
and Hecate was served with the Hemiantium, but we are unacquainted with
the preparation of these varieties. The flour of barley was used by the
Canephoræ, or virgins that bore the sacred baskets in the festivals of
Ceres, to sprinkle themselves. Bread according to its particular kind was
served up in various ways; wheaten bread was brought to table upon fresh
leaves; barley bread upon a layer of reeds. At the feasts of Ceres and
Proserpine, a large loaf was kneeded and baked by the ladies of Delos,
called Achaïnas which gave the name to the festival, instituted most
probably in Achaia, to commemorate the invention of bread, which Ceres
taught to Eumelus, a citizen of Patræ.
Barley for the preparation of bread was used long before wheat or any
other sort of corn, and hence Artemidorus calls it Antiquissimum in
cibis. It was also given to the athletæ who were thence called
Hordearii. In latter times it was chiefly given to cattle, although used
by the poorer classes. Barley bread was also issued to soldiers as a
punishment, the loss of wheaten bread being considered a great privation.
Vegetius tells us that soldiers who had been guilty of any offence were
thus punished—“hordeum pro frumentuo cogebantur accipere.” In the
second Punic war we find Marcellus sentencing the cohorts that had lost
their standards to this infliction. Suetonius also informs us that
Augustus only allowed barley to the troops that had misbehaved in action.
Cohortes, si quæ cepissent, loco, decimatas hordeo pavit. But there is
reason to believe that under the head of bread were included various kinds
of cakes, many of which were prepared with honey, some of them were
called Placentæ omnigenæ, and were prepared by bakers who bore the name
of pistores dulciarii. This honied bread or cake it appears, was
frequently resorted to, as in the present day, to quiet troublesome
children as well as to please the taste of fastidious patients. Thus
Martial:
Leniat ut fauces medicus, quas aspera vexat
Assiduè tussis, Parthenopæ tibi
Mella dari, nucleosque jubet dulcesque placentas.
Est quidquid pueros non sinit esse truces,
At tu non cessas totis tussire diebus
Non est hæc tussis, Parthenopæ gula est.
The bread made of spring wheat was called Collabus, and the Athenians
considered a toasted Collabus eaten with a slice of a pig’s belly, the
very best cure for a surfeit occasioned by an excess in anchovies,
especially the Phalerian ones, which were deemed fit for the gods.
Fragments of bread it appears were used instead of napkins to wipe the
fingers on. These were called Apomygdaliæ, with which Aristophanes fed
his sausage-makers. These dainty bits were usually thrown to dogs.
The cooks of the ancients appear to have been much more consummate in
their art than our modern practitioners. Athenæus records various
descriptions of their incomparable science. A new dish immortalized its
inventor, and transmitted his name to posterity. Apicius’s cakes were
called Apicians; and Aristoxenes had attained such perfection in curing
hams, that the glorious appellation of Aristoxenians was bestowed upon
them. Philosophers and poets gloried in their culinary science; the
pleasures of the table were the subject of their writings and their
conversation. Archestratus tells us with delight, that, although various
delicacies can only be enjoyed in their proper season, yet we can talk
about them with watering mouths all the year round.
One of these illustrious ministers of luxury attained such a degree of
enviable perfection, that he could serve up a pig boiled on one side and
roasted on the other, and moreover stuffed with all possible delicacies,
without the incision through which these dainties were introduced being
perceived. Supplicated to explain this wonderful secret, he swore solemnly
by the manes of all the heroes who fell at Marathon, or conquered at
Salamis, that he would not reveal this sacred mystery for one year. When
the happy day arrived and he was no longer bound by his vows, he
condescended to inform his anxious hearers, that the animal had been bled
to death by a wound under the shoulder, through which the entrails were
extracted; and afterwards hanging up the victim by the legs, the stuffing
was crammed down his throat. One half of the pig was then covered with a
thick paste, seasoned with wine and oil, put into a brass oven, and gently
and tenderly roasted: when the skin was brown and crisp, our hero
proceeded to boil the other moiety; the paste was then removed, and the
boiled and roasted grunter triumphantly served up.
So refined was the taste of the ancient bons vivans, that Montanus,
according to Juvenal, would proclaim, at the first bite, whether an oyster
was of English produce or not. Sandwich is believed to have been the
favoured spot whence Rome imported her oysters and other shell-fish.
Shrimps and prawns must have been in great estimation, since we find
Apicius quitting his residence at Minturnæ, upon hearing that the shrimps
of Africa were finer than those he could procure in Campania. He instantly
set sail for the happy coast, despite a gale of wind: after encountering a
desperate storm, he reached the wished-for land of promise; but alas!—the
fishermen displayed the largest prawns they could collect, and to his
cruel disappointment, they could not vie, either in delicacy or beauty,
with those of Minturnæ. He immediately ordered his pilot to steer a
homeward course, and left Africa’s shore with ineffable contempt.
These ingenious gluttons had recourse to every experiment that could add
to their enjoyment. Philoxenus, and many others, used to accustom
themselves to swallow hot water, that they might be able to attack
scalding dishes before less fireproof guests would dare to taste them.
Sinon maintained that cookery was the basis of all arts and sciences:
natural philosophy taught us the seasoning of dishes; architecture
directed the construction of stoves and chimneys; the fine arts, the
beautiful symmetry of each dish; and the principles of war were applied to
the drilling and marshalling of cooks, confectioners, and scullions,
posting proper sentries to watch the fires, and videttes to keep off idle
intruders. That man is a “cooking animal” is considered one of his
proudest attributes, and a proper bill of fare may be considered as the
ne plus ultra of human genius!
It may be easily imagined that when good living became a science,
sponging upon the wealthy Amphitryons became an art amongst the needy
bons vivants, and parasites, as in the present day, were ever seen
fawning and cringing for their dinner. These sycophants stuck so close to
their patrons, that they were called shadows. Thus Horace:
——Quos Mœcenas adduxerat umbras.
They were also called flies, γυῖας, by the Greeks, and Muscæ by
the Romans; no doubt from their constant buzzing about the object of their
devotion. Plautus calls an entertainment free from these despicable
guests, Hospitium sine muscis. Horus Apollo tells us that in Egypt a fly
was the symbol of an impudent fellow; because, although driven away, it
will constantly return. We have, however, reason to believe that the term
parasite was originally applied to the followers of princes, Patroclus
was the parasite of Achilles, and Memnon of Idomeneus; it was only in
later times that the appellation was given to despicable characters and
“trencher friends.”
Our Shakspeare had adopted the term of the ancients, as appears in the
following passages:
In such as you,
That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh
At each his needless heavings.
And again—
Feast-won, fast-lost, one cloud of winter showers.
These flies are couched.
While climate points out the most suitable articles of food, it exercises
a singular influence over their qualities and properties, more especially
in vegetable substances. We find plants which are poisonous in some
countries, edible and wholesome in others. Next to climate, culture and
soil modify plants to a singular degree: flowers which yield a powerful
perfume in some latitudes, are inodorous in others; and, according to
climate, their aroma is pleasant or distressing. A striking proof of this
fact can be adduced from the well-known effects of perfumes in Rome; where
the inhabitants, especially females, cannot support the scent even of the
rose, which has been known to produce syncope, illustrating the poet’s
line to
Die of a rose in aromatic pain.
This variety in the action of vegetable substances is more particularly
observable in such as are considered medicinal. Opium, narcotics, and
various drugs, are more powerful in warm climates than in northern
regions. The Italian physicians express astonishment at the comparatively
large doses prescribed by our practitioners.
Cultivation brings forth singular intermediate productions; and by its
magic power we have seen the coriaceous and bitter almond transformed into
the luscious peach, the sloe converted into the delicious plum, and the
common crab transformed into the golden pippin. The same facts are
observed in vegetables; the celery sprung from the nauseous and bitter
apium graveolens, and the colewort, is metamorphosed into the cabbage
and the cauliflower. All cruciform plants degenerate within the tropics,
but acquire increased energies in cold countries.
Recent experiments in Germany have demonstrated that in times of scarcity,
the wood of several trees may be converted into a nutritious substance.
The fibres of the beech, birch, lime, poplar, fir, and various other
trees, when dried, ground, and sifted into an impalpable powder,
constitute a very palatable article of food. If cold water be poured on
this ligneous flour, enclosed in a linen bag, it becomes milky, and
considerable pressure and kneading is required to express the amylaceous
or starchy part of it. Professor Von Buch, in his travels through Norway
and Lapland, has fully described the Norwegian barke bröd. We find the
savages scattered along the coast of the great austral continent mixing up
a paste of the bark of the gum-tree with the ants and the other insects,
with their larvæ, which they find in it. Ground dried fish and fish-bones
have from time immemorial been converted into bread; Arrianus tells us
that Nearchus found several nations on the shores of the Red Sea living
upon a bread of this description.
It is thus evident that all substances from the animal and vegetable
kingdom appear to afford more or less nutriment, provided that they
contain no elements unlike the animal matter of the being they are
intended to nourish. All others are either medicinal or poisonous. Food
may be considered nourishing in the ratio of its easy digestion or
solution. Magendie attributes the nutritious principle to the greater or
lesser proportion of nitrogen or azote. According to his view of the
subject, the substances that contain little or no nitrogen are the
saccharine and acid fruits, oils, fats, butter, mucilaginous vegetables,
refined sugar, starch, gum, vegetable mucus, and vegetable gelatin. The
different kinds of corn, rice and potatoes, are elements of the same kind.
The azotical aliments, on the contrary, are vegetable albumen, gluten, and
those principles which are met with in the seeds, stems and leaves of
grasses and herbs, the seeds of leguminous plants, such as peas and
beans, and most animal substances, with the exception of fat.
To this doctrine, it was objected, that animals who feed upon substances
containing little nitrogen, and the field negroes, who consume large
quantities of sugar, might be adduced as an exception. Magendie replies,
that almost all the vegetables consumed by man and animals contain more or
less nitrogen—that this element enters in large quantity in the
composition of impure sugar—and lastly, that the nations whose principal
food consists in rice, maize, or potatoes, consume at the same time milk
and cheese.
To support his theory, this physiologist had recourse to various curious
experiments on dogs, whom he fed with substances which contained no
nitrogen. During the first seven or eight days, the animals were brisk and
active, and took their food and drink as usual. In the course of the
second week they began to get thin, although their appetite continued
good, and they took daily between six and eight ounces of sugar. The
emaciation increased during the third week; they became feeble, lost their
appetite and activity, and at the same time ulcers appeared in the cornea
of their eyes. The animals still continued to eat three or four ounces of
sugar daily, but, nevertheless, became at length so feeble as to be
incapable of motion, and died on a day varying from the 31st to the 34th:
and it must be recollected that dogs will live the same length of time
without any food.
The same were the results where dogs were fed upon gum, and butter; when
they were fed with olive oil and water the phenomena were the same, with
the exception of ulceration of the cornea.
In Denmark, a diet of bread and water for a month is considered equivalent
to the punishment of death. Dr. Stark died in consequence of experiments
which he instituted on himself to ascertain the effects of a sugar diet.
Muller has justly observed that these experiments of Magendie have thrown
considerable light on the causes and the mode of treatment of the gout and
calculous disorders. The subjects of these diseases are generally persons
who live well and eat largely of animal food; most urinary calculi,
gravelly deposits, the gouty concretions, and the perspiration of gouty
persons, contain an abundance of uric acid, a substance in which nitrogen
is contained in a large proportion. Thus, by diminishing the proportion of
azotical substance in the food, the gout and gravelly deposits may be
prevented.
The experiments of Tiedemann and Gmelin have confirmed those of Magendie,
whose curious observations on the necessity of varying diet I shall
transcribe.
1. A dog fed on white bread, wheat, and water, did not live more than
fifty days.
2. Another dog, who was kept on brown soldiers’ bread did not suffer.
3. Rabbits and guineapigs who were fed solely on any one of the following
substances—oats, barley, cabbage, and carrots,—died of inanition in
fifteen days; but they did not suffer when these substances were given
simultaneously or in succession.
4. An ass fed on dry rice, and afterwards on boiled rice, lived only
fifteen days; a cock, on the contrary, was fed with boiled rice for
several months with no ill consequence.
5. Dogs fed with cheese alone, or hard eggs, lived for a long time; but
they became feeble and lost their hair.
6. Rodent animals will live a very long time on muscular substances.
7. After an animal has been fed for a long period on one kind of aliment,
which, if continued, will not support life, allowing it the former
customary food will not save it: he will eat eagerly, but will die as soon
as if he had continued to be restricted to the article of food which was
first given him.
Dr. Paris is of opinion that all that these experiments tend to prove is,
that animals cannot exist upon highly-concentrated aliment. Horses fed on
concentrated aliment are liable to various disorders, originating from
diseased action of the stomach and liver, broken wind, staggers,
blindness, &c.
Professor Muller has given an excellent definition of indigestion. “It is
a state of the digestive organs in which either they do not secrete the
fluid destined for the solution of the aliment, or they are in such a
condition of irritability or atony, that by the mechanical irritation of
the food, painful sensations and irregular motions are exerted.”
But the most curious experiments made on the changes which the food
undergoes in the stomach, according to the greater or lesser facility with
which it is digested, were those of Dr. Beaumont. This physiologist had
the rare opportunity of investigating this subject in a patient of the
name of St. Martin, who came under his care in consequence of a gun-shot
wound, which left a considerable opening in the stomach, which, when
empty, could be explored to the depth of five or six inches by artificial
distention. The food and the drink could in this manner be seen to enter
it. This enabled him to keep an interesting journal and table, showing the
time required for the digestion of different kinds of food, which were
taken with bread or vegetables, or both. The following are some of his
interesting observations:
Experiment 33. At 1 o’clock St. Martin dined on roast beef, bread, and
potatoes—in half an hour examined the contents of the stomach, found what
he had eaten reduced to a mass resembling thick porridge. At 2 o’clock,
nearly all chymified—a few distinct particles of food still to be seen.
At half-past four, chymification complete. At 6 o’clock nothing in the
stomach but a little gastric juice tinged with bile.
Ex. 42. At 8 a.m., breakfast of three hard-boiled eggs, pancakes, and
coffee. At half-past eight, found a heterogenous mixture of the articles
slightly digested. At a quarter-past ten, no part of breakfast could be
seen.
Ex. 43. At 2 o’clock same day, dined on roast pig and vegetables. At 3
they were chymified; and at half-past four nothing remained but a little
gastric juice.
Ex. 18, in a third series. At half-past eight a.m., two drams of fresh
fried sausage, in a fine muslin bag, were suspended in the stomach of St.
Martin, who immediately afterwards breakfasted on the same kind of
sausage, and a piece of broiled mutton, wheaten bread, and a pint of
coffee. At half-past eleven, stomach half empty, contents of bag about
half diminished. At 2 o’clock p.m., stomach empty and clean, contents of
bag all gone with the exception of fifteen grains, consisting of small
pieces of cartilaginous and membranous fibres, and the spices of the
sausage, which last weighed six grains.
As I have elsewhere observed, various are the theories that have been
entertained in regard to digestion, but the experiments of Dr. Beaumont
seem to have proved beyond a doubt, that this operation is due to the
action of the gastric juice, with which he was enabled to produce
artificial digestion. Having obtained one ounce of this solvent from the
stomach of his patient, he put into it a solid piece of recently-boiled
beef, weighing three drams, and placed the vessel that contained it in a
water bath heated to 100°. In forty minutes digestion had commenced on the
surface of the meat; in fifty minutes, the fluid was quite opake and
cloudy, the external texture began to separate and become loose; in sixty
minutes, chyme began to form. At 1 p.m. (two hours after the commencement
of the experiment), the cellular substance was destroyed, the muscular
fibres loose and floating about in fine small threads very tender and
soft. In six hours they were nearly all digested—a few fibres only
remaining. After the lapse of ten hours, every part of the meat was
completely digested. The artificial digestion by these experiments appears
to be but little slower than the natural process—they also demonstrate
the influence of the temperature, and the quantity of the solvent
secretion. Having obtained from St. Martin two ounces of gastric juice, he
divided this quantity into two equal portions, and laid in each an equal
quantity of masticated roast beef. One he placed in a water bath at the
temperature of 99° Farh.—and left the other exposed to the open air at
the temperature of 34°; a third similar portion of meat he kept in a
phial, with an ounce of cold water. An hour after the commencement of the
experiment, St. Martin had finished his breakfast, which consisted of the
same meat with biscuit, butter, and coffee. Two hours after the meat had
been put into the phial, the portion in the warm gastric juice was as far
advanced in chymification as the food in the stomach; the meat in the cold
gastric juice was less acted on, and that in the cold water only slightly
macerated. In two hours and forty-five minutes from the time that the
experiment was begun, the food in the stomach was completely digested, the
stomach empty, while even at the end of six hours the meat in the gastric
juice was only half digested. Dr. Beaumont, therefore, having procured 12
drams of fresh gastric juice, added now a portion to each of the phials
containing meat and gastric juice, and to a portion of the half-digested
food which he had withdrawn from the stomach two hours after the
commencement of the experiment, and which had not advanced towards
solution. After eight hours’ maceration, the portions of meat in the cold
gastric juice, and in the cold water, were little changed, but, from the
time of the addition of the fresh gastric juice, digestion went on rapidly
in the other phials, which were kept at the proper heat, and at the end of
24 hours, the meat which had been withdrawn from the stomach after
digestion had commenced, were, with the exception of a piece of meat that
had not been masticated, converted into a thickish pulpy mass of a
reddish-brown colour: the meat in the warm gastric juice was also
digested, though less perfectly, while that in the cold gastric juice was
scarcely more acted on than the meat in the water, which was merely
macerated. Dr. Beaumont now exposed these two phials containing the meat
in cold gastric juice, and meat in water, to the heat of the water bath
for 24 hours, and the gastric juice, which when cold had no power on the
meat, now digested it; while the meat in the water underwent no change,
except that towards the end of the experiment, putrefaction had commenced.
The antiseptic properties of the gastric juice were fully demonstrated in
several other experiments.
Various philosophers, in idle disquisitions, have endeavoured by the most
absurd hypotheses to determine what is the natural food of man, and to
show that he is not created omnivorous. The comparison between our species
and animals confutes these vain theories. The masticatory and digestive
organization of man assigns to him an intermediate rank between
carnivorous and herbivorous creatures. The teeth may be said by their
figure and construction to bear a relation with our natural food. The
teeth of flesh-eating animals rise in sharp prominences to seize and
lacerate their prey, and those of the lower jaw shut within those of the
superior one. The herbivorous animals are not armed with these formidable
weapons, but have broad flat surfaces with intermixed plates of enamel,
that they should wear less rapidly in the constant labour of grinding and
triturating. In the carnivorous, the jaws can only move backward and
forward; in the herbivorous their motion is lateral, as observed in the
cow when chewing her cud. Beasts of prey tear and swallow their food in
masses, while in others it undergoes a careful communition before it is
transmitted to the stomach. The teeth of man only resemble those of
carnivorous animals by their enamel being confined to their external
surface, while in the freedom of the motion of the jaws from side to side
they partake of the conformation of the herbivorous. The teeth and jaws of
man are in all respects more similar to those of monkeys than any other
animals; only in some of the simiæ the canine teeth are much longer and
stronger, and denote a carnivorous propensity.
It is to the abuse of this omnivorous faculty that Providence has bestowed
upon mankind, that we owe many of the diseases under which our species
labours. “Multos morbos, multa fercula fecerunt,” sayeth Seneca; yet we
are far more temperate in the present age than the ancients during the
period of their boasted high civilization and prosperity. Their excesses
must have been of the most disgusting nature, since, to indulge more
easily in their gluttonous propensities, they had recourse to emetics both
before and after their meals. “Vomunt ut edant, edunt ut vomunt, et epulas
quas toto orbe conquirunt nec concoquere dignantur,” was the reproach of
the above-quoted philosopher. Suetonius and Dion Cassius give Vitellius
the credit of having introduced this revolting custom into fashion; and
splendid vessels for the purpose were introduced in their feasts. Martial
alludes to it in the following lines:
Nec cœnat priùs, aut recumbit, antè
Quam septem vomuit meri deunces.
And Juvenal tells us that the bath was polluted by this incredible act of
bestiality,—
Et crudum pavonem in balneâ portas.
The sums expended by the ancients on their table exceed all belief.
Vitellius expended for that purpose upwards of 3200l. daily, and some of
his repasts cost 40,000l. At one of them, according to Suetonius, 7000
birds and 2000 fishes were served up. Ælius Verus laid out 600,000
sestertii on one meal; and some of the dishes of Heliogabalus cost about
4000l. of our money. The excesses of this monster were such, that
Herodianus affirms that he wanted to ascertain, not only the flavour of
human flesh, but of the most disgusting and nameless substances. The
freaks related of this emperor are scarcely credible; but his gastronomic
profusion may be easily conceived when we find that his very mats were
made with the down of hares or soft feathers found under the wings of
partridges! When such ideas of enjoyment prevailed, can we wonder that
Philoxenus should have wished that he had the throat of a crane, that he
might prolong the delights of eating!
Our early ancestors were remarkable for their frugality, and it is
supposed that luxurious, or, at least, full living was introduced by the
Danes: it has been even asserted that the verb gormandize was derived
from Gormond, a Danish king, who was persuaded by Alfred to be baptized.
Erasmus observed that the English were particularly fond of good fare.
William the Conqueror, and Rufus, were in the habit of giving most
splendid entertainments; and the former monarch was such an irascible
epicure, that, upon one occasion, an underdone crane having been served up
by the master of the cury, he would have knocked him down but for the
timely interference of his dapifer, or purveyor of the mouth. This
office of dapifer, with that of lardrenius, magnus coquus, coquorum
prepositus, and coquus regius, were high dignitaries in those days.
Cardinal Otto, the pope’s legate, being at Oxford in 1238, his brother was
his magister coquorum; and the reasons assigned for his holding that
office were his brother’s suspicious fears “ne procuraretur aliquid
venenosum, quod valdè timebat legatus.” These officers were not
unfrequently clergymen, who were elevated to the bench for their valuable
services.
Whatever barbarity the ancients may have shown in preparing their dainty
dishes, none could have surpassed in refinement of cruelty. Their method
of roasting and eating a goose alive, is thus directed: “Take a goose or a
duck, or some such lively creature, (but the goose is best of all for
the purpose,) pull off all her feathers, only the head and neck must be
spared; then make a fire round about her, not too close to her, that the
smoke do not choke her, and that the fire may not burn her too soon, nor
too far off, that she may not escape the fire; within the circle of the
fire, let there be small cups and pots full of water, wherein salt and
honey are mingled, and let there be set also chargers full of sodden
apples, cut into small pieces in the dish. The goose must be all larded
and basted over with butter, to make her the more fit to be eaten, and may
roast the better. Put the fire about her but do not make too much haste,
when as you see her begin to roast; for by walking about, and flying here
and there, being cooped in by the fire that stops her way out, the
unscared goose is kept in; she will fall to drink the water to quench her
thirst and cool her heart, and all her body, and the apple sauce will
cleanse and empty her, and when she wasteth, and consumes inwardly, always
wet her head and heart with a wet sponge, and when you see her giddy with
running and begin to stumble, her heart wants moisture, and she is roasted
enough. Take her up and set her before your guest, and she will cry as you
cut off any part from her, and will be almost eaten up before she is dead.
It is mighty pleasant to behold.”
Our forefathers were most ingenious in these diabolical fancies, we find
in Portar’s Magick the way how to persuade a goose to roast herself if
you have a lack of cooks.
The heroic conduct of French cooks has been recorded in history, and
compared with the noble devotion of the ancients. Vatel, maître d’hôtel of
Louis XIV., put an end to his wretched existence in consequence of fish
not having arrived in time for dinner. On this sad event being reported to
his sovereign, he both praised and blamed his courage; and, to use the
words of Madame de Sevigné, he perished “à force d’avoir de l’honneur à sa
manière; on loua fort et l’on blama son courage.” It is strange that
Napoleon should have used the very same expressions when speaking of one
of his most distinguished generals. In more modern times we have heard of
persons who expected that clerical functions should be combined with
various lay duties, as appears by the following curious advertisement in a
late paper:
“Wanted, for a family who have bad health, a sober, steady person, in the
capacity of doctor, surgeon, apothecary, and man-midwife. He must
occasionally act as butler, and dress hair and wigs. He will be required
sometimes to read prayers, and to preach a sermon every Sunday. A good
salary will be given.” This was certainly an economical speculation for
the use of soul and body.
Cooks have sometimes been obliged to resort to pious frauds; and it is
related of our Richard Cœur de Lion, that, being very ill during the
holy wars, he took a strange fancy for a bit of pork, but, as no pig could
be procured, a plump Saracen child was roasted as a substitute; and it was
remarked that Richard was ever after partial to pork.
There is little doubt but that our forefathers were harder livers than the
present generation: even within the memory of man, drinking to excess is a
vice seldom observed, excepting in some individuals belonging to the old
school. The hours of refection have been singularly altered; and while our
fashionable circles seldom sit down to table before eight o’clock in the
evening, we find in olden chronicles that even royalty was used to dine at
nine in the morning, more especially upon the Continent. In the Heptæmeron
of the Queen of Navarre we find an account of the manner of spending the
day:
“As soon as the morning rose, they went to the chamber of Madame Oysille,
whom they found already at her prayers; and when they had heard during a
good hour her lecture, and then the mass, they went to dine at ten
o’clock, and afterwards each privately retired to his room, but did not
fail at noon to meet in the meadow. Vespers heard, they went to supper;
and after having played a thousand sports in the meadow they retired to
bed.”
During the reign of Charles V. of France, the court dined at ten, supped
at seven, and retired to rest at nine. Holinshed gives the following
curious description of our early diet: “Our tables are oftentimes more
plentifully garnished than those of other nations, and this trade has
continued with us since the very beginning; for, before the Romans found
out and knew the way into our country, our predecessors fed largely upon
flesh and milk, whereof there was great abundance in this isle, because
they applied their chief studies unto pasturage and feeding.
“In Scotland, likewise, they have given themselves unto very ample and
large diet, wherein as for some respect nature doth make them equal with
us, so otherwise they far exceed us in over much and distemperate
gormandize, and so engross their bodies, that divers of them do oft become
unapt to any other purpose than to spend their time in large tabling and
belly cheer. In old times these North Britons did give themselves
universally to great abstinence; and in time of war their soldiers would
often feed but once, or twice at the most, in two or three days,
especially if they held themselves in secret, or could have no issue out
of their bogs and morasses, through the presence of an enemy; and in this
distress they used to eat a certain kind of confection, whereof so much as
a bean would qualify their hunger above common expectation. In those days,
also, it was taken for a great offence over all to eat either goose, hare,
or hen, because of a certain superstitious opinion which they had
conceived of these three creatures. Amongst other things, baked meats,
dishes never before this man’s (James I.) days seen in Scotland, were
generally so provided for by virtue of this act, that it was not lawful
for any to eat of the same under the degree of a gentleman, and those only
but on high and festival days. In number of dishes and changes of meat,
the nobility of England (whose cooks are for the most part musical-headed
Frenchmen and strangers) do most exceed; sith there is no day in manner
that passeth over their heads, wherein they have not only beef, mutton,
veal, lamb, kid, pork, cony, capon, pig, or so many of these as the season
yieldeth, but also some portion of the red and fallow deer, beside great
variety of fish and wild fowl, and thereto sundry other delicates, wherein
the sweet hand of the seafaring Portingale is not wanting; so that for a
man to dine with one of them, and to taste of every dish that standeth
before him, is rather to yield unto a conspiracy, with a great deal of
meat for the speedy suppression of natural health, than the use of a
necessary mean to satisfy himself with a competent repast, to sustain his
body withal. The chief part, likewise, of their daily provision is brought
in before them commonly in silver vessels, if they be of the degree of
barons, bishops, and upwards, and placed upon their tables; whereof when
they have taken what it pleaseth them, the rest is reserved, and
afterwards sent down to their serving-men and waiters.
“The gentlemen and merchants keep much about one rate, and each of them
contenteth himself with four, five, or six dishes, when they have but
small resort; or, peradventure, with one or two, or three at the most,
when they have no strangers. And yet their servants have their ordinary
diet assigned, besides such as is left at their masters’ boards, and not
appointed to be brought thither the second time, which, nevertheless, is
often seen, generally in venison, lamb, or some especial dish whereon the
merchantman himself liketh to feed when it is cold.
“At such times as the merchants do make their ordinary or voluntary
feasts, it is a world to see what great provision is made of all manner of
delicate meats from every quarter of the country, wherein, beside that
they are often comparable herein to the nobility of the land, they will
seldom regard any thing that the butcher usually killeth, but reject the
same as not worthy to come in place. In such cases, also, geliffes of
all colours, mixed with a variety in the representation of sundry flowers,
herbs, trees, forms of beasts, fish, fowls, and fruits; and thereunto
marchpane wrought with no small curiosity, tarts of divers hues and
sundry denominations; conserves of old fruits, foreign and home-bred;
suckets, codiniacs, marmalades, sugar-bread, ginger-bread, florentines,
wild-fowl, venison of all sorts, and sundry outlandish confections,
altogether seasoned with sugar, (which Pliny calls mel ex arundinibus, a
device not common nor greatly used in old times at the table, but only in
medicine, although it grew in Arabia, India, and Sicilia,) do generally
bear the sway, besides infinite devices of our own not possible for me to
remember. Of the potato, and such venerous roots as are brought out of
Spain, Portingale, and the Indies, to furnish our banquets, I speak not,
wherein our Mures, of no less force, and to be had about Crosby
Ravenswath, do now begin to have place.
“And as all estates do exceed in strangeness and number of costly dishes,
so these forget not to use the like excess in wine, insomuch as there is
no kind to be had (neither any where more store of all sorts than in
England, although we have none growing with us; but yearly the proportion
of twenty or thirty thousand tun and upwards, notwithstanding the daily
restraints on the same brought over to us) whereof at great meetings there
is not some store to be had. Neither do I mean this of small wines only,
such as claret, white, red, French, &c. which amount to about fifty-six
sorts, according to the number of regions from whence they come; but also
of the thirty kinds of Italian, Grecian, Spanish, Canarian, &c., whereof
Vernage, Cate-pument, Raspis, Muscadell, Romnie, Bastard Fire,
Osey, Caprike, claret, and malmsey, are not least of all accounted of,
because of their strength and value. For as I have said of meat, so, the
stronger the wine is, the more it is desired, by means thereof in old
times, the best was called Theologicum because it was had from the
clergy and religious men, unto whose houses many of the laity would often
send for bottles filled with the same, being sure that they would neither
drink nor be served of the worst, or such as was any ways mingled or
brewed by the vintner; nay, the merchant would have thought that his soul
should have gone straightways to the devil, if he should have served him
with any other than the best. Furthermore, when they have had their course
which nature yieldeth, sundry sorts of artificial stuff, as ypocras and
wormwood wine, must in like manner succeed in turns, besides stale ale and
strong beer, which nevertheless bears the greatest brunt in drinking, and
are of so many sorts and ages as it pleaseth the brewer to make.
“In feasting, the artisans do exceed after their manner, especially at
bridals, purifications of women, and such like odd meetings, where it is
incredible to tell what meat is consumed and spent; each one bringing such
a dish, or so many as his wife and he do consult upon, but always with
this consideration, that the leefer (the more liberal) friend shall have
the best entertainment. This is also commonly seen at these banquets, that
the good man of the house is not charged with any thing, saving bread,
drink, house-room, and fire.
“Heretofore there hath been much more time spent in eating and drinking
than commonly is in these days; for whereas of old we had breakfasts in
the forenoon, beverages or nuntions after dinner, and thereto rere
suppers, generally when it was time to go to rest (a toy brought in by
Hard Canutus), now these odd repasts, thanked be God! are very well left,
and each one in manner (except here and there some young hungry stomach
that cannot fast till dinner-time contenteth himself with dinner and
supper only). The Normans, disliking the gormandize of Canutus, ordained,
after their arrival, that no table should be covered above once in the
day; which Huntingdon imputeth to their avarice: but, in the end, either
waxing weary of their own frugality, or suffering the cockle of old custom
to overgrow the good corn of their new constitution, they fell to such
liberty, that in often feeding they surmounted Canutus surnamed the Hardy;
for whereas he covered his table but three or four times in the day, they
spread their cloths five or six times, and in such wise as I before
rehearsed. They brought in also the custom of long and stately sitting at
meat, which is not yet left, although it be a great expense of time, and
worthy reprehension; for the nobility and gentlemen, and merchantmen,
especially at great meetings, do sit commonly till two or three of the
clock at afternoon, so that with many it is an hard matter to rise from
the table to go to evening prayer, and return from thence to come time
enough to supper.”
The early prevalence of drinking in England seems to have been derived
from our foreign intercourse. In the reign of Elizabeth and James I. we
find various statutes against ebriety.
Tom Nash, in his “Pierce Pennilesse” says, “Superfluity in drink is a sin
that ever since we have mixed ourselves with the Low Countries is counted
honourable; but, before we knew their lingering wars, was held in that
highest degree of hatred that might be. Then, if we had seen a man go
wallowing in the streets, or lain sleeping under the board, we should have
spit at him, and warned all our friends out of his company.”
According to our laws intoxication is looked upon as an aggravation of any
offence. Sir Edward Coke calls a drunkard voluntarius dæmon. The Romans
thought differently: with them intoxication was often deemed an
extenuation of guilt, “Per vinum delapsis capitalis pœna remittitur.”
The Greeks, more severe, had a law of Pittacus that enacted the infliction
of a double punishment on those who committed a crime when drunk.
That hard drinking was introduced from Flanders and Holland, and other
northern countries, seems probable from the derivation of many of the
expressions used in carousing. The phrase of being “half-seas over,” as
applied to a state of drunkenness, originated from op zee, which in
Dutch meant over sea; and Gifford informs us that it was a name given
to a stupifying beer introduced in England from the Low Countries, and
called op zea; thus Jonson in the Alchemist:
I do not like the dulness of your eye;
It hath a heavy cast, ’tis up see Dutch.
An inebriating draught was also called an up see freeze, from the strong
Friesland beer. The word “carouse,” according to Gifford and Blount, is
derived from the name of a large glass, called by the Danes ruuse, or
from the German words gar, all, and ausz out: hence drink all out.
Nash, in the work above quoted, says, “Now he is nobody that cannot drink
super nagulum, carouse the hunters’ hoope, quaff upsee freze crosse,
with healths, gloves, mumpes, frolickes, and a thousand such domineering
inventions.” The origin of these slang terms is not quite evident.
Drinking super nagulum, or on the nail, was a northern custom which
consisted in only leaving one drop in the cup, which was poured upon the
thumb-nail, to prove that justice had been done to the potation or toast;
and that, to use the language of modern drinkers, the glass was cleared.
This custom is alluded to by Bishop Hall in his “Mundus alter et idem,” in
which the Duke of Tenderbelly exclaims, “‘Let never this goodly-formed
goblet of wine go jovially through me:’ and then he set it to his mouth,
stole it off every drop, save a little remainder, which he was by custom
to set upon his thumb’s nail and lick it off.” In Fletcher we find the
phrase
I am thine ad unguem;
which meant he was ready to drink with him to this extent. The term hoop
alludes to the marks of hoops being traced upon drinking-pots to point out
certain measures. Jack Cade says, “The three-hooped pot shall have ten
hoops, and I will make it felony to drink small beer!” Hence probably the
common saying of “drinking deep,” or to the last hoop. The peg tankard
was another measured vessel used in the jollifications of our forefathers,
and is still to be found in some parts of England, more especially in
Derbyshire. Pegge in his “Anonymiana,” thus describes them: “They have in
the inside a row of eight pins, one above the other, from top to bottom;
the tankard holds two quarts, so that there is a gill of ale between each
peg or pin. The first person who drank was to empty to the first peg, the
second was to drink to the next, and so on; by which means the pegs were
so many measures to the compotators, making them all drink alike or the
same quantity.” In Archbishop Anselm’s Canons made in the council at
London in 1102, priests are enjoined not to go to drinking-bouts, nor to
drink pegs: “Ut presbyteri non eant ad potationes, nec ad pinnas
bibant.”
Gloves, also called shoeing-horns, were relishes to encourage
drinking, like our modern devils, introduced for a similar purpose.
Bishop Hall says in his description of a carousal, “Then comes me up a
service of shoeing-horns of all sorts,—salt cakes, red-herrings,
anchovies, and gammon of bacon, and abundance of such pullers on.”
Massinger thus describes these incentives:
I usher
Such an unexpected dainty bit for breakfast
As never yet I cooked; ’tis not botargo,
Fried frogs, potatoes marrow’d, cavear,
Carps’ tongues, the pith of an English chine of beef,
Nor our Italian delicate oil’d mushrooms,
And yet a drawer on too; and if you show not
An appetite, and a strong one, I’ll not say
To eat it, but devour it, without grace too,
(For it will not stay a preface,) I am shamed,
And all my past provocatives will be jeer’d at.
The botargo was a relish made of mullet’s roes, and highly seasoned,
much in use among the Italians.
Amongst many other curious frolics of hard drinkers, we find the use of
what they called flap-dragons, or snap-dragon, which consisted in
igniting combustible substances, which were swallowed while floating on
the glass of liquor. Johnson describes them “a play in which they catch
raisins out of burning brandy, and, extinguishing them by closing the
mouth, eat them.” This prank is not uncommon to the present day in
boarding-schools in certain festive entertainments of the young ladies.
Drunkenness being considered a beastly propensity, its gradations were
fixed by animal comparisons. In a curious treatise on drunkards by George
Gascoigne, we find the following illustration of these degrees: “The first
is ape-drunk, and he leaps and sings and hallos and danceth for the
hearers; the second is lion-drunk, and he flings the pots about the
house, calls the hostess w——, breaks the glass windows with his dagger,
and is apt to quarrel with any man that speaks to him; the third is
swine-drunk, heavy, lumpish, and sleepy, and cries for a little more
drink and a few more clothes; the fourth is sheep-drunk, wise in his own
conceit, when he cannot bring forth a right word; the fifth is
maudlin-drunk, when a fellow will weep for kindness in the midst of his
drink, and kiss you, saying, ‘By G—! Captain, I love thee! Go thy ways;
thou dost not think so often of me as I do of you; I would I could not
love thee so well as I do!’ and then he puts his finger in his eye and
cries; the sixth is martin-drunk, when a man is drunk, and drinks
himself sober ere he stir; the seventh is goat-drunk, when in
drunkenness he hath no mind but in lechery; the eighth is fox-drunk,
when he is crafty drunk, as many of the Dutchmen be, which will never
bargain but when they are drunk. All these species, and more, I have seen
practised in one company at one sitting.”
Drunkenness has at various periods been resorted to in religious and
political fervour. Daring the usurpation of Cromwell, the Cavaliers were
wont to drink their king’s health in bumpers of wine in which some crumbs
of bread had been thrown, exclaiming, “God send this crum-well down!”
and Whitelocke, in his Memorials, records the following barbarous
Catilinian orgies: “Five drunkards agree to drink the king’s health in
their blood, and that each of them should cut out a piece of his buttock,
and fry it upon the gridiron, which was done by four of them, of whom one
did bleed so exceedingly that they were fain to send for a chirurgeon, and
so were discovered. The wife of one of them, hearing that her husband was
amongst them, came to the room, and, taking up a pair of tongs, laid about
her, and so saved the cutting of her husband’s flesh.”
The laws enacted to prevent drunkenness at various periods and by
different governments, are curious. Domitian ordered all the vine-plants
in the Roman territory to be rooted out. Charles IX. of France issued a
similar edict. In 1536, under Francis I, a law was passed sentencing
drunkards to imprisonment on bread and water for the first offence; a
public whipping punished a second infringement; and, on reiteration,
banishment and the loss of ears. The ancients, equally aware of the danger
that arose from intoxication, were also anxious to prevent it. Draco
inflicted capital punishments. Lycurgus destroyed the vineyards. The
Athenians had officers, named ophthalmos, to prevent excesses in liquor
drinking. In Rome, patricians were not allowed the use of wine until they
had attained their thirty-fifth year. Wine was only drunk pure in the
beginning of sober repasts in honour of Deus Sospes, and afterwards
mixed with water in honour of Jupiter Servator. Notwithstanding these
wise examples in support of prudent precepts, it appears that drunkenness
was a common vice amongst the Romans. Tiberius was surnamed Biberius;
and it was said of the parasite Bibulus, “dum vixit, aut bibit aut
minxit.” Aurelianus had officers of his household whose duty was to
intoxicate foreign ambassadors; and Cato’s partiality for the juice of the
grape has been recorded by Horace,
Narratur et prisci Catonis
Sæpe mero caluisse virtus.
In the middle ages, drinking was resorted to by the monks as a religious
libation; and they also drank to the dead, a custom which was condemned as
idolatrous. These excesses were restrained by various regulations, and in
817 the quantity of wine allowed each monk was fixed at five pints.
Charlemagne, in his Capitularies, forbids the provocation of drinking
healths and hob-nobbing (pléger et trinquer). Temperance societies are
not modern institutions. In 1517, Sigismund de Dietrichstein established
one under the auspices of St. Christopher; a similar association was
formed in 1600 by Maurice Duke of Hesse, which, however, allowed a knight
to drink seven bocaux, or glasses, at each meal, but only twice in the
day. The size of these bocaux is not recorded, but no doubt it was an
endeavour to obtain a comparative condition of sobriety. Another temperate
society, under the name of the Golden Ring, was instituted by Frederic V.
Count Palatine.
Whether the influence of temperate societies or their advocates will tend
to diminish the consumption of wine and spirituous liquors in the British
empire, it is difficult to say. Hitherto every act of interference, either
from individuals or on the part of the legislature, has proved not only
abortive, but has increased the evil it was intended to remedy. The
imposition of heavy duties only threw the distillation of spirits into the
hands of illicit speculators instead of respectable capitalists; and, as
M’Culloch justly remarks, “superadded the atrocities of the smuggler to
the idleness and dissipation of the drunkard.” During the latter part of
the reign of George I. and the earlier period of George II. gin-drinking
was so prevalent, that it was denounced from the pulpit and the press. At
length ministers determined to make a vigorous effort to put a stop to the
further use of spirituous liquors except as a cordial or medicine. To
accomplish this end, a duty of twenty shillings was laid on spirits,
exclusive of a heavy licence duty to retailers, while a fine of 100l.
was levied on all defaulters. But instead of the anticipated effects,
this act produced results directly opposite: the respectable dealers
withdrew from a trade proscribed by the legislature; and the sale of
spirits fell into the hands of the lowest and most profligate characters.
The officers of the revenue were hunted down by the populace, and did not
dare to enforce the law; and Tindal, in his Continuation of Rapin, says,
“within two years of the passing of this act, it had become so odious and
contemptible, that policy as well as humanity forced the commissioners of
excise to mitigate its penalties.” During these two years twelve thousand
persons were convicted of offences connected with the sale of spirits,
while no exertion could check the torrent of smuggling, and seven millions
of gallons illicitly distilled were annually consumed in London and its
environs. Our present consumption of British, Colonial and Foreign spirits
is immense, but not equal to what it was at the period alluded to. The
following is the account of this consumption in 1832:
| In England, |
1,530,988 |
imperial gallons, |
Foreign. |
| |
3,377,507 |
" |
Colonial. |
| |
7,259,287 |
" |
British. |
| In Scotland, |
69,236 |
gallons, |
Foreign. |
| |
112,026 |
" |
Colonial. |
| |
5,407,097 |
" |
British. |
| In Ireland, |
33,413 |
" |
Foreign. |
| |
24,432 |
" |
Colonial. |
| |
8,657,756 |
" |
British. |
In that year, 1832, the total amount of spirits that paid duty in the
United Kingdom was 2,646,258 gallons, yielding a revenue of 8,483,247l.
In the same year the appearance and dread of the cholera produced a
singular increase in the consumption of brandy. In the preceding year,
1831, the entries for home use in England had amounted to 1,194,717
gallons; but during this state of alarm, it increased to 1,508,924; in
1833, the danger having subsided, the consumption declined to its former
level, and did not exceed 1,356,620 gallons.
From the above observations it may be inferred, that no penal enactments,
no denunciations of canting senators or fanatic preachers, will ever
succeed in checking the evils which must arise from excesses in the use of
spirituous liquors. Gluttony and drunkenness can only be combated by the
salutary effects of good example held out by the superior classes of
society; by a gradual improvement in the moral education of the lower
grades, for whom salutary amusements should be procured when a cheerful
repose from their weekly labour will no longer be considered a breach of
the sabbath. Diffusion of knowledge and habits of industry will do more
than sanctimonious admonitions, and the Penny Magazines may be considered
more hostile to gin-drinking than the ranting of pseudo-saints.
In regard to the quantity that we should eat, no rules can be established,
as individuals differ widely from each other, both as to their capacity
and their inclination. Mr. Abernethy maintained, that it would be well if
the public would follow the advice of Mr. Addison, given in the Spectator,
of reading the writings of L. Cornaro, who, having a weak constitution,
which he seemed to have ruined by intemperance, so that he was expected to
die at the age of 32, did at that period adopt a strict regimen, allowing
himself only 12 ounces daily. To this remark Dr. Paris very properly
observes, “When I see the habits of Cornaro so incessantly introduced as
an example for imitation, and as the standard of dietetic perfection, I am
really inclined to ask with Feggio, ‘Did God create Lewis Cornaro to be a
rule for all mankind in what they were to eat and drink?’”
In regard to the dyspeptic, Dr. Philips has given the very best advice in
the following paragraph:
“The dyspeptic should carefully attend to the first feeling of satiety.
There is a moment when the relish given by the appetite ceases; a single
mouthful taken after this oppresses a weak stomach. If he eats slowly and
carefully attends to this feeling, he will never overload the stomach.” To
this Dr. Paris adds, “Let him remember to eat slowly.” “This is an
important condition—for when we eat too fast we introduce a greater
quantity of food into the stomach than the gastric juice can at once
combat with; the consequence of which is, that hunger may continue for
some time after the stomach has received more than would be sufficient,
under the circumstances, to induce satiety.”
The introduction of French cookery in every part of England amongst the
wealthy will render attention to dietetic rules still more important than
in former days; although Dean Swift, in his time, observed, “That modern
epicurism had become so prevalent, that the world must be encompassed,
before a washerwoman can sit down to breakfast.”
