At a very distant period, when gods, not over edifying in their conduct, descended at times from the heights of Olympus to enliven their immortality amongst mortals, we are told that a divine aliment charmed the palate of Jupiter and that of his quarrelsome wife; nay, of all those who inhabited the celestial abode. We are ignorant of the hour at which the table of the god of thunder was laid; but we know well that he breakfasted, dined, and supped on a delicious ambrosia—a liquid substance, it may be presumed, since it flowed for the first time from one of the horns of the goat Amalthæa, and of rather an insipid taste, if we are to believe Ibicus,[III_1] who describes it as nine times sweeter than honey. The gods have disappeared; we would forgive them for leaving us, had they left behind them the recipe of this marvellous substance; but its composition and essence remain unknown, and man, not skilful enough to appropriate to his use the inexhaustible treasures of culinary science, began his hard gastrophagic apprenticeship by devouring acorns which grew in the forests.[III_2] This is assuredly very mortifying to our feelings; but you may believe it on the authority of a poet, for we well know that a poet never tells an untruth.[III_3] Besides, fabulous antiquity adds new weight to the fact, by informing us that the Arcadian Pelasgus[III_4] deserved that altars should be erected to his memory, for having taught the Greeks to choose in preference the beech-nut, as the most delicate of this class of comestibles, according to the tender Virgil, who, however, only judged of it by hearsay.[III_5]
There is a great degree of probability in the supposition that the different races of the north, each inhabiting a country covered with immense forests, lived for a long time on the fruit of these different kinds of oak which they possessed in such abundance. The great respect they had for the tree, the pompous ceremony with which the high priest of the Druids came every year to cut away the parasitical plant which clings to it, the very name of the Druids—derived from a celtic word signifying oak—all seem to point out the first food of our ancestors. The oak furnished the primitive aliment of almost every nation, in their original state of barbarism. Some of them had even preserved a taste for the acorn after they became civilized. Among the Arcadians and the Spaniards, the acorn was regarded as a delicious article of food. We read in Pliny that, in his time, these latter had them served on their tables at dessert, after they had been roasted in the wood-ashes to soften them. According to Champier, this custom still subsisted in Spain in the 16th century.
The regulation made by Chrodegand, Bishop of Metz, about the end of the 8th century, for the canons, says expressly[III_6] that if, in an unfavorable year, the acorn or flour should fail, it will be the duty of the bishop to provide it.
When, animated by the most praiseworthy zeal and courage, Du Bellay, Bishop of Mans, came, in 1546, to represent to Francis I. the frightful misery of the provinces, and that of his diocese in particular, he assured the king that in many localities the people had nothing to eat but bread made of acorns.
But mankind, who soon get tired of every thing, even of acorns and beech-nuts, began to dislike this wholesome and abundant food, when Ceres, the ancient Queen of Sicily, came just à propos to give a few lessons in the art of sowing the earth.[III_7] Corn once brought into fashion acquired a surprising repute, and the ancient food was given up to the animal which it fattens; and if this last were eaten, it was no doubt in gratitude for the fruit mankind had formerly so much loved.
The good Ceres did not stop there; it was very well to have corn, but to know how to grind it was also requisite; and the human race was then so lamentably backward, that one might have gone round the world without meeting a miller, or even the shadow of the meanest little mill.
The Queen of Sicily then invented grinding-stones,[III_8] but, as the most useful discoveries require time to be known and improved upon, the way of grinding corn with stones did not become uniform everywhere. The inhabitants of Etruria (now called Tuscany) pounded the grain in
mortars.[III_9] The early Romans adopted the same means, and gave the name of Pistores, grinders, to those persons who followed this occupation.[III_10] Pliny relates that one of the ancient families of Rome took the surname of Piso, having descended, as they believed, from the inventor of the art of bruising wheat with pestles.[III_11]
Down to the latest days of the Roman republic the corn was bruised after being roasted. The pestle used for this purpose was somewhat pointed, and suspended by the aid of a ring to the extremity of a flexible lever, supported by an axle.[III_12]
From the time of Moses the Hebrews used grinding-stones: several passages of the Holy Scripture clearly indicate this. Among others: “No man shall take the nether or the upper millstone to pledge; for he taketh a man’s life to pledge.”[III_13] Another text shows that the Egyptians used grinding-stones with handles, at about the same period.[III_14] The Israelites, when in the Desert, employed the same means to pound manna,[III_15] and after their settlement in the Promised Land, these utensils served to grind corn.
The Greeks, following faithfully the system from which they had but slightly deviated, have honoured King Miletus as the inventor of grinding-stones;[III_16] the upper part was of wood, and armed with heads of iron nails. A passage of Homer would seem to lead us to believe that the grain was first crushed with rollers on stone slabs, which operation would naturally lead to the crushing of it between grinding-stones.[III_17] However this may be, these last were no doubt still scarce in the heroic times, since the same poet does not fail to inform us that one was to be seen in the gardens of Alcinous, chief of the Phæacians.[III_18] This kind of decoration would but very little please the taste of our modern horticulturists.
Nearly two centuries before our era, in the year of Rome 562, the Romans, victorious in Asia, brought with them handmills.[III_19] This conquest of industry soon made an immense stride, and to the labour of man succeeded by degrees the obedient aid of horses and asses. Hence the two kind of mills so often mentioned—by hand, manuales; by animal, iumentariæ[III_20]
Delighted with a discovery which supplied an important necessity of life, the Romans invented a divinity to whom they might show their gratitude, and Olympus was honoured with a new inmate: the goddess Mola, protectress and patroness of mills and millstones.[III_21]
Now Mola was one of a large family; she had several charming sisters, like herself, who could not endure living among the commoners, while Ganymede served ambrosia to their elder sister, or poured out for her the nectar of the gods. Besides, it cost so little to be made a goddess! A few grains of incense, more or less, who would grudge such a trifle? The Flamine of Jupiter, whom they consulted, was at first rather refractory. He feared the crowding of Olympus; he doubted whether polite intercourse could ever be established between gods of high birth and little divinities covered with flour; but when at last the high priest had ceased speaking, the deputation removed all scruples by a reasonable bribe, and the sisters of Mola were forthwith enrolled in the list of immortals, under the designation of well-beloved daughters of the god of war.[III_22] Mars was rather ungentlemanly on the occasion, but the high priest undertook to bring him to reason.
This took place about the end of May, and the Romans resolved to celebrate, from the 9th of the following June, the festival of the patroness of Roman millers, and of her sisters, the newly elected divinities; the ceremony was worthy of those for whose apotheosis it was instituted, and every year, on the same day, new rejoicings consecrated this great event.[III_23]
The mills ceased to turn and to grind, a profound silence reigned in the mills; the asses, patient and indefatigable movers of an incessant rotation, took a lively part, whether or no, in the festivals of which they became the principal actors. These honest creatures’ heads[III_24] were crowned with roses, and necklaces of little leaves encircled their necks and fell gracefully on their chests;[III_25] we need not add that, on this day, the thick bandages which generally covered the eyes of these useful labourers were removed.[III_26]
Independently of this annual solemnity, the asses, turners of the mills, had sometimes their windfalls,—that is to say, hours of holiday, during which they could freely graze on the neighbouring thistles. This happened when an awkward slave performed badly the duties of fanning his master, or spilt carelessly a few drops of Falernian wine when filling his cup. The unfortunate creature was immediately condemned to work at the mill;[III_27] he was deprived of his name, and received in lieu that of the quadruped he replaced—Asinus;[III_28] and the instrument of his sufferings, by a refinement of strange irony, was called his manger.[III_29]
It sometimes happened that a free man, reduced to extreme
indigence, had recourse to this hard occupation, in order to earn a living. Plautus was obliged to work at it, and we know that he wrote some of his comedies during the short moments of leisure allowed him by his master the miller.[III_30]
An important modification was subsequently made in the mechanism of mills: we mean hydraulic mills, whose introduction into Italy is of uncertain date, although Pomponius Sabinus asserts (but without proof), that this discovery took place in the reign of Julius Cæsar. They were known in Rome at the time of the Emperor Augustus, and Vitruvius mentions them.[III_31] More than sixty years afterwards, Pliny speaks of them as rare and extraordinary machines.[III_32]
Some writers have thought that hydraulæ, or hydromilæ, watermills, were invented by Vitruvius, and that this celebrated architect made experiments with them, which were forgotten or neglected after his death.[III_33] Curious readers, who are not afraid of the venerable dust with which time has covered many useful though despised books, will consult with benefit the learned treatise of Goetzius on the mills of the ancients, printed in the year 1730.[III_34]
Strabo, who flourished under the Emperor Augustus, tells us a watermill was to be seen near the town of Cabire and the palace of Mithridates.[III_35]
Nevertheless, this useful invention, which we could not now dispense with, made so little progress during four centuries that princes thought it a duty to protect, by several laws, those establishments, still rare, but which people began to appreciate. Honorius and Arcadius decreed, in 398, that any person who turned the water from mills for his own profit, should be punished by a fine of five pounds weight in gold; and that any magistrate encouraging such an act should pay a like sum.[III_36] The Emperor Zeno[III_37] maintained this law, and rendered it still more stringent by adding, that the edifices or land into which the water had been turned should be confiscated.[III_38]
It is to be regretted that the precise origin of the miller’s profession cannot be traced; but, alas! in almost all the arts which tend to preserve life, we discover the same uncertainty: we are ignorant of the period of their discovery, and it frequently happens that but few traces of their development remain. On the contrary, the dates of battles, or scourges which have decimated the human race, are certain enough: the stain of blood leaves an impression which can never be effaced.
In the midst of the conflicting opinions of the writers of antiquity, what appears most probable is, that watermills were invented in Asia Minor, and that they were not really used in Rome till the reign of Honorius and Arcadius.
Under the rule of the Emperor Justinian, when the Goths besieged the Roman city,[III_39] the celebrated Belisarius thought of constructing some on the Tiber. The means which he employed were simple and ingenious. Two boats firmly fixed, at two feet distance from each other, caused the stream to give a rapid motion to the hydraulic wheel, suspended by its axle between these lateral points of support; and this wheel turned the mills.[III_40] This system differed but little from that of Vitruvius, which he described more than five centuries before, and is explained in a few words. A little wheel, fixed to the axle of the hydraulic wheel, turned a third wheel, adhering to the axle of the upper grindstone, and the corn fell between the two stones in passing from the hopper placed above.[III_41]
These grindstones were made of a kind of porous lava, which retained its roughness, or rather, its roughness was renewed, by the continual friction.[III_42]
The introduction of watermills, however, did not prevent the use of those worked by hand, which habit, cheapness, and facility of removal recommended: these antique mills of the Hebrews, the Egyptians, and the Greeks of the heroic times, were only five feet high. Each family was supplied with as many as they might require. In the residence of Ulysses, that great king of little Ithaca, there were as many as twelve. Women turned the mills, and were obliged to deliver a certain quantity of flour before leaving the task imposed on them.[III_43]
Corn was at first ground in a portative hand mill; by the Britons, women and young girls were employed in this kind of labour.[III_44]
It is, however, probable that watermills were known at a very early period in England. Strutt cites a passage from a charter by Ulfere, in 664, which warrants the supposition.[III_45]
It would be difficult to point out the precise date of the first employment of mills; nevertheless, Somner informs us, in his “Antiquities of Canterbury,”[III_46] that the Anglo-Normans of that place ground their corn. “There was,” says he, “sometime a windmill standing neare the nonnery without Ridingate, which the hospitall held by the grant of the nonnes there: the conditions mutually agreed upon, at the time of the grant, were that the nonnes, bearing the fourth part of the charge of the mill, should reap the fourth part of the profit of it, &c. * * * and this about the reign of King John.”
The bran was separated from the flour by means of a sieve; the dough was made, and sent to the bakers to be baked. The poor contented themselves with cakes baked under the ashes.[III_47]
Something remains to be said of windmills. We will say but little on the subject: this aerial mechanism—which the knight-errant, Don Quixote, of imperishable memory, thought it necessary to fight with sword and lance—was unknown before the Christian era in any nation whose writers have transmitted to us the least traces of their civilisation; but nothing proves that windmills were unknown to others. This opinion seems to be well-founded, from a passage of the chronicler Winceslaus, who relates, in his “History of Bohemia,” that the first watermill raised in that country was in the year of Christ 718, and that no other was in use before (antea) but mills built on the summit of mountains, which were put in motion by the wind.[III_48] It appears, then, that there is some untruth in the assertion, that this sort of mill was introduced into Europe, about the year 1040, by the first Crusaders, on their return from the East.[III_49] At all events this question is no doubt very deserving the laborious search of the learned; it has but a secondary interest for the gastrophilist. It matters little to him whether he owes the grinding of his corn to the breath of a zephyr or to the slimy source of a river; all he requires is good flour, because it enters into a great number of culinary preparations—and, first of all, bread is made from it.
Man has not always eaten fine wheaten bread, biscuits, or sponge cakes; and, for many centuries, the inexperience of his palate prevented his imagining or understanding those magiric combinations, that science of good living,[IV_1] which requires time and serious study. Nature makes us hungry; art creates, modifies, and directs the appetite—these are incontestable truths, which this work will serve to unfold, and, if necessary, to prove, should any of our readers unfortunately not be already convinced of the depth of these wise axioms.
Let us go no further back than the year 2000 before the Christian era, and enter together the tent of the father of nations—Abraham. We might lead you to the fire-side of each of the nineteen patriarchs who preceded him, but that would take us too far.
In the interior of this nomad dwelling, Sarah, the venerable companion of the Pastor-King, has just prepared, with flour and water, round pieces of flattened paste, which she places on the hearth, and covers afterwards with hot ashes.[IV_2] It was thus that princes and servants made bread in the East. The Jewish people who inhabited the Desert ate no other kind;[IV_3] and the Prophet Elijah, reposing under the shade of a juniper tree, appeased his hunger with this simple and primitive food.[IV_4] Sometimes, however, at certain periods of solemnity, the Hebrews used a gridiron, placed on the coals, or a frying-pan, into which they put the paste;[IV_5] but these various modes of cooking produced a kind of cake, dry, thin, and brittle,[IV_6] somewhat like the Jewish Passover cake, which was broken by the hand without the aid of a knife;[IV_7] they were called lechem, choice and chief food,[IV_8] and the mother of the family generally renewed them each day.[IV_9] The inhabitants of the East thought so much of bread, that it was considered a special mark of regard and hospitality to the person to whom it was offered.[IV_10] Boaz says to Ruth: “At meal time come thou hither and eat of the bread, and dip thy morsel in the vinegar.”[IV_11]
Although the use of bread without leaven and baked under the ashes was common among the Jews,[IV_12] it is nevertheless evident that they knew and employed, at an early period, some substance to raise the dough, which they designated by the name of seor. It was, perhaps, flour diluted with water left to get sour. Pliny assures us that of all means employed by the ancients to render bread savoury and light, this is the most simple and easy.[IV_13]
It appears not unlikely that the Hebrews learned from the Egyptians how to prepare the leaven they made use of. The period at which an allusion is made to it for the first time, in the Bible, renders this supposition likely. It is when the people of God were about to escape from the slavery of the Egyptians, and are preparing to celebrate the Passover, on the eve of their setting out for the Desert.[IV_14] The Israelites, therefore, knew how to make bread more digestive and of better taste than is generally believed—not so good, perhaps, as our delicate fancy bread, but better than the clumsy lumps of paste baked under the ashes, in the frying-pan, or on the gridiron.[IV_15] They had also ovens at a very distant period of their history—some four thousand years ago.[IV_16] These ovens were made with bricks or clay; afterwards they used iron and brass;[IV_17] but nothing in the Holy Writings shows us that any one exercised among them the trade of a baker, at least at this early period, nor, indeed, very much later.
The chief baker or butler, whose punishment and death Joseph foretold, when he interpreted that officer’s dream, was an Egyptian, and belonged to King Pharaoh.[IV_18]
Hitherto an infallible book has been our guide; let us now dive into the dark and almost boundless regions of fabulous antiquity.
The most frightful god of which the fevered imagination of man could possibly form an idea—a god with the face and legs of a goat, the horrible Pan!—according to some credulous writers, taught mortals the art of making and baking bread. The name even of this food, they say, furnishes an incontestable proof of this assertion.[IV_19] You are mistaken, reply more sensible writers; it is in the Greek word pan, signifying all, that we must seek the etymology of this nutritious substance, which accompanies all other aliments, takes their place if needful, and agrees equally with all mankind.[IV_20]
This, one would think, is conclusive; but the learned, the philologist, and every Procrustes of literature, protests against a halt with so fair a field before him. It is from the word pascere,[IV_21] proudly exclaims another interpreter, that the substantive, bread, is derived.[IV_22] This word has been rather disfigured on its way: think of the length of time it has been travelling down to us.
Ceres taught the Greeks how to cultivate corn; they learned from Megalarte and Megalomaze how to knead flour and bake it in ovens.[IV_23] The gratitude of the Bœotians erected statues and altars to their memories, and shortly after, Greece could boast of having obtained the most skilful bakers in the world. The bread of Athens and Megara had a well deserved reputation: its whiteness dazzled the eye, and its taste was exquisite.[IV_24] This voluptuous and fickle nation very soon began to tire of so intelligent and simple a manipulation, and must needs mix with the paste a host of ingredients which greatly altered its flavour: and seventy-two different sorts of bread[IV_25] took birth from the scientific association of milk, oil, honey, cheese, and wine with the best flour.[IV_26] All these varieties were called by the generic name of artos, bread; to which was added an epithet which prevented the mistaking of one kind for another.
The bread-market at Athens was very amusing; women (for the fair sex busied themselves with this trade) waited, seated, by the side of their baskets until Mercury should send them customers, and woe to those who came late, or whose evil genius led them to find fault with either the quality, quantity, or price of the goods. Have you ever heard the ladies of Billingsgate playing off their pleasant jokes on a timid countryman, or a foreigner, whose accent had betrayed him? It is a running fire of puns and crude picturesque expressions which nothing can resist; our Greek market-women would have been more than a match for them—can we bestow upon them greater praise?[IV_27]
Some of them sold azumos, a delicate sort of biscuit, but rather tasteless, prepared without leaven;[IV_28] others—irresistible syrens—invited children to taste of the relishing artolaganos, in which a renowned baker had the talent of introducing wine, pepper, oil, and milk.[IV_29]
Here the sparkling eyes of a rich epicurean were on the look out for some escarites, a very light paste, seasoned with new sweet wine and honey,[IV_30] and which was relished even by fatigued appetites at the close of a repast.[IV_31] The poorer people made their choice among heaps of dolyres, or typhes: they were coarse compounds of rye and barley;[IV_32] the ladies of fashion (petites maitresses) preferred the puff cakes called placites,[IV_33] or the sweet melitutes, whose exquisite and perfumed flour was delicately kneaded with the precious honey of Mount Hymettus.[IV_34] Lastly, the robust workman of the Pyræus bought the tyrontes, bread mixed with cheese,[IV_35] which the higher classes of society in Athens abhorred, and which even the middling classes excluded from their tables.
Let us add to this imperfect enumeration, that the Greeks baked their bread in several different manners: some in ovens, others under ashes, over charcoal, or between two pieces of iron, similar to our gauffre moulds, and under a bell, or cover of some metal with a rim round the top, and fire over it.[IV_36] For making a batch of bread, they employed nine pounds six ounces of leaven to twelve bushels of flour.[IV_37] With regard to their ovens, in the construction of which they excelled, they always took particular care to place them near a handmill,[IV_38] in order that the various processes that the wheat had to undergo should take place with ease and promptitude.
The Romans were for a long time Pultiphagists, or eaters of gruel, &c.;[IV_39] and it would be difficult to ascertain with accuracy the precise period at which they gave a preference to bread; they no doubt knew of it before the year 365 of Rome, for, at the siege of the Capitol by the Gauls, Jupiter, who protected the besieged, thought of nothing better to get them out of their difficulties than to appear at night to their general, Manlius, and to give him the following advice: “Make,” said he, “bread with all the flour you have left in store, and throw it to the enemy to show them that Rome has no apprehension of being reduced by famine.” This stratagem, worthy of a Merry Andrew, pleased Manlius so much, that he immediately put it into execution. The Gauls fled, Master Jupiter was highly delighted with the trick he had played, and thereby the Romans got rid of this swarm of barbarians.[IV_40]
Whether this little story be true or not, the people of Romulus had a decided taste for gruel; it was a national dish, and was only discontinued to be given to the soldiers, defenders of the republic, when it was perceived that their laborious duties required more substantial food.[IV_41] The Romans made their gruel of all kinds of flour.
King Numa (1715 B.C.), guided by the advice of the nymph, Egeria, taught his subjects the art of parching corn, of converting it into flour by means of mortars, and of making that gruel with which he liked to regale himself.
This good prince was rather fond of interfering in what did not concern him, and the royal compound was afterwards cooked in the public bakehouses, which the piety of the sovereign placed under the protection of the powerful Fornax, a goddess unknown till then, and who soon became the object of general and fervent worship.[IV_42]
There is but one step from gruel to bread: the Romans perceived it. Thus this favourite dish lost its reputation, and the worship of Fornax somewhat cooled. But, on the other hand, there was still the smell of cakes on all sides; cooking on the hearth, on the coals, in small bell-stoves, and in large baking pans, until ultimately they became acquainted with the use of ovens.[IV_43]
At last, Rome began to have them built, under the reign of Tarquinius Superbus, about 630 years before the Christian era. They were solid constructions, immoveable, and very like those of the present day.[IV_44] Men were employed to keep up the necessary degree of heat; and their useful profession (thanks to the strange caprices which so tyrannically rule the social hierarchy) became one of the vilest and most sordid occupations in the capital of the world.[IV_45] These ovens were ordered to be built far away from all edifices, in order to prevent accidents by fire;[IV_46] an excellent precaution, where so many incautious and merry old gossips came daily to bake their bread.
Once there, those worthy plebeians amused themselves by giving full scope to their noisy fun, slandering their neighbours freely and charitably, telling each other all the little scandal they had picked up here and there, among the good souls in their neighbourhood. Hence these public places of labour and incessant babbling were called the “gossip bakehouses.”[IV_47]
These joyous meetings continued until the arrival of Greek bakers, 170 years B.C., who followed the victorious armies of the republic on their return from Macedonia.[IV_48] These new operatives effected a complete revolution in the art of making bread: they reformed the taste of their masters, and, by degrees, the proverbial frugality of the conquerors of the universe gave way to the exquisite researches and wonderful delicacies of those whom they had subdued.
The Romans perceived the importance of perpetuating the talent of these strangers, and converting it eventually into a national industry. With these views, they gave them Roman colleagues, and subsequently they were formed into a college, or sort of association, which no member could quit on any pretext whatever. The son followed his father’s profession, and he who married the daughter of a baker became one himself.[IV_49] Sometimes one of these privileged artisans was raised to the dignity of senator, as an honour to his colleagues; but in that case he was required to abandon his fortune to the person who took his place; he might, however, decline the dignity, and remain at his kneading-trough.[IV_50] All alliances with gladiators and comedians were interdicted them; and the law decreed that the delinquent guilty of such dishonour should be first scourged, then banished, and that his property should be confiscated for the benefit of the community.[IV_51] Finally, the prodigal baker was assimilated with the dishonest bankrupt, and expelled the college.[IV_52]
The above details on some of the dispositions of the law regarding this interesting corporation, sufficiently prove the importance that the Roman government attached to it, and wished it should always maintain.
The bakers of Rome received from the public granaries whatever they required, at a price fixed by the magistrate. If the officer charged with the distribution of it gave a bad quality, or exacted a bribe to supply good corn, that officer was disgraced, and he became forever a journeyman baker.[IV_53]
Independently of public bakeries, the number of which reached 329 under the reign of Augustus, there were also, in the houses of the wealthy, slaves whose sole occupation was the making of bread, and these slaves brought an exorbitant price when they excelled in their art.[IV_54] They used portable ovens, made of iron or earthenware, under which they placed red-hot coals. Sometimes they employed a round brass vessel with a cover, which was put under the flames. In the houses where the greatest luxury reigned, they had a kind of silver mould, from which the bread was taken, and served to the guests.[IV_55]
It is absolutely necessary to dive into the private life of the Roman people, and not to neglect any of their domestic customs (accounts of which are scattered here and there, in the writings of the more serious historians, and among the dangerous frivolities of certain poets), if we wish to have a correct idea of the excessive refinement which the opulent classes evinced, even in the most ordinary things.
Modern nations are satisfied with the bread more or less white, and even bear, without much complaint, certain illicit mixtures, in which various heterogeneous substances are sometimes strangely amalgamated; but this was not the case in Rome. The prefect of provisions (præfectus annonæ) was scrupulously careful to see that the supply of bread was abundant; that it was of exact weight; that the manipulation of it was excellent; and that it was made of the best flour the public granaries contained.
As we have already observed, that was one of the most serious cares of the government on behalf of a people who only required two things—bread and the circus,[IV_56] and whose ferocity, when pressed by hunger, knew no bounds.[IV_57]
They studied carefully every modification that the art of baking might seem to require: they examined the leaven in use, and experimented with new kinds. The following are the compositions Pliny has transmitted to us:—
The Romans thought much of millet for their leaven; they mixed it with sweet wine, in which they let it ferment a year.
They employed, also, wheat bran, soaked for three days in sweet white wine, and dried in the sun. Of this they diluted a certain quantity at the time of making bread, which was left to ferment in the best wheat flour, and afterwards mixed with the entire mass.
The leavens just mentioned were made during the vintage; the rest of the year they were replaced by the following:—A dish containing two pounds of barley paste was placed on red-hot coals, and heated until ebulition commenced. It was put into vessels till it became sour.
Very often leaven was procured from dough just made. A piece was taken from the mass previous to salt being added; it was then left to turn sour, and might be used the next day.
The celebrated naturalist who supplies these details, tells us that, in his time, the Gauls and Spaniards, after having made a drink from wheat, saved the scum to raise the dough, and that their bread was the lightest of all.[IV_58]
It would be difficult to form an idea of the prodigious luxury which Rome introduced into an aliment so common, and of such universal use as bread. Its name, its form, and flavour indicated the various ranks of society to which it belonged.[IV_59] There was the senator’s bread, that of the knights, of the citizens, of the people, and that of the peasants.[IV_60]
Let us go together under the vast galleries supported by those magnificent arcades.[IV_61] The ediles have preceded us; they are visiting the shops;[IV_62] it is the Forum Pistrinum, or bread-market. The year is good: a septier (five bushels) of wheat is only twenty-five shillings,[IV_63] and provisions of all kinds abound in Rome. Foreigners, also, are here, attracted by curiosity; for Vespasian is preparing to deposit with solemnity the spoils of Jerusalem in the temple of Peace.[IV_64]
In the middle of the inclosure you see the statue of Vesta, the goddess worshipped by bakers.[IV_65] In the front, and round the gallery, those open stalls are loaded with a number of round loaves of the same form and weight: they are all five inches in thickness; the top is divided by eight notches—that is to say, they are first divided across, and the four parts are again subdivided.[IV_66] These lines are made in the dough, so that they may be more easily broken.
The Roman gentry and shopkeepers give the preference to this sort of household bread, simply composed of flour, water, and salt.[IV_67]
You perceive, here and there, several baskets, full of heavy biscuits; they are called autopyron; it is a coarse, black food, composed of bran mixed with a little flour, and made expressly for the dogs and slaves.[IV_68]
Do you see that colossal-looking man, with enormous limbs, who is walking about with an air of stupidity, and whose small head is covered with scars? The dealers know his profession, and one of them offers him the athletæ’s bread; it is kneaded, without leaven, with soft, white curd cheese, and is a coarse, heavy food, which that class of people seem to partake of with great delight.[IV_69] That stout baker before us occupies two of the most spacious shops in the market, on the left of the statue; he is one of the richest members of the corporation, and is the principal purveyor for the camp and army. Those large sacks, placed before him with so much symmetry, contain the buccellatum biscuit, or dried bread for the troops.[IV_70]
His neighbour (called the Greek), was born at Athens; he is the fashionable purveyor to the princes, senators, and sybarites of Rome. No one understands so well as himself the art of mixing salt, oil, and milk with the best wheaten flour; an exquisite combination, which produces the celebrated bread of Cappadocia, served only on the tables of the wealthy.[IV_71] With the artoplites, a light bread, made with the best wheaten flour, and baked in a mould, it is the only kind of which refined persons can partake.[IV_72] If we were not afraid of tiring you, we could point out many other sorts of bread which abound in the Forum Pistrinum, for there is some for all tastes and classes, from the artopticii, baked in moulds,[IV_73] a most nutritious and digestive bread, down to the furfuraceus, a mass of indigestible bran that the wildest savages among the Scythians could not have swallowed with impunity.
We should have spoken to you of the astrologicus bread, the paste of which is similar to that we use in our days to make fritters, commonly called batter.
Also of the cacabaceus, which is indebted for its agreeable and spicy flavour to the water, which is previously boiled in a kind of bronzed stewpan; and the siligineus bread, made of the best flour. Its manipulation is difficult and tedious; no matter—the epicurean prefers it, when, by chance, he happens to be hungry.[IV_74]
Neither ought we to forget the panis madidus, a species of paste made of milk and flour, with which the fashionable ladies and effeminate dandies covered their faces before going to bed, to preserve the freshness and beauty of their complexion.[IV_75]
But this enumeration may appear to you idle and endless; let us, therefore, leave the market and assist at the distribution of bread civilis among the people, of which thirteen ounces is given to each person;[IV_76] we will then give a rapid glance at the various other cereals besides wheat, which, in some shape or other, are converted into food.