CHAPTER XV.
THE DESSERT.
The Dessert, if by that word be understood the agreeable mingling together of cakes, of fruits, and sweetmeats, is an Italian invention. It was cradled in the sweet south, and is the offspring of beautiful gardens, and flourishing cities and towns, clustering with grapes and peaches. Carème used to say that the dessert had been elevated into a science with a view to retain girls, young women, and children at table, in friendly family converse. In such sort it deliciously prolongs the repast. A dessert should above all things be simple; considered as a third or fourth course, it is often a dangerous superfluity, and the fruitful cause of many an indigestion. There are some who eat of it solely and simply because it appears promotive of a light, agreeable, and sparkling conversation. But these worthy, good-natured people often deceive themselves. It is a rock, says Carème, at the end of a dinner, a serious embarrassment for the liver, which it too often harasses and obstructs. Lachappelle (port-queue of Louis XIII., and his major domo) goes further, and mentions that all persons who make a point of eating dessert after a good dinner are fools, who spoil at once their wit and their stomachs. “Reject, therefore, once for all,” says another French author, “the Macedoines glacées fruits rouge, the white cheeses à la Bavaroise, the petits pains à la duchesse, the fanchonnettes de volaille, the vol-au-vent à la violette. Experienced diners out never touch these things, not even at the end of a second course. When we speak of experienced and clever people, who know what they are about, we would speak of those gourmands so gifted, and so superior in all the affairs and business of life, such as Lorenzo de Medicis, Leo X., Raphael, Prince Talleyrand, George IV., the Emperor Alexander, Castlereagh, and Pitt himself.” M. F. Fayot, who writes biographies of Canning, and political articles in the French newspapers, ought to have known that Pitt did not care for such knick-knackeries as Pistachio nuts, and crème à la vanille.
Though the dessert was originally invented in Italy, yet the usage was early transplanted into France. In the works of St. Gelais I find some lines, in which he sends fresh cherries to a lady on the first of May. How this fruit could be thus early produced, without the aid of hot-houses, is difficult to imagine. From Champier, however, who wrote about 1560, we learn that the Poitevins sent yearly forced cherries in post to Paris. The fruit was prematurely ripened by putting lime at the root of the tree, or watering the roots with warm water. La Quintinié, the head gardener of Louis XIV., boasts that he served strawberries for the dessert of his royal master at the end of March, green peas in April, and figs in June.
It was in 1694 that preserved pine-apples, shipped from the French West India islands of St. Domingo and Gaudaloupe, were first seen at dessert in Paris. The tree had been originally transplanted from Asia to the West Indies, where the heat of the climate preserved it from degenerating. “Although the fruit of the pine be fibrous,” says Father Dutertre, “it melts into water in the mouth, and is so well flavoured, that you find the taste of the peach, of the apple, of the quince, and of the muscatel, blended together.” It is plain to perceive that Father Dutertre was friand, and that he possessed, in matters of the table at least, the science of analysis. The “pine,” says Dr. Roques, “is impregnated with a corrosive juice, which may be extracted by steeping the root for one or two hours in sugared brandy.” Lovers of pine cut it up in slices, cover it with sugar, and bathe it copiously over with sherry wine. Jellies, ices, and creams, are also made of this fruit; and the Italians prepare with it a liqueur which is called manaja, and which is really delicious.
Dates, so well known and so esteemed in ancient times, are oftener served at dessert in Spain, Italy, and the south of France, than in England. Theophrastus, Plutarch, and Pliny speak in rather extravagant terms of the date-tree, and the excellence of its fruit. Nicholas of Damascus, in Syria, one of the most distinguished members of the Peripatetic school, sent to the Emperor Augustus the famous dates that grow in the valley of Jericho. Pliny says they are so thick, that four ranged together would be the length of a cubit. This fruit is gathered in the autumn, and dried in the sun. The Tunisian dates are the best; they are pulpy, mucilaginous, saccharine, and nutritious. The expressed juice of the date yields a syrup, which serves as a substitute for butter, and is used as a seasoning. Lémery says that those who feed on dates are generally afflicted with the scurvy and lose their teeth. They have been generally considered a dry and stringent fruit. Though an incentive to wine, they are indigestible, and in Spain have generally a harsh, rough, and unpleasant taste.
There is not a more grateful or a less noxious fruit at dessert than oranges. Louis XIV. was particularly fond both of the tree and the fruit. When the monarch gave those magnificent fêtes, so vaunted both in prose and verse, the porticoes, halls, and ante-chambers of his palaces were decorated with orange-trees, and the fruit, then esteemed rare, always appeared at dessert. The Maltese oranges were, at that period, considered the finest; while the fruit of Portugal maintained a secondary rank only. But even Portuguese oranges were deemed a present worthy of being offered to the children of kings. “Monsieur me vint” (says the Duchess of Montpensier in her Memoirs); “il me donna des oranges de Portugal.” Molière, in giving a description of the comedy which formed a portion of the famous fêtes given at Versailles in 1688 by Louis XIV., remarks that there was first laid a magnificent collation of Portuguese oranges, and of all sorts of fruits, in thirty-six baskets. About this period a species of sweet citron was much in vogue. It is mentioned by Lémery in his treatise on foods, written about 1705, who says “that the ladies of the court carried about sweet citrons in their hands, which they bit from time to time to produce red lips.”
More than 270 years ago figs were common at dessert in France. There were then but four species of this delicious fruit; the red, the purple, the white, and the black. The two latter were the most common, but the black were considered in Provence the most wholesome, as well as the most agreeable. The figs of Marseilles, had then, as indeed they have now, great repute, and were renowned all over the country. Nor were those of Montpelier, Nismes, and St. Andéol, without their admirers, though inferior to the figs of Marseilles. There have been few fig-trees in the neighbourhood of Paris for some centuries, though in the time of the Emperor Julian the figs of Paris were already celebrated.
The famous gardener and horticulturist La Quintinié, to please his master, Louis XIV., who was particularly fond of figs, adopted the plan of placing the trees in wooden boxes, as had been previously adopted in reference to orange-trees. Some of the finest figs in England are grown in the neighbourhood of Worthing. Those who have spent a summer there must have often eaten them for dessert. There is a magnificent fig-tree at Hampton Court, as old as the time of Charles II. rooted in a place which shall be nameless, and the fruit of which is particularly fine flavoured. In parts of Italy, Sicily, and the Levant, they have a curious custom of acupuncturating the fig when half ripe, and introducing a drop of fine oil into the fruit; this greatly mellows the flavour, while it increases the size of the fig. The white figs at Cherbourg are very fine, as those will say who have eaten them at dessert at the excellent table d’hôte in that town. Occasionally, also, white figs, equally excellent, are to be procured in the Channel Islands.
Pomegranates are scarcely ever seen at dessert in England, and rarely in France, except in Languedoc and Provence. In the sixteenth century this fruit was much used in certain diseases, and, in localities where it was not grown, was often sold for a louis-d’or. When Clement VII. arrived at Marseilles to have an interview with Francis I., several Frenchmen, who had eaten to excess of pomegranates, became seriously ill in consequence. Pomegranates are a favourite dessert at Grenada in Spain, where they grow in great quantities.
Chestnuts, though a very common dessert fruit in France, are comparatively little used in England, though there is no reason why they should not be much cultivated, as they grow well in a cold, and even in a mountainous country. In Perigord they count eight different species of chestnuts, and there, as well as in Brittany, the chestnut forms a staple article of food for the peasantry. Madame de Sévigné, writing from her estate of the Rochers, near Vitré, says:—“Je ne connaissais la Provence que par les grenadiers, les oranges, et les jasmins; voilà comme on nous la dépeint. Pour nous, ce sont des châtaignes qui font notre ornement; j’en avois l’autre jour trois ou quartres paniers autour de moi. J’en fis bouiller, j’en fis rôtir, j’en mis dans ma poche; on en sert dans les plats, on marche dessus, c’est la Bretagne dans son triomphe.” In the thirteenth century Lombardy chestnuts were cried in the streets of Paris. According to heathen records chestnuts were first noticed at Sardes, in Lydia. Virgil speaks of the “castanea molles.” They are eaten at dessert boiled or roasted, and are in both ways palatable.
Cherries are, in the season, an important portion of a French as well as of an English dessert. There are in France six species of black-heart cherries, six of bigarreux, and five-and-twenty of cherries and black cherries. The cherries most prized by the Parisians, however, are those of Montmorency, so named from that rich valley in which they grow, extending from St. Denis to Pontoise. England, our own dear country, greatly transcends France in this article of dessert, brought originally from the garden of Mithridates. Not only are cherries produced in greater quantity, but are much finer in flavour. Kent, Berkshire, Oxfordshire, are pre-eminent in this produce; and the May-duke (probably originally from Médoc), Biggarroon (bigarreux), and white-heart attest our superiority.
Apricots, which frequently appear at dessert in France, and not unfrequently in England at the tables of the wealthy, were not known in either of these countries (though they are mentioned by Dioscorides, who lived in the time of Nero, under the name of prœcocia) till the sixteenth century. After that period they became rather common; but previously were sold, says Champier, as though the price were extravagant, at a farthing a-piece. When this fruit was first introduced into France it appeared no bigger than the smallest plum; but the science and art of French gardeners not only contributed to increase its size but its flavour. In 1651 there were but three species of apricots; the late, the early, and the musqué, or musk-flavoured. Now there are at least twenty, of which the apricot of Nanci is the largest and best. But the apricots of Angoumois, of Holland, of Portugal, and of Alexandria, are not to be despised. Under favour, and with submission be it said, however, that the best apricot that ever was in Grange’s, Owen’s, Marks’, Levy’s, Solomon’s, Israel’s, or Raine’s shop, is but a dry and insipid article compared with a fine peach, fine greengages, fine fresh-gathered, green, hairy gooseberries, fine Mirabel plums, fine pears, or fine mellow ribston pippins. The apricot comes originally from Armenia. The name originates in the situation which the tree prefers—a wall exposed to the heat of the meridian sun. The word apricus is sometimes differently applied, as aprici senes, old men who delight in sitting and prattling on benches exposed to the reviving warmth of Sol’s rays.
There are about twenty kinds of plums both in England and France; but among these the greengage, called by the French the reine claude, is by far the most luscious, succulent, and full-flavoured. These plums, called after the daughter of Louis XII., first wife of Francis I., have, in France, a peculiarly rich mellow juiciness, the effect probably of a drier atmosphere, and the being exposed to a warmer sun on mud-built lime-washed walls, with a southern aspect. These greengages are always eaten with a peculiar relish in Paris. There is a sun-burnt look about them, as well as,—
whereas the greengage of England looks pale and peaky, as though it were afflicted with the green-sickness.
The peach, or Persian apple, is one of the oldest known fruits in France, and one of the commonest served at dessert. The most esteemed in the neighbourhood of Paris, is the peach of Corbeil. In the provinces, those of Troyes and Dauphiné enjoy the greatest renown. The Auberi peach is common in Languedoc, and has latterly been cultivated in the neighbourhood of Paris. The Duracine peach is a native of Brittany. It is of more than ordinary size, and the flesh firm and juicy; but almost all peaches in France are mere turnips compared with the hot-house fruit in England. Enter Grange’s in Piccadilly, or the elder Owen’s in Bond Street, Marks’ at the corner of Holles Street, and try one of the shilling peaches in the season, and you will find a rich, juicy, fleshy flavour and aroma oftener sought than found in the fruit of France. It is true that you may have six or eight peaches in France for the price you would pay for one in England at any of these three shops, but that one peach is better than a bushel of such tasteless turnip fruit as is often presented to you all over Gaul. The ten and twelve sous peaches of Corbeil, which may be obtained at Madame Malliez in the Marché St. Honoré, are certainly a more commendable fruit, but I should prefer for my own eating a first-rate hot-house peach to any three of them. I know not whether an improved peach has recently come from China. The peach is a fruit which has been cultivated in the Celestial Empire from the earliest times, and celebrated in their ancient books, in the songs of their poets, and the disquisitions of their doctors. The peach yu, it is said in their legends, produces an eternity of life, and preserves the body from corruption to the end of the world. A fine peach is a delicious fruit; it is good with sugar, good without sugar, and excellent, super-excellent with a glass of good Madeira, sherry, or brandy thrown over it. The peach-tree does not always require the protection of the sheltering wall in warmer climates. The trees stand insulated in the vineyard or orchard, swinging gently in the breeze, which the French call pêches de vigne, and abricots en plein vent.
There is no better dessert fruit than a good apple, and in this fruit England beats all the world, with the exception of America. The New-town pippin is unquestionably the first of apples, but first-rate ribstons come next to it. The nonpareil and golden pippin (the golden apple of the Hesperides) are not without merit. The great defect of French apples, however, is their general mealiness and want of juiciness. The paradis of Provence is the best of its kind. There is also an apple of very tolerable flavour, called the capendu, which ladies lock up in their drawers and wardrobes to perfume their clothes. There are about forty-six kinds of apples mentioned in the “Théâtre d’Agriculture,” but the grey and white reinette are the only apples desirable at a French dessert.
The different species of pears (from the Epirean orchards of Pyrrhus) are more numerous even than the species of apples. De Serres speaks of ninety-five kinds of pears; 400 are mentioned in the “Jardinier Française,” and more than 300 in “La Quintinié.” It is not generally known that the famous chaumontel (called by corruption in England charmontel), was a wild pear transplanted into the garden and rendered perfect by culture. The Burgundy pear, called Madame Oudotte (and by corruption Amadotte), was also a wild pear found in a wood belonging to a lady of the name of Oudotte. Four of the best dessert pears in France are the beurré, the cuisse de madame (my lady’s thigh), the pear of Lyons, the bergamotte of Lorraine, and the bon chrétien of Tourraine. The bon chrétien is by no means a common pear in England; though towards the latter end of August, or the beginning of September, it is always to be had at Covent Garden Market. The finest Spanish bon chrétiens I have ever eaten in England were grown in the garden of Mr. Powell, near to Minster and Herne, in Kent. This is extraordinary, as the Kentish soil is unfavourable both to pears and apples, while the opposite coast of Essex produces exquisite fruit, and above all, those bulbous thin-skinned gooseberries, equal to the best chasselas of Fontainbleau. Compotes of pears are excellent and cooling at dessert, and render the fruit more digestible, according to the line,—
Talking of the chasselas grape of Fontainbleau, the reader will naturally ask why I have hitherto omitted all mention of the finest fruit, oranges excepted. This was from no indisposition to do every justice to grapes, the wholesomest and most grateful of fruits. The best grapes in France are undoubtedly the chasselas, which come into the Paris markets neatly packed in small baskets, sold for forty, fifty, and sixty sous each, according to the quality. In the autumn of the year many of the Parisian badauds undergo a regimen of grapes, eating nothing else for three weeks or a month. Used thus, grapes have all the effect of the Cheltenham waters. “They open the body,” says old Lémery, physician to Louis XIV., “create an appetite, are very nourishing, and qualify the sharp humour of the heart. They agree with every age and constitution, provided they be not used to excess.” The ciotat, the Corinthe, the black morillon, the muscat of Touraine, are all excellent grapes, and may be purchased in France for a few sous a pound. In the southern departments of France as many grapes as the most inveterate eater of that fruit would desire may be had for the small sum of one penny, though it must be admitted that the hot-house grapes of England are superior in flavour and variety to every description of grape in France, excepting the chasselas; but the prices asked in Covent Garden Market are enormous and wholly unjustifiable. Hot-house grapes are, in fact, a luxury wholly beyond the reach of persons of moderate fortune.
Notwithstanding the decided taste which Louis XV. had for strawberries, and the efforts made by his minions to furnish him with this fruit at his dessert all the year round; we have, nevertheless, for the last century and a half, surpassed the French in the variety and quality of this esculent. The Chilian strawberry is one of the largest produced in the imperial gardens of Versailles and Fontainbleau; but strawberries of nearly twice the size may be daily seen during the months of May, June, and July, in Covent Garden Market. The pine strawberry, originally of Louisiana, was first introduced into France in 1767. Though it may have more pine flavour than our pine strawberry, yet it is by no means so large as the common run of pines in Covent Garden. It too frequently happens, however, that what fruits gain in size they lose in flavour. Every good judge of fruit is quite opposed to the idea of monster fruit, fish, flesh, or fowl; convinced that average-sized turbots, bullocks, turkeys, and fruits, are among the very best.
The dried fruits are, of course, never produced at dessert, when fresh fruits can be obtained. A very common French dessert in the winter months is composed of almonds, raisins, and figs; but, though these afford a passable pastime enough when nothing better can be had, yet the opinion of the Gauls concerning their value may be learned from the name given to them. If you wish to obtain the trio at a restaurant after a copious or a spare dinner, you must not call for des amandes, des raisins, et des figues, but ask for trois mendiants. Provence furnishes dried figs to Paris; the ancient province of Maine, dried cherries; and Rheims, Tours, and Brignoles, dried plums. Dried apples, a very palatable dessert, come from Tours and Orleans.
In England our winter dessert is thus furnished: the raisins come from Malaga, the figs and currants from Turkey and the Grecian islands, the almonds from Syria and the Archipelago, and the olives from Spain and Italy. France produces this latter fruit on her own soil. The Phocians, founders of Marseilles, first planted the olive in that locality; and, according to Strabo, taught the natives the art to cultivate it. Olives are now grown in every part of Provence and Languedoc, and may be always found at dessert at the most moderate tables d’hôte of Marseilles, Toulon, Nismes, Montpelier, Avignon, &c. Biscuits, cakes, and sweetmeats, are also an accompaniment. The poets of the thirteenth century speak of flamiches and galettes chauds, and at this period the Rheims gingerbread was also in great vogue. When Champier wrote, about 1560, the gingerbread of Paris was nearly as renowned at dessert as the famous croquets of Rheims. A cake made of powdered sugar and almonds, called massepain, has also been common at dessert in France for more than three centuries. Its component parts are filberts, almonds, pistachio nuts, pines, sugar, and a little flour. It is, however, rather a dear morsel, and can only be eaten by the wealthy. L’Etoile, describing a magnificent collation of three courses given at Paris in 1596, says, “Que les confitures seiches et massepans y estoit si peu espargnez que les dames et damoiselles, estoient contraintes de s’en décharger sur les pages et les laquais, auxquels on les bailloit tous entiers.”
In the time of Rabelais a tartlette or cake called darioles, was eaten at dessert; there were also other friandises called ratons, and cassemuseaux, and petit choux. The first and last words have since been adopted as terms of endearment among lovers, and from nurses and nursery-maids to children.
Aromatic spices and warm seeds were much more frequently used at dessert a century and a half ago than in our own day. After dinner, says the work called “Les Triomphes de la Noble Dame,” “On sert chez les riches, pour faire la digestion, de l’anis du fenouil et de la coriandre confits au sucre.” The author of “Ile des Hermaphrodites,” in painting the manners of the court of Henry III., makes the same remark. After the dessert, says he, “Les uns prenoient un peu d’anis confit, les autres, cotignac,[23] mais il falloit qu’il fût musqué. Autrement il n’eut point eu d’effet en leur estomach qui n’avoit point de chaleur s’il n’etoit parfumé.”
At the royal table, and in establishments of great lords, another custom prevailed which did not obtain in the houses of private persons. Independently of the spices which composed the dessert, there were others more select still, which were served in a small box divided into compartments. This box was of gold, silver, or silver gilt, and was called a drageoir, comfits being the principal portion of its contents. This box was generally presented to the king by an esquire or person of condition, and to the king only, unless his majesty wished particularly to honour some one among the guests. He then sent to him his comfit-box, “On apporta vins et épices,” writes Froissart, “et servit du drageoir, devant le Roi de France tant seulement, le Comte d’Harcourt.”
Brandied fruits, compotes and fruits preserved in syrup, are generally produced at a French dessert; as are marmalade fruits, as, for instance, marmelade d’abricots, de pêches, de pommes, &c. Fruit jellies, as cornel berry jelly, apple jelly, are also esteemed delicacies. Various pastes are also occasionally handed round at dessert, as apricot paste, peach paste, and ginger paste. Le Loyer, in his poetical pieces, speaks of these pastes as proper to be given to cold and indifferent husbands:—
There is no more pleasant dessert in the month of September than young filberts and walnuts, in which former fruit England certainly surpasses the world. In walnuts we are equalled, if not surpassed, by Switzerland and France.
The truth is, however, that the dessert after a good London or Parisian dinner is a superfluity, and in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred does more harm than good. This was the opinion of Brillat Savarin in his “Physiologie du Goût.” A little bit of cheese, says this great epicure, may be permitted, and some preserve or a sweetmeat. “Un beau diner,” he adds, “sans vieux fromage, est un joli femme à qui il manque un œil.”
The word dessert was introduced into the French language at the end of the sixteenth century. In an ordonnance of the 21st January, 1563, the word occurs. “En quelques noces festins ou tables particulières que ce puisse être, il n’y aurait dorénavant que trois services au plus savoir, les entrées de table, la viande ou le poisson, et le dessert.” The following is the regulation of the ordonnance concerning the dessert:—Au dessert, soit fruit, pâtisserie, fromage, ou autre chose quelconque, il ne pourroit non plus, être servi que six plats, le tout sous peine de 200 livres d’amende pour la première fois, et 400 cent pour la seconde. Speaking of desserts, a French authoress says, “Le choix et l’arrangement des fruits ou des fleurs dont est parée la table, l’elegance des edifices sucrés, la symmetric des assiettes, ne sont pas des soins tout à fait étranges aux arts. L’appetit satisfait, les yeux et l’odorat sont flattés à la fois par la beauté du fruit élégamment élevé en pyramides; par les formes varies des sucreries, dont la saveur parfumée réveille encore la satieté, enfin par la fumée des vins pétillants ou liquoreux dont les esprits volatils excitent la verve et animent la gaité. Carème says the dessert ought to be the special labour of the lady of the house. Medical men in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, more especially in France, ordered some fruits at the commencement of dinner. Champier recommended that cherries, raspberries, peaches, and apricots should be so eaten; and that after dinner medlars, pistachio nuts, filberts, chestnuts, apples, quinces, and pears should be produced. Melon, in the time of Henry IV., and to this day, is eaten in France with the boulli, just after the soup. Sully tells that one day when Henry IV. was at dinner, his Maître d’Hôtel entered with a golden basin filled with melons. “Right glad am I,” said the jovial king, “for I wish to-day to have a surfeit. They never injure me when I eat them on an empty stomach and before meat, as the doctors direct.” In Madame Sévigné’s time the same opinion existed touching melons. “Je ne vous deffends point les melons (she wrote to her daughter), puisque vous avez si bon vin pour les cuire.” The author of “La Nouvelle Instruction pour la Culture du Figuies,” written in 1692, writes that figs should be eaten on an empty stomach and before dinner, for it is an axiom, he says, in medicine, to commence at supper or dinner by the things most easily digested.