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

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

THE BLACKBIRD.

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

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

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

THE STARLING.

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

THE FLAMINGO.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FIG-PECKER, or, BECAFICO.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE ORTOLAN.

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

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

THE OSTRICH.

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE STORK.

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

THE SEA-SWALLOW.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Bustard, the Water-Hen, and the Teal, found many admirers.[XX_86]

The Romans reared the last-named,[XX_87] and judged it worthy of notice among the most delicate morsels of the feast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

XXI.

FISH.

It is asserted that the art of preparing fish was one of the first boons of this powerful sovereign, and that, instructed by her, Thetis rendered ichthyophagist the god of light and the fine arts.[XXI_1]

The Jews, an agricultural people, living far from the borders of the sea, attached but very little importance to fishing and the researches necessarily attendant on it; so much so, that we hardly perceive any trace among them of this kind of food, which Moses did not entirely interdict, since that wise legislator was satisfied with prohibiting fishes without scales or fins.[XXI_2] What an immense wealth remained unexplored! Let us pity them for not having known how to profit by it, notwithstanding the good will of the Phœnicians, inhabitants of the coast, who brought them the produce of their maritime excursions.

Let us say it: the Hebrews were tolerably bad cooks. They possessed most admirable laws, a fertile country, courage and many virtues, but their sobriety never would allow them to understand the art of good living. In that, they are to be pitied.

We must agree that the Egyptians had better taste. Worshippers of certain fish, they used to embalm them[XXI_3] as a means of preservation; and what is still better, they eat others in spite of the example of their priests, who never touched them.[XXI_4] In fact, the preparation of those dishes required the trouble of a little study and culinary labour; therefore, to avoid it, they eat the fish raw when very hungry; the epicures dried them in the sun, and they were served salted on great solemnities.

But it was left to a woman to understand this wholesome and delicate food, and to raise it to the rank it ought always to have occupied.

Gatis—let her be named with admiration—Queen of Syria, and no doubt a beautiful woman, was so fond of fish that, in order to be continually supplied with the choicest quality, she ordered all caught in her kingdom to be brought to her, and that none should be eaten without the royal permission. This law, for it really was one, created great dissatisfaction; but she very sensibly allowed them to complain, and continued to treat herself and those of her privileged subjects whom she condescended sometimes to admit to her table, with the most exquisite dishes of fish, such as the tunny, conger eel, and carp.[XXI_5] It is much to be regretted that the chroniclers of that time have forgotten to transmit to us the name of the cook of this illustrious Queen, and the recipes of the sauces she preferred.

With great pleasure we turn to the Greeks, that charming people who had only to set their foot on the most barren soil to cover it with flowers, and who laid the foundation of ichthyophagy as well as all other sciences.

It appears, however, that, at first, they thought but little of fish as an aliment. None had ever been served to the heroes of Homer, and Ulysses, relating that his hungry companions had partaken of some fish, seems to excuse them, by saying: “Hunger pressed their digestive organs.”[XXI_6] To be sure a celebrated philosopher,[XXI_7] and also an amiable epicurean,[XXI_8] attributed this grievous abstinence of those warriors to the fear of being enervated by dishes too delicious. And then, the terrible Achilles and the impetuous Ajax could not, perhaps, make up their minds to degustate under their tents a sole au gratin, or a fried herring, with the slow precaution more humble mortals willingly submit to.

But shortly after that, fresh and salt fish became one of the principal articles of diet with the Hellenes.

Aristophanes and the gastrophilist Athenæus, allude to it a hundred times in their writings, and various personages are the subjects of biting sarcasms on account of their excessive partiality to the mullet, scar, and turbot. We may name, among others, Philoxenes of Cythera, who learning from his doctor that he was going to die of indigestion, for having eaten too much of a most exquisite fish: “Be it so,” he calmly exclaimed; “but, before I go, allow me to finish the remainder.”[XXI_9]

Everyone knows the witty jokes of Lucian, who informs us that he knew a philosopher who examined, with the most serious comicality, the nature of the soul of an oyster.[XXI_10]

Highly favoured by the neighbourhood of the sea, the Greek population applied themselves, with that peculiar taste which characterized them, to distinguish the best species; and skilful cooks knew how to give to fish the most refined flavour, thanks to the numerous combinations of ingredients which we too have learned from the ancient authors who have written on dietetics. They possessed various ways of preparing them with salt or oil, and aromatics.[XXI_11] Athenæus has transmitted to us some very important precepts upon their seasoning. Æschylus and Sophocles were not above lowering their tragic muse by sometimes introducing remarks on fish sauce.

The productions of the sea had for Athens such an irresistible interest, that a law of police forbad all fishmongers to sit down until they had parted with the whole of their stock; so that the uncomfortable position of standing made them more submissive, and induced them to dispose of the fish at a more reasonable price.[XXI_12] This regulation in the “Billingsgate” of Athens was very rigorously observed, and the purchasers were highly delighted with it.

They also required that the fish should always be out of the water; and this wise law, consequently, did not allow its being preserved, or the price to be increased.[XXI_13] And finally, as soon as any kind of fish was brought to market, they were required to call the customers together immediately, by a kind of market-bell, which was a sort of invitation to come and make their purchases.[XXI_14]

Some would-be philosophers, members of the opposition of that period, thought of raising their voices against the common taste. Symmachus, Polycrates, and Lamprias, tried to prove, in their writings, that those who eat fish were the most cruel and ferocious of men. These tender ichthyophilists were laughed at, and their works had no sale.

The Romans inherited the predilection of the Greeks, “For the dumb companions of the fair Amphitryte;” but, excited by the love of the marvellous, they stocked the sea with imaginary beings; and they saw whales of four acres, fishes of two hundred cubits, and even that eel, or that serpent, which veridical navigators have seen again in our days. It was then thirty feet in length,[XXI_15] but now it is much longer!

Pliny, who believed so many things, swore to these by the twelve great gods of Olympus. At all events, we are much indebted to that laborious naturalist for very precious information. He has made us acquainted with the scare, which the Roman epicures preferred to every other species. After the scare, the eel-pout or lotas’-liver enjoyed a great reputation. The red mullet, which is still much esteemed, was considered as one of the most delicate of dishes, and the Romans in fashionable circles employed it in a refinement of pleasure of a singular kind.

It is well known that this fish, when the scales are removed, still remains of a fine pink colour. The fops of Rome having remarked that, at the death, this colour passed through a succession of the most beautiful shades, the poor mullet was served alive, inclosed in a glass vessel; and the guests, attentive and greedy of emotions, enjoyed this cruel spectacle, which presented to them a gradation of colours, which insensibly disappeared.[XXI_16]

The greatest sensualists killed it in brine, and Apicius was the first who invented this kind of luxury. The brine most in use, in such cases, was made with the blood of mackerel, and that was one of the varieties of that famous garum so highly praised by the Latin authors, and which was to them, at that period, what the fish sauces of the English are now. We will give, in this work, the various preparations of this so celebrated condiment, and the reader will then be able to judge for himself.

Apicius, the man of culinary progress, proposed a prize to any one who could invent a new brine made with the liver of red mullets. History has not transmitted to us the name of the fortunate conqueror; but Juvenal informs us that Asinius Celer offered sixty pounds for one of these fishes which weighed six pounds.[XXI_17]

This was, after all, but a trifling folly, in the midst of so many extravagances which several writers have carefully registered. Lucullus, the most ostentatious of the patricians, had a mountain cut through in the neighbourhood of Naples, so as to open a canal and bring up the sea and its fishes to the centre of the gardens of his sumptuous villa.[XXI_18]

The love of fish became a real mania: turbots excited a furore of admiration—the muræna Helena was worshipped. Hortensius, the orator, actually wept over the death of the one he had fed with his own hands; the daughter of Drusus ornamented hers with golden rings; each had a name, and would come with speed when it heard the voice of the master, whose happiness depended on his fish.[XXI_19]

Sometimes, in a moment of over tenderness for his dear muræna Helena, Vedius Pollio, a Roman knight of the highest distinction, and one of the intimate friends of the Emperor Augustus, could find nothing better to do than to feed them with the flesh of his slaves, who were thrown to them alive.[XXI_20] It is true that these wretched creatures generally deserved this terrible chastisement; for instance, Seneca speaks of one who had the awkwardness to break a crystal vase[XXI_21] while waiting at supper on the irascible Pollio. This unfortunate slave having managed to escape from the hands of those who were conducting him to this horrible death, he went and fell on his knees at the feet of Cæsar, whom he implored to inflict some less frightful torture. Augustus, moved to the very soul, granted him his liberty, had all of Vedius’s vases broken, and ordered that the pieces should be used to fill up the reservoir in which the barbarous knight fed his muræna Helena.[XXI_22]

Having given this rapid sketch of the principal periods of ichthyophagy among the ancients, little remains to be said of later ages in which we find few traces of any particular or excessive predilection for this kind of alimentation. If we are to believe Dio,[XXI_23] the first inhabitants of Great Britain never eat fish. The English have not thought it expedient to imitate their ancestors in this respect.

Under the reign of Edward II., certain fish, especially the sturgeon, never appeared in England except on the table of the king: it was prohibited to all others. In 1138, Stephen wanted to modify this interdiction; but after his reign it was again in vigour, and considered as a royal prerogative.

In France, anybody could eat fish, of any and all kinds; but every fishmonger was obliged to obtain permission from the king to sell it.[XXI_24]

The sumptuary laws of that kingdom inform us of nothing very interesting on this essential of gastrology. We find, however, by the Edict of 1294, that Philip-le-Bel allowed, on fast-days, two herring-pottages, and only one sort of fish—a meagre dinner, if ever there was one, and which, thank heaven, has fallen into complete disuse. Louis XII. was very fond of good cheer, and, consequently, he appointed six fishmongers to supply his table with fresh-water fish;[XXI_25] Francis I. had twenty-two;[XXI_26] Henry the Great, twenty-four.[XXI_27]

Under the reign of Louis XIV. fish acquired a singular vogue in the city as well as at court, owing to the marvellous talent of that prince’s cook, who discovered the art, supposed to be lost, of giving to the delicate flesh of the pike, the carp, and the trout, the shape and flavour of the most exquisite game.

At this period we have the celebrated Vatel, one of the most illustrious officers of the household that ever flourished in the palace of the Princes of Condé. This inimitable major-domo understood that a dinner without fish was a cheerless one. One day when his noble master entertained Louis XIV. at a royal banquet, at Chantilly, which the genius of Vatel rendered more brilliant, the fish from the coast failed; he sent everywhere, but none could be found. He was completely bewildered: he met his august master, whose kind words, full of benevolence, only served to increase his desperation; he left him, ran to his chamber, took his sword, and three times pierced his heart. Shortly after, fish arrived from all quarters. Vatel was called—no Vatel! He was sought for, and at last discovered—Vatel was no more!

It appears that, in former times, there was a remarkable consumption of fish in England on the 4th of July, the Festival of St. Ulric. The following verses, by Barnaby Gouge prove it:—

ST. HULDRYCHE.