Читать книгу The Observations of Professor Maturin - Clyde Bowman Furst - Страница 5

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MY friend Professor Bedelar Maturin exercises the right of a bachelor and a man of fifty to a considerable number of eccentricities. All of these are harmless, since he is by nature a gentleman; and, his habit being that of a scholar, some of them are of more than ordinary interest. I very well remember my first learning of that one I am about to describe. My family having left town for the summer, I found him dining at the Athenaeum, as I knew him frequently to do for the sake of detachment from the bachelor ménage he maintains—as much for his books as for himself—in a house near the river, not far from the university.

He beckoned me to take my already ordered dinner at the particular corner table for which his preference is always respected by his fellow Athenians, and, after a smile of greeting, he passed over to me the book he had been reading—“The Physiology of Taste,” by Brillat-Savarin—with the quiet comment, “The standard and gauge of modern civilization.”

I had never before seen the work of that high-priest of gastronomy, but before examining it I looked my surprise at the apparent enthusiasm of the scholar whose abstemious habits were well known to his friends, and whose slender figure, thoughtful eyes, and clear-cut features made it impossible to associate him with the pleasures of the table. For reply he merely indicated several of the “Fundamental Truths of the Science,” on the open page before me:

“But for life the universe were nothing; and all that has life requires nourishment.”

“The fate of nations depends upon how they are fed.”

“The man of sense and culture alone understands eating.”

I was familiar with Dean Swift’s tracing the origin of certain essays to the consumption of particular varieties of cheese, and I had read Maturin’s own whimsical paragraphs explaining the peculiarities of certain national literatures by the characteristics of their national beverages, and paralleling the growth of humanitarianism with the increasing use of tobacco, of which he is sparing; but he seemed now to be serious, so that I merely asked what he made of such a statement as the following, which I read from his author: “The discovery of a new dish does more for the happiness of the human race than the discovery of a planet.”

Explaining that he would have the author convince me, rather than himself, he indicated yet another paragraph: “What praise can be refused the science which sustains us from the cradle to the grave, which entrances the delights of love and the pleasures of friendship, which disarms hatred, makes business easier, and affords us, during the short voyage of our lives, the only enjoyments that both relieve us from fatigue and themselves entail none!”

“Take it, and read it,” he said, as I looked up. “I know it by heart.” I gladly accepted the volume, for there was here evidently more than appeared; but I also expressed the wish that he would, himself, first tell me more about it; and this, retaking the book, his own dinner being now finished and mine but about to begin, he proceeded to do.

“I should not need to remind you,” he began, “that I am no friend to indulgence, much less to so gross a form as over-feeding, nor to speak of my known antagonism to every form of ignorance—except to explain that it is for these reasons that I have become an earnest advocate of gastronomy, which endeavors to transform eating from the ignorant indulgence it usually is to a reasonable science of nutrition and a refined art of enjoyment. Whatever popular disesteem the science and the art still suffer is due either to ignorance of its serious endeavor, or to a Puritanic attitude that is both inconsistent and irreverent. The fabric of nature is so constituted that all of our essential processes are accompanied by pleasure; a thoroughly consistent ascetic would necessarily cease to exist.

“Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, although of course not the founder of gastronomy, is its most admirable modern champion. He lived from the first half of the eighteenth century through the first quarter of the nineteenth, first as mayor of his native town of Belley in France; then, during the Revolution, an exile in Switzerland and in America; and, finally, during the last third of his life, a judge in Paris of the highest national court. The fame of his professional wisdom and justice was great, but that of his personal benevolence and geniality was far greater. The choicest flavor and charm of many years of social life he preserved in the book he apparently intended to leave, at his death, as a legacy of good cheer to his friends. The record of his love of good living was to serve him, a bachelor, as a posterity.

“His fears that so genial a production might seem inconsistent with his judicial dignity were overcome by arguments which are given in a prefatory dialogue, and the volume was published anonymously in 1825, a year before his death. Even in so short a time the book was crowned with extraordinary popularity. Although one would hesitate, perhaps, to call it ‘adorable,’ as Balzac did, it is certainly one of those rarely spontaneous and charming outpourings of personality that belong apart with White’s ‘Selborne’ and Walton’s ‘Angler.’

“In addition to the Prefatory Dialogue and the Fundamental Truths, already mentioned, the little volume includes a Preface, thirty ‘Meditations,’ or chapters, and, in conclusion, a dozen narrative and descriptive ‘Varieties’ bearing upon the subject. The whole amounts to less than three hundred small pages.

“The earlier chapters on the senses of taste, appetite, and thirst are largely physiological or psychological, but even here the author carries out with charm his intention of touching but lightly subjects likely to be dull. Throughout he practices the preaching of the mad poet Blake,—‘To particularize is the great distinction of merit,’—and everywhere he introduces original anecdotes, witticisms, and similar side-dishes. Although Savarin separates the functions of taste into direct, complete, and reflective, he finds himself unable to classify its results further than to suggest some such gradation as,—positive, beef; comparative, veal; superlative, pheasant. For its greatest satisfaction one should eat slowly and in minute portions—all that is valuable of ‘Fletcherism’ in a sentence. Anything else would be unworthy of our perfected organism, ‘the structure of the tongue of all animals being analogous to the reach of their intelligence.’ Under ‘Thirst’ there is a similar, but even more daringly imaginative observation: ‘The desire for fermented liquors and curiosity about a future state are the two distinctive attributes of man as the masterpiece of nature.’

“Perhaps the most valuable, certainly the most pleasing, of the chapters are those on ‘Gastronomy,’ ‘The Love of Good Living,’ ‘People Fond of Good Living,’ ‘Gastronomic Tests,’ and ‘The Pleasures of the Table.’

“Gastronomy is defined as ‘the scientific knowledge of all that relates to man as an eater;’ being founded upon natural history, physics, chemistry, economics, and cookery, as well as on the sciences already touched upon; and affecting physically, mentally, and morally, every individual, of every class of society, every moment of his life. Some knowledge of it is therefore indispensable to all, and the more as one ascends the social scale; it being well known that the most momentous decisions of personal and of national life are made at table.

“‘The Love of Good Living’ is shown to be not merely a physical, but an intellectual and a moral quality as well, ‘almost deserving to rank as a virtue;’ opposing excess, developing discrimination, promoting physical health, and aiding moral resignation to the laws of nature. In addition, it is an easily and constantly available source of natural and innocent pleasure in a world of pain.

“People fond of good living, especially physicians, men of letters, churchmen, and people of sense and culture in general,—others being incapable of the necessary appreciation and judgment,—always live longer than ordinary men. Napoleon’s worst defeats were due to his injudicious diet. The wise in regard to food may usually be known by their mere appearance, but for cases of doubt Brillat-Savarin suggests a series of ‘Gastronomic Tests,’ or dishes, of such indisputable excellence that those who do not instantly respond may immediately be declared unworthy. Thus: For a small income, filet of veal larded with bacon, or sauerkraut bristling with sausages; for a moderate income, filet of beef with gravy, or boiled turbot; for a generous income, truffled turkey, or stuffed pike with cream of prawns. It is important in these tests that generous portions be provided, for quantity as well as quality has its effect.

“The conclusion of the meditation ‘On the Pleasures of the Table’ must be quoted entire, so worthy is it of a place in ‘The Golden Book of Hospitality:’ ‘Let the number of guests be small, that the conversation may be constantly general; of various occupations, but analogous tastes; the men of wit without pretension, the women pleasant, but not coquettish. Let the dishes be few but choice, and the wines of the first quality; the order from the more substantial to the lighter, the simpler to the finer flavors. Let the meal proceed without hurry or bustle; the coffee be hot, the liqueurs chosen with care. Let the room to which the guests retire be large enough for cards, for those who cannot do without them, while leaving ample scope for conversation; the guests animated with the hope of still further pleasure. Then let the tea be not too strong, the toast artistically buttered, the punch skilfully made. Finally, let nobody leave before eleven, and everybody be in bed by twelve.’

“After reaching such an elevation, Brillat-Savarin wisely follows the dramatic principle of relief, by introducing anecdotes of the halts of a hunting party, and chapters on digestion, rest, sleep, and dreams. His observations and illustrations are always interesting and picturesque, frequently very suggestive, and sometimes strikingly modern—as when he says, ‘Digestion, of all the bodily functions, has most influence on the morale of the individual;’ when he recommends for sleeping an airy room, no bed curtains, and light but warm coverings; or when he discusses foods that produce sleep, and those that induce pleasant dreams.

“The theme of the meditation ‘On Corpulence’—‘The great majority of us eat and drink too much’—is of such general and permanent applicability that it is rediscovered every decade and announced with trumpets. The chapter ‘On the Prevention or Cure of Corpulence’ outlines the diet by means of which for thirty years the author kept that tendency in himself ‘to the limit of the imposing’—a statement that his portrait well bears out. After a counter meditation on leanness, some felicitations over the decline of fasting, and an excursus on ‘Exhaustion and Death’—‘Death itself being not unaccompanied by pleasure when it is natural’—the author is again ready for a higher flight.

“This occurs in the longest chapters of the book, in the form of ‘A Philosophical History of Cookery, Ancient, Mediaeval, and Modern,’ with an appendix, ‘On Parisian Dining-Houses.’ Here, indeed, is richness: the advantages and disadvantages of eating raw meat; the primitive feasting in the ‘Iliad;’ the advent of boiling in the Old Testament; how Cadmus brought the alphabet and good cooking to Greece; the elaborate and sometimes strange taste of the Romans,—as for dormice and assafoetida,—and a survey of the ancient literature of the subject, from the fragmentary poem on gastronomy by Archestratus, to the convivial poetry of Horace and Tibullus. The whole story is told, although briefly, excepting only the peculiar taste of the Greeks for mingling sea-water and turpentine with their wines.

“The mediaeval and modern development of the art is sketched, although of necessity more rapidly, from the rescue of cookery from barbarism by Charlemagne; through the introduction of spices from the East, garlic from Palestine, parsley from Italy, coffee from Turkey, and the potato from America; to the ages of pastry and of sugar, and the final culmination of the art in political gastronomy. Every line of this section contains such good things as ‘coffee should be crushed, not ground;’ and, ‘It was Talleyrand who first brought from Italy the custom of taking Parmesan cheese with soup.’ But to select would be to quote the whole.

“Restaurants—unhappily Savarin could not know the modern derivation from res and taurus—appear to have been invented in Paris in 1770. There is a fascinating picture of the best of the author’s time, with three hundred dishes and a hundred wines; a height of eloquence over the cosmopolitan sources of a good dinner; and yet higher soaring over the Parisian missionaries of the doctrine throughout the civilized world.

“Nor does inspiration wane in the chapter on ‘Gastronomic Principles Put into Practice’—‘the treasures of nature were not created to be trodden under foot ... a good dinner is but little dearer than a bad one ... a man may show himself a distinguished connoisseur without going beyond the limits of his actual needs.’

“The last chapter, ‘Gastronomic Mythology,’ is pure creation—of Gasterea, the tenth muse, her nature, habit, aspect, and worship; and then—for like Donne, ‘when he is done, he is not done, for there is more’—comes a ‘Transition:’ ‘In writing I had a double object ... to lay down the fundamental theory of gastronomy, so that she would take her place among the sciences in that rank to which she has an incontestable right. The second, to define with precision what must be understood by the love of good living, so that for all time that social quality may be kept apart from gluttony and intemperance, with which many have absurdly confounded it.’

“Finally follow the generous dozen of short ‘varieties’—anecdotes like ‘The Curé’s Omelette;’ personal experiences of ‘The Gastronome Abroad,’ some in America; original recipes and original verse; and an ‘Historical Elegy,’ in pity for the gastronomic ignorance of the past, and in prophetic vision of the full gastronomic glories of the year nineteen hundred.

“But, alas,” said Professor Maturin, slowly closing the book, “I cannot wish that he were here. The world is not yet ready for his message; he should have added another hundred years. It was fifty years before his work was well enough known outside of France to be translated; and even to-day, in spite of all its delightful qualities, not one in a hundred, even among reading men, know it. And yet, there has never been anything quite like it. Such a rare combination of race, time, and personality; of experience, cultivation, and taste, seldom occurs more than once. But no other is necessary; nothing can be better than the best, and Savarin has handled his theme with unapproachable wisdom and charm, once for all.

“The science has, of course, progressed immensely since his day. You may fill your shelves with portentous tomes on food and dietetics, and with experimental pamphlets from the Department of Agriculture. Educators have introduced instruction concerning food into the curriculum of the modern school. And I understand that there are magazines of practical cookery for such ladies as look to the affairs of their households. But as for Brillat-Savarin’s hope that the science and the art of gastronomy, as he elaborated it, would soon become a part of the faith and practice, the delight as well as the duty, of all cultivated people,—that is yet far from fulfilment.

“But, my good friend,” and here Professor Maturin rose, shaking his long forefinger, “the truth will undoubtedly prevail, ‘though long deferred, though long deferred,’ as Lanier says. Take the book, and keep it—I make a practice of distributing copies—read it; you cannot help doing so at a single sitting; talk about it; become, like me, a propagandist, and the blessing of Gasterea will go with you. Good-night.” And he was gone.

My friend Professor Maturin spoke the very truth. I finished the book before I left my seat, and then and there became a fellow equestrian to Banbury Cross. Deliberately and with prepensive aforethought, I invite the reader to do the same, and thereby to gain not only personal pleasure and profit, but, in addition, the greater satisfaction of contributing a lasting good to others.