In the time of Theophrastus, it was said that cinnamon grew in a dark and silent valley, guarded night and day by fearful serpents. Animated by the hope of gain, some individuals, careless of their existence, risked their lives by gathering some of this precious bark. When they had the good luck to avoid the vigilant reptiles, they consecrated to the sun part of their booty, which the radiant orb immediately consumed to prove his acceptance of the offering.[XXIII_73]
Others, thinking this little tale on the subject of cinnamon rather too dramatic, pretended that the shrub furnishing it was found only on high mountains, to which man was forbidden all access. But fortunately certain birds—the phoenix, among others—great amateurs of aromatics, make their nests of its small branches; these nests are taken, and in this manner, whether the year be good or bad, a sufficient stock of cinnamon is obtained without much trouble.[XXIII_74] Pliny recognises two kinds of it—one white, the other black, both of which were brought to Rome from Ethiopia, in the reign of Vespasian.[XXIII_75]
Eighty years after (A.D. 164), Galen informs us that cinnamon was still very scarce in Italy; that the Emperors alone possessed any; and that they even preserved it among the curiosities they made it their pleasure to collect and keep in their palaces.[XXIII_76]
The same writer regards this so precious and uncommon cinnamon as an excellent cordial and a good digestive.[XXIII_77]
We may add that it was only well known in Europe after the frequent voyages of the Portuguese to India.[XXIII_78]
However, in 1168, an abbot of St. Gilles, in Languedoc, having a favour to ask of Louis-le-Jeune, thought there was no better means of persuading him to grant it than to send him a small stock of cinnamon.[XXIII_79]
Our forefathers (in the middle ages) had their tables furnished with cinnamon sauce; nutmeg, mustard, and garlic sauces; cold sauces; parsley and vinegar sauces, hot sauces, hell sauces, burgher sauces; cherry, plum, mulberry, grape, gorse, rose, and flower sauces. They were served with roast meat.
Cinnamon is daily employed in medicine, in diarrhœa, several fevers, &c., &c., and in pharmacy. That from China is much thicker than the others, its colour darker, and its odour more powerful; essential oil is drawn from it, and preserved in flagons, sealed with the arms of government, and sold at a very high price.
Cloves were very little known to the ancients. Theophrastus, Dioscorides, and Galen do not speak of them.
Pliny says that some cloves were brought to Rome, very similar to grains of pepper but a little longer; that they were only to be found in India, in a wood consecrated to the gods; and that they served in the fabrication of perfumes.[XXIII_80]
The conquest of India by the Portuguese rendered them common throughout Europe.
Cloves contain a considerable quantity of essential aromatic oil, thick, brown, and very heavy, to which it owes its aromatic properties and sharp burning savour. Cloves are employed as a seasoning or as medicine.
The two great cities of antiquity knew how to appreciate pepper, and employed it largely in their culinary labours. They distinguished two kinds: one round, the other long and thin.[XXIII_81]
Dioscorides and Pliny describe the shrub, on which are to be seen pods filled with seeds of pepper, resembling millet, according to the first of these writers, and like small beans, according to the other.[XXIII_82]
Our readers no doubt remember the importance which Apicius ascribes to pepper, in the learned recipes of that skilful Archimagirus.
Verjuice, the use of which is very ancient, was used more in pharmaceutical preparations than in the seasoning of food.[XXIII_83] Galen attributes to it refreshing qualities, and advises it in certain cases.[XXIII_84]
Verjuice is a kind of grape, very acid, and which never gets perfectly ripe. The suc of verjuice is used in medicine and culinary preparation as an astringent. The juice is not proper to make wine, but a very agreeable syrup is obtained from it.
The greater part of ancient nations were acquainted with the use of vinegar. Reapers in the east soaked their bread in it, to freshen it[XXIII_85] The Greeks esteemed that of Cnide, of Sphette, of Cleone, and above all the vinegar of Egypt,[XXIII_86] which was reputed to be the best among the Romans, who tempered its acrimony by mixing with it some sweet substance.[XXIII_87]
These masters of the world did not fancy they possessed all the comforts of life when they wanted vinegar; therefore they always had a large provision of it in their cellars, as all their seasonings proved.[XXIII_88]
This passion (for it certainly amounted to a passion) is easily explained by the admirable qualities they attributed to the pungent liquid. It was believed to be astringent, digestive, antibilious, refreshing, and an antiscorbutic.[XXIII_89] Mixed with water, it was the drink of the soldiers,[XXIII_90] who, thanks to this beverage, braved the intemperance of the seasons and the different climates of Europe, Africa, and Asia.
The Greeks and Romans esteemed highly their pickles: these consisted of flowers, herbs, roots, and vegetables, preserved in vinegar, and which kept a long time in cylindrical vases with wide mouths.[XXIII_91] They were prepared with the greatest care; and these plants were often macerated in oil, brine, and vinegar, with which they were impregnated drop by drop.[XXIII_92] Meat, also, cut in very small pieces, was treated in the same manner.
Vinegar of an exorbitant price was obtained from some precious wines, and that price was again increased by the proverbial cupidity of some butlers in great houses. We doubt much, however, whether any of those worthy personages ever made such a bill as a certain French seigneur dared to do under the reign of Louis XIII. It is said that the Duc de la Meilleraye, grand master of the artillery of France, presented to the minister a bill in which figured an article of 1,300,000 francs (£52,000), for vinegar to cool the cannons! The sum appeared rather large, but La Meilleraye was a near relation of Richelieu, and the article passed without the least contestation.[XXIII_93]
A truffled turkey was to be eaten at a dinner where Buffon was invited. A few minutes before setting down to table, an elderly lady inquired of the celebrated naturalist where the truffle grew. “At your feet, madame.” The lady did not understand; but it was thus explained to her: “C’est au pied des charmes” (yoke elm tree). The compliment appeared to her most flattering. Towards the end of the dinner, some one asked the same question of the illustrious writer, who, forgetting that the lady was beside him, innocently replied: “They grow aux pieds des vieux charmes” (old yoke elm trees). The lady overheard him, and no longer thought anything of his amiability.
Nevertheless Buffon was right. It was around the yoke elm trees of Lampsachus, Acarnidea, Alopecomesia, and Elis, that those famous truffles were discovered, whose reputation was spread in all parts and which Italy envied Greece.[XXIII_94]
The truffle! beloved treasure that the earth conceals within her bosom—as she does the precious metals, which she seems to have yielded grudgingly to the patient researches of the gastronomist; the magiric records do not tell us at what memorable epoch this exquisite tubercle astonished, for the first time, the palate of man; but a doubtful tradition maintains that a vile animal (a pig), guided by his marvellous gluttony, found out the existence of this pearl of banquets.
Pliny was very much inclined to range the truffles amidst astonishing prodigies. He fancied that he saw it at its birth increase without roots, without the slightest fibre, without the least capillary vessel likely to transmit to it nutritious juices;[XXIII_95] therefore he believed that, sown by thunder-bolts in the autumnal storms,[XXIII_96] this daughter of thunder grew like minerals by juxta-position, and relates on this subject the history of Lartius Licinius, governor of Spain, who, while biting a truffle with avidity, broke one of his teeth against a Roman denarius which chance alone had inclosed within it.[XXIII_97]
The Greeks thought a great deal of a delicious species of truffles, smooth outside, red within, which were found just under the surface of the ground, and did not show the slightest appearance of vegetation.[XXIII_98]
Another kind was also much sought after by amateurs, probably on account of their scarcity. They were originally from Africa, and called cyrenaïc, white outside, of an excellent perfume, and exquisite flavour.[XXIII_99]
The Athenians, enlightened appreciates of all sorts of merits, accepted with gratitude a ragoût with truffles, invented by Cherips. That culinary genius did not long enjoy his glory; a premature death carried him off from his stoves, his honours, and his fortune; but the Greeks did not bury their gratitude in his tomb; his sons became citizens of Athens, and the name of their father, more fortunate than that of Christopher Columbus, clung for ever to his brilliant discovery.[XXIII_100]
The doctors of other days did not exactly agree upon the quality either good or bad of truffles. Philoxenes, whose opinion met with many partisans, would have it that a great quantity should be eaten cooked under the ashes, and deliciously impregnated with a succulent sauce.[XXIII_101] It was, however, recommended to choose them with the most particular attention, because some had the reputation of being as poisonous as mushrooms.[XXIII_102]
The Romans were as fond of truffles as the Greeks, and that is not saying little.[XXIII_103] Apicius gives a method of preparing them which is as follows:—
After they are boiled in water, put a little stick through them, and then place them for an instant before the fire; season them afterwards with oil, a little meat gravy, some skirrets, wine, pepper, and honey, in proper proportions. When the sauce is boiling, make a thickening, and serve.[XXIII_104]
The illustrious epicurean prepared them also with pepper, benzoin, coriander and rue, to which he added a little honey, oil, and gravy.[XXIII_105]
The estimable Platina insists that, in the first place, truffles should be washed in wine, and afterwards cooked under the ashes; and that they be served hot, and sprinkled over with salt and pepper.[XXIII_106]
This is the composition of a syrup of truffles, taken from the old Arabian medicine. We believe it to be very little known, and should not be surprised if it were, some day, to obtain the renown it seems to deserve. It was composed of truffles, balm, and holy thistle, boiled in water with sugar; and to each pound of the decoction was added one scruple of water distilled from honey, and half an ounce of some spirit—say, for example, spirits of wine—to each pound of liquor. The whole was aromatised with musk and a little rose-water. Two ounces of this syrup were administered hot,[XXIII_107] in cases of weakness.
Salmasius, who knew much of the Greek tongue, and very little of cookery, avers that the ancients knew two different kinds of truffles. One species was similar to ours, and the other a variety from Africa, already mentioned, white outside and the size of a quince.[XXIII_108] Leo the African, says that the Arabs cook these truffles in milk, and that they think them exquisite. Thereupon Salmasius exclaims against the insipidity of this dish, or the ignorance of Leo the African; and immediately points out, with an air of triumph, the celebrated Avicenna, who informs us that, after the truffles were peeled and cut in small pieces, they were cooked in water and salt, and then dished up with oil, benzoin, and spices. Salmasius will have it that Avicenna’s truffles had no other flavour than that given by the sauce, and he has no forgiveness for those poor Arabs who dared to dress them otherwise.
If this clever Hellenist had studied this savoury tubercle with as much care as he bestowed on the writers of the history of Augustus, he would have learned that the peculiar perfume which distinguishes it retains, in the midst of seasoning the most laboriously prepared, the same power it possesses when eaten by itself, and without any dressing.
Apicius had less of literature than Salmasius, but he was most assuredly gifted in a very superior degree with that mens divinior which makes great cooks and illustrious poets. This assimilation has nothing surprising in it, if we only remember that genius is nothing else than the faculty of producing; and who ever bequeathed to posterity productions more exquisite than those of Archestrates and Apicius?
Let us hear from this latter how to preserve truffles. You must be careful not to put them in contact with water; that is to say, that they ought to be kept very dry. They are placed separately in vessels, and covered with iron filings, or saw-dust. Close each vessel hermetically with plaster, and keep them in a dark and cool place.[XXIII_109]
The truffle is a very remarkable vegetable, which, without stems, roots, or fibres, grows of itself, isolated in the bosom of the earth, absorbing the nutritive juice. Its form is round, more or less regular; its surface is smooth or tuberculous; the colour dark-brown outside, brown, grey, or white within. Its tissue is formed of articulated filaments, between which are spheric vesicles, and in the interior are placed reproductive bodies, small brown spheres, called truffinelles. Truffles vegetate to the depth of five or six inches in the high sandy soils of the south-west of France, of Piedmont, &c., &c. Their mode of vegetation and reproduction is not known. Dogs are trained to find them, as well as pigs, and boars also, who are very fond of them. They are eaten cooked under the ashes, or in wine and water. They are preserved, when prepared in oil, which is soon impregnated with their odour.
Poultry is stuffed with them, also geese’s livers, pies, and cooked pork, besides numerous ragoûts. They possess, it is said, exciting virtues.
Agrippina, desirous of securing the crown to her worthy son, Nero, went to a celebrated female poisoner, and procured a venomous preparation which defied the most powerful antidotes.[XXIII_110] The Princess slipped this terrible poison in a very fine morel (a species of mushroom), which Claudius eat at his supper. The unfortunate Emperor died according to the desire of his amiable consort, who was, of course, inconsolable for a long time, and placed among the gods the husband she had murdered.[XXIII_111] Nero ascended the throne, and every time that mushrooms were served at his table, true to the memory of his father-in-law, he facetiously called this preparation the “dish of the gods.”[XXIII_112]
To the poisonous effects of this vegetable have been attributed, also, the death of the Emperor Tiberius, that of Pope Clement VII., King Charles VI. of France, and many other important personages, who either knew very little of good cooks, or of morels. Notwithstanding these tragical events, mushrooms always retained a proud position, among the ancients, above the most inoffensive culinary plants; and their rather doubtful reputation has not prevented them from maintaining their ground down to our time, for we find that they now claim the same rank which they formerly occupied in the gastronomic réunions of Athens and Rome: a sad image of those fortunate criminals, whom society dreads, and yet often loads with its favours.
This “voluptuous poison,” as Seneca, the philosopher,[XXIII_113] calls it, which compels us to eat of it again, even when not hungry,[XXIII_114] was much relished by the wealthy inhabitants of Rome and Italy. These free-livers, careless of the morrow, preferred the field mushroom,[XXIII_115] which they devoured with delight, having previously covered it over with a pungent sauce, which they afterwards neutralized with various iced beverages.[XXIII_116] It is true that this dish, worthy of the gods, often inflicted a severe penalty on those who yielded to its irresistible seduction; but what mortal could think of the anguish of an uncertain poisoning, when he had the good luck to meet with some boleti, or mushrooms, of the rarest description, which the price of a beautiful toga would hardly have purchased,[XXIII_117] and which promised some mouthfuls of ineffable, although ephemeral enjoyment? Besides, does not pleasure possess more piquant charms when danger is attached to it? The greater part of mushrooms are very dangerous, say the ancients;[XXIII_118] but blind destiny, perhaps, reserves for us certain kinds which are not so. Re-assured by this judicious reflection, they gave orders to their cooks to stew some,[XXIII_119] and season them with vinegar, oxymel, and honey.[XXIII_120]
However, reasonable people—and there were still some to be found—abstained entirely from this vegetable, or procured it by the method which Nicander recommends; that is to say, they frequently watered the trunk of a fig tree after manure had been placed around it. That philosopher assures us that by these means we may grow mushrooms perfectly wholesome.[XXIII_121]
Those of our readers who are in possession of fig trees will be able to give their opinion on the merit of Nicander’s method.
To obtain the seeds of most mushrooms, it only requires to expose them, when fresh, upon glass; the superficies of the glass is soon covered with it. It is also obtained by shaking in the water the mushrooms which are sufficiently developed. This water, thus impregnated, is used to water the beds, which become thereby more productive.
The natural supply of mushrooms from the fields not being thought sufficient, the art of raising them on beds during the whole year was therefore indispensable, and required a mixture of crottin de cheval, rotten dung, and mould, which is deposited in layers of one foot and a-half in thickness and width. Seeds of mushrooms are sown on these beds—that is to say, some of the mould of a former bog impregnated with it. It is then covered over with all the dung not consumed, and then copiously watered.
“At the end of a very few days, the beds begin to produce mushrooms, and keep on producing until the winter.”—Bosc.
The art of the pastry-cook consists in preparing certain delicate and nice pastes in all sorts of shapes, in seasoning them with discretion, and in sufficient quantity, with meat, butter, sugar, preserves, &c.[XXIV_1] It is a most important branch of the culinary science; unceasingly occupied with flattering the sight as much as the taste, it raises graceful monuments, delicious fortresses, seductive ramparts, which as soon as they are on all sides attacked, totter, crumble, and no longer present anything but glorious and ephemeral ruins, like every other work of man—all pass away whether they be temples, columns, pyramids, or pies.
This charming art was known to ancient nations as soon as their intellectual development had enabled them to understand a certain gastronomic truth, long since become a trivial axiom, and of which we dare scarcely remind the reader: “On ne mange pour vivre que lorsqu’on ne sait pas vivre pour manger.” (People only eat to live when they do not understand how to live to eat.)
The oriental nations were acquainted with the art of making pastry at a very early period. The Egyptians served many different sorts of cakes at their tables;[XXIV_2] the Jews knew of at least three kinds—one sort kneaded with oil, another fried in oil, and the last was merely rubbed over with oil.[XXIV_3]
The enlightened gluttony of the Greeks and Romans inspired them with a host of combinations more or less ingenious, and destined to revive a failing appetite, or one already greatly compromised by vigorous onslaughts.
Some of these pastries would appear very nice to us in the present day; others we should think but little worthy of the epicures of Rome and Athens. However, let us not be in too great a hurry to condemn these great masters. Doubtless they had excellent reasons to like that which modern taste may despise and dislike. In return, they might have thought some of our most fashionable dishes detestable; perhaps Apicius might have made a strange grimace at the sight of a dish of sour-crout, an olla-podrida, or an immense plum-pudding.
Oublies, a light dainty for those who have weak stomachs, were thin sheets of paste composed of flour and honey, which rolled into a spiral form as soon as they approached the oven. They were eaten soaked in cooked wine.[XXIV_4] Persons of taste preferred oublies to fritters—a bold mixture of flour kneaded with wine, seasoned with pepper, and then worked up with milk, and, finally, with a little fat or oil.[XXIV_5]
Some cooks employed the finest flour only, mixed with oil, and served this paste after having cooked it in a dish.[XXIV_6] Others worked sesame flour a long time with honey and oil, and fried it.[XXIV_7] These various kinds of fritters were, doubtless, much sought after by the populace, for Cicero speaks of them with profound disdain.[XXIV_8]
The Jews, less dainty than the eloquent orator, offered some of this paste in sacrifice. The recipe for its composition is given in Leviticus; it was made of the finest flour, moistened with oil, and cooked in the frying-pan.[XXIV_9]
Women and children—those two fragile roots of society—were always fond of sweet and delicate cakes. The pastry-cooks of Attica prepared for them some very excellent kinds; sometimes it was merely a sweet mixture of honey and milk;[XXIV_10] others were made of honey, sesame flour, and cheese or oil.[XXIV_11] Delicious fruit was frequently covered with a light and perfumed paste.[XXIV_12] These Athenian dumplings met with a great success.
Rome made the conquest of these precious recipes,[XXIV_13] and vanquished Greece, conquered by her, had still the glory of dictating laws to her haughty enemy: she imposed her cookery.
Gingerbread was not unknown to the ancients. Rhodes owed its reputation to it. It was sweetened with honey, and that island furnished it to the whole of Europe. The Greeks called this delicacy Melitates, and eat it with pleasure at the close of their repasts.[XXIV_14]
Let us not forget, in this rapid survey of ancient sweets, that learned and exquisite mixture now designated under the name of Nougat, which, among the Greeks was composed of dried currants and almonds, and which has lost none of its attractions, nothing of its celebrity, after so many centuries.[XXIV_15]
The Mustaceum did not deserve to occupy so high a standing; and yet this rustic cake, composed of sweet wine and flour, a symbol of abundance and happiness, never failed to be presented to the guests at a wedding repast, and the newly-married pair sent a piece of it to each of their absent parents or friends, who, in return, addressed them congratulations, and wishes for their happiness.[XXIV_16] The mustaceum was the wedding-cake of the Romans.
Modern civilization has also rejected with equal disdain the Savillum pie, always eaten with pleasure by the voluptuous inhabitants of Rome when they went to their villas in order to rest from their prodigious excesses, and from the fatigues of intemperance. This nourishing and agreeable dish required but little art in its composition. Half-a-pound of flour and two pounds and a-half of cheese were well mixed together; three ounces of honey and one egg were then added. When the whole had been well beaten, it was placed in an earthen vessel rubbed over with oil, and which was covered with a tart dish cover. It was carefully watched to see that the process of cooking was going on; afterwards it was taken from the dish, the pie was smeared with honey, and, for an instant, replaced under the tart-dish cover, after having dredged the top with pounded poppy seed. It was always served in the dish in which it had been cooked, and was eaten with spoons.[XXIV_17]
We have already mentioned the Artocreas, a kind of hashed meat mixed with bread, which Rome borrowed from Greece, together with its original name. This pie, welcomed by modern gastrophagy, has reached our days with merely some slight modifications, and deprived of its sonorous Hellenic appellation.[XXIV_18] Formerly the Roman Emperors, for the greater part, ruled badly; but, in return, they eat well. In that gastronomic era—gone, never to return—Cæsar’s supper engaged the attention of the court, the city, nay, the whole empire. The conquered universe furnished the details for a banquet, and a royal hand sometimes deigned to write the ordinance. Now and then, even the monarch, wrapped in profound culinary meditations, long reflected, dictated to his Archimagirus a new dish, on which complaisant senators the next day bestowed enthusiastic praises and a sincere admiration. Thus the Emperor Verus, inventor of a pie, barely escaped an apotheosis of which his genius was deemed worthy. It is true that, without any exaggerated flattery, this pie was excellent, and that never was there imagined a more happy mixture, a more ingenious combination, of meats, or a more refined flavour. If any one be curious enough to wish to test this imperial dish, let him prepare a succulent amalgamation of sow’s flank (sumen), pheasant, peacock, iced ham, and wild boar’s flesh; let him inclose this mixture within the thick casing of a laboriously worked crust, and he may attack this kingly dish when a gentle and slow cooking causes it to emit burning yet sweet emanations.[XXIV_19]
Here is a more modest recipe for a cake; but then it does not claim the paternity of an emperor. However, Cato brought it much into fashion, for the wise Cato often busied himself in the science of cookery, for which reason he is greatly worthy of esteem. Well, we recommend to the reader the Libum of that philosopher, who indicates the manner of preparing it:—
“Crush,” he says, “two pounds of cheese; mix with it a pound of rye flour, or, in order to render it lighter, throw in merely half a pound of wheat flour and an egg. Stir, mix, and work this paste; form of it a cake which you will place on leaves, and cook in a tart dish on the hot hearth.” This libum was much esteemed about twenty centuries ago; in honour of Cato may it again be brought to light, if not completely unworthy of our attention.[XXIV_20] Could we not also rehabilitate the reputation of the most celebrated of ancient pies, the Placenta, which so delighted mankind, and by which the gods even allowed their fury to be appeased?[XXIV_21] Renowned writers have granted it the authority of their praise;[XXIV_22] and the illustrious geoponist, already cited, describes with lengthened complaisance the manner of preparing this important dish:—
“Place, on one side, two pounds of rye flour, which will serve to form the foundation, on which must be placed biscuits, formed of crisp paste; on the other, put four pounds of wheat; and two pounds of alica (grains of fine wheat, stripped of their husks and crushed; to which was added, in order to whiten them, a peculiar kind of chalk found between Naples and Pouzzoli[XXIV_23]). This latter must be left to infuse in water, and, when well soaked, it must be thrown into a kneading trough, and well worked with the hand. You then mix with it the four pounds of wheat flour, in order to make the whole into biscuits, or dry marchpans. This paste must be worked in a basket, and, as it dries, each separate marchpan must be shaped. When they have acquired a convenient form, rub them on all sides with a piece of stuff soaked in oil, and the same must be done to the foundation of the placenta before placing the marchpans on it. During these preparations, make the hearth very hot, as well as the cover of the tart dish intended to cook it. Then spread the two pounds of rye flour you have in reserve over fourteen pounds of cheese of sheep’s milk. Make of this a light paste for the foundation already mentioned. This cheese ought to be very fresh, and previously soaked in three waters. It is allowed to drain slowly between the hands, and when it has been left to dry, it is kneaded. Take a flour sieve, and pass the cheese through it before mixing it with the rye. Then add four pounds and a half of good honey; mix well; place the foundation, furnished with its band, on a board a foot square, covered with bay leaves rubbed with oil, and form the placenta. Begin by covering the whole of the base with a layer of marchpans, which you place one after the other, and cover slightly with cheese mixed with honey. Finally, you arrange the marchpans on the foundation, and prepare the hearth to a moderate degree of heat; place the placenta on it; cover it with the tart dish cover already heated, and spread live charcoal underneath and all around. The cooking must be done very slowly, and as soon as the pie is taken from the hearth, it must be rubbed with honey.”[XXIV_24]
The great desire we had to inform the reader of some of the methods of making ancient pastry will, perhaps, induce him to receive with indulgence the rather diffuse recipe of the worthy Cato. The following is much more concise; it relates to the relishing Globi, little globes, or balls, eaten at dessert:
Mix cheese and alica, and of this mixture make the globi, which cook one after the other, or two at a time, in boiling oil. Stir them constantly with a spoon; take them out; rub them over with honey, and serve, having previously dredged over them a little poppy-seed.[XXIV_25]
Everyone will confess that all these cakes are inferior to the simple and elegant pastry with which the inhabitants of Picenum (marshes of Ancona) regaled themselves. They placed some alica to soak in water, and left it there for the space of nine days; the tenth day they kneaded it, and formed it into round, flat cakes, which they cooked in the oven in earthen baking-dishes easily broken. When these kind of biscuits were to be eaten, they were first softened in milk and honey.[XXIV_26]
Apicius also made globi of great delicacy with the crumb of fine bread, shaped into balls, which were left to soak in milk, and which, on their being withdrawn from the boiling oil, he lightly covered with honey.[XXIV_27]
We conclude with three recipes by this amateur cook, in the hope that they may appear worthy of his genius:—
“Mix pine nuts, pepper, honey, rue, and cooked wine; cover with eggs well beaten; submit this mixture to a slow fire, and serve, after having smeared it with honey.”[XXIV_28]
“Cook the finest flour in some milk, of which make a tolerably stiff paste; spread it on a dish; cut it in pieces, which, when you have fried in very fine oil, cover with pepper and honey.”[XXIV_29]
“Make a compact mixture of milk, honey, and eggs; let it cook very slowly, and serve, after having sprinkled over it a little pepper.”[XXIV_30]
These details will, we hope, give a sufficient idea of ancient pastry. We must remember that these recipes form, as it were, the starting point. The oil fritter of the Hebrews and the meringues of our period are wide apart: more than thirty-three centuries separate the two; two thousand years have elapsed since Cato wrote the recipe for his somewhat heavy tart. The author of the “Culinary Art,” Apicius himself, is very old. The private life of the ancient people appears to be worthy of serious study; but we too often only bestow on it our disdain. The author of this work has observed their customs in the kitchen and in the dining-room—the only places to which he had access—and he has taken the liberty of writing the result of his investigations. Sometimes he admires, but never does he despise, a civilisation different to our own, but which was not without its good side. He conjures the reader to believe him when he says, that whatever eccentricities the gastronomy of ancient nations may present to us, those people (he has, perhaps, acquired the right to venture such an assertion) doubtless eat in a very different manner from ourselves; but they certainly knew how to eat.
The pastry just mentioned is certainly not altogether irreproachable—that is clear; but many kinds reveal that exquisite sentiment of the good which is nothing else than taste—whether it relate to art, literature or cooking—and the entire development of which seems to have been the appurtenance of a small number of privileged centuries. Great epochs—such as those of Pericles, Augustus, Leo XII., Louis XIV., and Queen Anne—have seen roses and myrtles flourish by the side of the laurels with which the muses are crowned. Charles XII. was fond of tartlets; Frederic II. gave himself fits of indigestion by eating Savoy cakes; and the Maréchal de Saxe rested from the fatigues of glory before a plate of macaroons.
We have renounced the kind of pastry with which our ancestors used to regale themselves in the 14th century. Their stag pies[XXIV_31] are no longer in vogue; neither have we any taste for their great pies which contained a lamb or a stuffed kid, surrounded with goslings by dozens and scores.[XXIV_32]
Their tarts have fallen into the same oblivion. Who thinks now of their Janus, or double-faced, tarts, herb tarts, rose-leaf tarts, oat tarts, or chesnut tarts?[XXIV_33]
The first statutes given to the pastry cooks by St. Louis (May, 1270), sanctioned their custom of working on all festival days without exception. Now, the motive for such a toleration was probably this: the pagans had their festivals, which they passed in banqueting; the Romans called them dies epulatæ.[XXIV_34] The early Christians, although they gave up the worship of false gods, preserved certain customs in which they had been brought up, among which was that of public and private banquets on festival days.[XXIV_35] We still see some remains of these customs in the village rejoicings on the Continent, on the day of their patron saint. The Fathers of the Church and the Councils raised their voices against this abuse;[XXIV_36] but they were obliged to tolerate it, and the pastry-cooks, who were very busy on those occasions, profited by the indulgence. It is as well to remark that they were, at one and the same time, publicans, roasters (that is, they would roast anything for anybody), and cooks.
Under the ministry of the Chancelier de l’Hôpital, little pies, or patties, were hawked through all the streets of Paris, and there was an enormous consumption of them. The severe minister considered them a luxury, which it was incumbent upon him to suppress; so he prohibited, not their sale, but the crying of them, as a temptation to gluttony.
There is a kind of cake much in vogue in England, on Good Friday, designated hot-cross-bun, because it is always marked with a cross. The reader will, perhaps, take some interest in the observations of Bryant on the subject of this pastry:—
“The offerings,” says he, “which people in ancient times used to present to the gods were generally purchased at the entrance of the temple; especially every species of consecrated bread, which was denominated accordingly. One species of sacred bread which used to be offered to the gods was of great antiquity, and called Boun.” It was a kind of cake, with a representation of two horns. Julius Pollux mentions it after the same manner—a sort of cake with horns. Diogenes Laertius, speaking of the same offering being made by Empedocles, describes the chief ingredients of which it was composed:—“He offered one of the sacred liba, called a bonse (bons), which was made of fine flour and honey.”[XXIV_37] England seems, then, to have retained the name and the form of the ancient bons, though the people do not recognise in the bun anything sacred or holy.
Titus Livy said, in speaking of Rome, “The greatest things have small beginnings.” This applies equally to pastry, which appears so unworthy of attention at the commencement of the middle ages that nothing seems to announce its high destiny. At first, in the southern provinces, people simply mixed flour, oil, and honey. The Roman school was still in force. The inhabitants of the north had a mind to innovate; they employed eggs, butter, and salt. Then came the idea of inclosing within this paste cooked meat, seasoned with bacon and spices; and, from progress to progress, they at last inclosed cream, fruit, and marmalades.[XXIV_38]
We find pastry mentioned for the first time in a charter of Louis-le-Débonnaire (802). It is there said that a certain farm of the Abbey of St. Denis is to furnish, at certain festivals, sixteen measures of honey, eleven hundred oxen, and five hogsheads of flour to make pastry.[XXIV_39]
A charter of the church of Paris, 1202, mentions simnels or wigs, under the name of “panes leves qui dicuntur echaudati.” Joinville speaks, in “The life of St. Louis,” of cheese fritters cooked in the sun, which the Saracens presented to that king and his knights when they restored them to liberty. And, finally, so early as the 13th century, the flans of Chartres, the patties of Paris, and the tarts of Dourlans, were in great renown; and a charter of 1301 informs us that, at that epoch, several lords imposed on their vassals a tribute of fugués, or puff-pastry.[XXIV_40]
The cook of Charles V. says, that the word tourte signified a household loaf of a round form; that this name was afterwards given to delicate pastry; and that, by corruption, it was called tart in certain provinces.[XXIV_41]
Taillevant speaks of cream, almonds, and rose-water, as the accompaniments of Darioles, a kind of custard; and of Talmouses, a sort of cheese-cake, made of cheese, eggs, and butter, coloured with the yolks of eggs.[XXIV_42]
Platina cites tarts made with radishes, quinces, gourds, elder-berry flowers, rice, oatmeal, millet, chesnuts, cherries, dates, May-herbs, roses, and, lastly, the white, or cream tart.[XXIV_43]
Thales, who borrowed from Egypt the elements of philosophy, which he afterwards spread in Greece, taught that water is the vivifying principle of all things; that nature is thereby made fruitful; that without it the earth, arid and laid waste, would be a frightful desert, where every effort of man to support his existence must fail.[XXV_1]
These ideas, for a long time adopted by Pagan theology, peopled fountains, rivers, and seas, with divinities, and often confounded in the same worship those gods, sons of gratitude, with the limpid waters consecrated to them.
The Persians carried their veneration for this element so far, that they dared not wash their hands, and would have preferred being consumed to the very bone rather than dip themselves in a river.[XXV_2]
The Cappadocians were proud of treading in the same path.[XXV_3]
The Egyptians offered prayers and homage to water.[XXV_4] The Nile, in particular, received their adorations under the name of Ypeus, or Siris, and they offered to it—as a sacrifice—barley, wheat, sugar, and fruit.[XXV_5]
The Scythians honoured the Danube on account of its vast extent; the Thessalians prostrated themselves before the majestic shores of the Peneus; the ancient combat of Achelous with Hercules made it sacred to the Ætolians; by a special law, the Lacedæmonians were compelled to implore the Eurotas; and a religious precept forced the Athenians to incense in honour of the Ilissus.[XXV_6]
The Greeks and Romans did not fail to follow such good examples. The fountains and rivers had their altars. The Rhine was called a god; and when Æneas arrived in Italy, he prayed it might be favourable to him.[XXV_7]
However strange such superstition may appear, it is, nevertheless, conceivable that Paganism, struck with wonder at the flux and reflux of the sea, and at the phenomena presented by several celebrated springs, and seduced by the charming fictions of doubtful poesy, should have deified an element both beneficial and terrible, since it could not cry out with the prophet king: “The Lord on high is mightier than the noise of many waters, yea than the mighty waves of the sea.”[XXV_8]
Thence came the innumerable number of tutelary gods to which the Ocean alone gave an asylum. By Thetis it became the father of the seventy-two Oceanides, and the fifty Nereides called it their grandfather. Hesiod numbered three thousand nymphs, and he probably forgot a few of them. We say nothing of the Naiades, the Napææ, the Limnades, and so many others whom fable was pleased to recognise, and whom it described as joyfully disporting in the water.
Greece exhausted the treasures of its poetical imagination to embellish her fountains, beloved retreats of the timid Naiades. Several were remarkable for the beauty of their architecture and the extreme delicacy of their execution.
Megara, in Achaia, possessed one celebrated for its magnificence. That of Pirene, at Corinth, was surrounded with white marble, in which were placed grottoes which unceasingly supplied a vast and superb basin. Another fountain of Corinth, named Lerna, offered to loungers an elegant portico, under which some very commodious seats allowed them to enjoy, during summer, the freshness which the water communicated to the atmosphere.
In the sacred wood of Æsculapius, at Epidaurus, a splendid fountain was seen whose marvellous beauty attracted all eyes.[XXV_9] Lastly, those of Messina, known under the names of Arsinoe and of Clepsydra, yielded nothing in richness of material and finish of details to the most renowned monuments of Greece.
The Athenians named four officers to keep watch and ward over the water.[XXV_10] The other Greek towns followed the example. These officers had to keep the fountains in order and clean the reservoirs,[XXV_11] so that the water might be preserved pure and limpid.
The Romans at first contented themselves with water from the Tiber. King Ancus Martius[XXV_12] was the first[XXV_13] to build aqueducts, destined to convey the water of the fountain of Piconia from Tibur to Rome, a distance of about thirty-three thousand paces. Some have honoured the censor, Appius Claudius, for this magnificent undertaking,[XXV_14] to whom is certainly due the celebrated Appian Way.[XXV_15] These gigantic works greatly multiplied in time. Under the reign of Nero, Rome had nine principal aqueducts[XXV_16] constructed, the pipes of which were of bricks, baked tiles, stone, lead, or wood.[XXV_17]
According to the calculation of Vigenerus,[XXV_18] 500,000 hogsheads of water were conveyed into Rome every twenty-four hours, by 10,850 small channels, the internal circumference of which was one inch. The water was received in large closed basins, above which were raised splendid monuments. These basins—or châteaux d’eau—castella Aquarum—supplied other subterraneous conduits connected with the various quarters of the town,[XXV_19] which conveyed water to small reservoirs—fontes—furnished with taps, for the exclusive use of certain streets.[XXV_20] The water which was not drinkable ran out by means of large pipes into extensive inclosures, where it served to water cattle. At these places the people washed their linen, and here, too, they had a ready resource in case of fire.[XXV_21]
Augustus created water commissaries, who took care that all water coming into Rome by the aqueducts was fairly distributed in every public place, and to those of the inhabitants who had obtained the privilege of having it enter their houses.[XXV_22]
But the “ingenious thirst”[XXV_23] of the conquerors of the world could not content itself with a delicious water which nature furnished free of expense. Was it not too much for human endurance, that not only the air and the sun could not be offered to the highest bidder,[XXV_24] but that the same spring was to quench the thirst of obscure plebeians on equal terms with the rich patrician?
Intemperance and luxury very soon contrived to find excellent means of remedying a state of things so intolerable. The custom of preserving snow in cellars, to obtain cool beverages, is very old. Aristotle pointed out the method of boiling water, and putting the vessel afterwards in snow, in order to obtain ice. Rome had recourse to this expedient, which was afterwards replaced with advantage, under Nero, by constructing ice houses for the use of opulent epicureans.[XXV_25]
This even was not enough for voluptuous Romans, slaves to their strange caprices; their beverages did not appear to them as yet sufficiently cool,[XXV_26] and the summit of the Alps was put under contribution to furnish ice for the fashionable tables of the imperial city.[XXV_27]
The Romans were also frequently supplied with snow water,[XXV_28] clarified by being passed through the colum nivarium, or snow cullender,[XXV_29] a charming little utensil of silver, pierced with a great number of holes, through which the iced beverage passed into a recipient beneath. This drink was sometimes mortal, but always exquisite.[XXV_30] From this vessel, it was poured into an ampula, or a sort of crystal bottle of rotund form, which was often enormously dear on account of the elaborate chasing with which it was embellished.[XXV_31] This water bottle, with its long and narrow neck, was the principal ornament of the sideboards and tables, when it bore the name of some skilful artist from Campania or the Island of Samos.[XXV_32] [O]
Iced beverage lost all its charm at the end of the fine season, and hot water took its place during winter.[XXV_33] The same custom existed in Greece in the best classes of society.[XXV_34] At Rome, it was much more general, for there were a great number of taverns, where the middle classes and citizens of the lowest order gorged themselves copiously with pork and warm water. The Emperor Claudius caused them to be closed, and severely punished the proprietors of those houses who opposed his ordinance.[XXV_35]
At the commencement of the repast, a copper vessel was placed on the table purposely to boil water. It was much like a French bouilloire (which nearly resembles a tankard), and contained a cylinder of about four inches in diameter, covered with a moving lid, and pierced with holes for the ashes to pass through. They fell into the lower part of the cylinder. The space around was filled with water by means of a small funnel soldered to the boiler. The taps of these vases were always slightly above the bottom, so that the sediment of the water should not pass into the cups.[XXV_36]
Ancient medicine attributed to water a singular curative virtue, which it has also been supposed to possess in our days. This system, so much talked about now by some persons, is, therefore, not new. Hippocrates carefully distinguished the difference between good and bad water.[XXV_37] The best, according to him, ought to be clear, light, inodorous, without any flavour, and drawn from springs exposed to the east.[XXV_38] He interdicts all those which proceed from melted snow.[XXV_39]
Asclepiades made his patients drink plentifully of water, and frequently ordered them cold baths.[XXV_40]