Читать книгу The History of a Mouthful of Bread - Jean Macé - Страница 10

Now, about this doorkeeper, or porter, as we will call him, of the mouth. I do not suppose you have guessed who he is; so I am going to tell you.

The porter who keeps the door of the mouth is the sense of taste.

It is he who does the honors of the house so agreeably to proper visitors, and gives such an unscrupulous dismissal to unpleasant intruders. In other words, it is by his directions that we welcome so affectionately with tongue and lips whatever is good to eat, and spit out unhesitatingly whatever is unpleasant.

I could speak very ill of this porter if I chose; which would not be very pleasant for certain little gourmands that I see here, who think a good deal too much of him. But I would rather begin by praising him. I can make my exceptions afterwards.

In the history I am going to give you, my dear child, there is one thing you must never lose sight of, even when I do not allude to it; and that is, that everything we shall examine into, has been expressly arranged by God for the good and accommodation of our being in this world; just as a cradle is arranged by a mother for the comfort of her baby. We must look upon all these things, therefore, as so many presentsfrom the Almighty himself; and abstain from speaking ill of them, were it only out of respect for the hand which has bestowed them.

Moreover, there is a very easy plan by which we may satisfy ourselves of the usefulness and propriety of these gifts—namely, by considering what would become of us if we were deprived of any one of them.

Suppose, for instance, that you were totally deficient in the sense of taste, and that when you put a piece of cake into your mouth, it should create no more sensation in you than when you held it in your hand?

You would not have thought of imagining such a case yourself, I am aware; for it never comes into a child's head to think that things can be otherwise than as God has made them. And in that respect children are sometimes wiser than philosophers. Nevertheless, we will suppose this for once, and consider what would happen in consequence.

Well, in the first place, you would eat old mouldy cake with just the same relish as if it were fresh; and this mouldy cake, which now you carefully avoid because it is mouldy, is very unwholesome food, and would poison you were you to eat a great deal of it.

I give this merely as an instance, but it is one of a thousand. And although, with regard to eatables, you only know such as have been prepared either in shops or in your mamma's kitchen, still you must be aware there are many we ought to avoid, because they would do no good in our stomachs, and that we should often be puzzled to distinguish these from others, if the sense of taste did not warn us about them. You must admit, therefore, that such warnings are not without their value.

In short, it is a marvellous fact that what is unfit for food, is almost always to be recognized as it enters the mouth, by its disagreeable taste; a further proof that God has thought of everything. Medicines, it is true, are unpleasant to the taste, and yet have to be swallowed in certain cases. But we may compare them to chimney-sweepers, who are neither pretty to look at, nor invited into the drawing-room; but who, nevertheless, are from time to time let into the grandest houses by the porters—though possibly with a grimace—because their services are wanted. And in the same way medicines have to be admitted sometimes—despite their unpleasantness—because they, too, have to work in the chimney. Taste does not deceive you about them, however; they are not intended to serve as food. If any one should try to breakfast, dine, and sup upon physic he would soon find this out.

Besides, I only said almost always, in speaking of unwholesome food making itself known to us by its nasty taste; for it is an unfortunate truth that men have invented a thousand plans for baffling their natural guardian, and for bringing thieves secretly into the company of honest people. They sometimes put poison, for instance, into sugar—as is too often done in the case of those horrible green and blue sugar plums, against which I have an old grudge, for they poisoned a friend whom I loved dearly in my youth. Such things as these pass imprudently by the porter, who sees nothing of their real character—Mr. Sugar concealing the rogues behind him.

Moreover, we are sometimes so foolish as not to leave the porter time to make his examination. We swallow one thing after another greedily, without tasting; and such a crowd of arrivals, coming in with a rush, "forces the sentry," as they say; and whose fault is it, if, after this, we find thieves established in the house?

But animals have more sense than we have.

Look at your kitten when you give her some tit-bit she is not acquainted with—how cautiously and gently she puts out her nose, so as to give herself time for consideration. Then how delicately she touches the unknown object with the tip of her tongue, once, twice, and perhaps three times. And when the tip of the tongue has thus gone forward several times to make observations (for this is the great post of observation for the cat's porter as well as for ours), she ventures to decide upon swallowing, but not before. If she has the least suspicion, no amount of coaxing makes any difference to her; you may call "puss, puss," for ever; all your tender invitations are useless, and she turns away.

Very good; here then is one little animal, at least, who understands for what end she has received the sense of taste, and who makes a reasonable use of it. Very different from some children of my acquaintance, who heedlessly stuff into their mouths whatever comes into their hands, without even taking the trouble to taste it, and who would escape a good many stomach-aches, if nothing else, if they were as sensible as Pussy.

This is the really useful side of the sense of taste; but its agreeable side, which is sufficiently well known to you, is not to be despised either, even on the grounds of utility.

You must know, between ourselves, that eating would be a very tiresome business if we did not taste what we are eating; and I can well imagine what trouble mammas would have in persuading their children to come to dinner or tea, if it were only a question of working their little jaws, and nothing further. What struggles—what tears! And setting aside children, who are by no means always the most disobedient to the will of a good GOD, how few men would care to stop in the midst of their occupations, to go and grind their teeth one against another for half-an-hour, if there were not some pleasure attached to an exercise not naturally amusing in itself? Ay, ay, my dear child, were it not for the reward in pleasure which is given to men when they eat, the human race, who as a whole do not live too well already, would live still worse. And it is necessary that we should be fed, and well fed too, if we would perform properly here below the mission which we have received from above.

Yes, "reward" was the word I used. Now it seems absurd to you, perhaps, that it should be necessary to reward a man for eating a good dinner? Well, well, GOD has been more kind to him, then, than you would be. To every duty imposed by Him upon man, He has joined a pleasure as a reward for fulfilling it. How many things should I not have to say to you on this subject, if you were older? For the present, I will content myself with making a comparison.

When a mother thinks her child is not reasonable enough to do, of her own accord, something which it is nevertheless important she should do, as learning to read, for instance, or to work with her needle, &c., she comes to the rescue with rewards, and gives her a plaything when she has done well. And thus GOD, who had not confidence enough in man's reason to trust to it alone for supplying the wants of human nature, has placed a plaything in the shape of pleasure after every necessity; and in supplying the want, man finds the reward.

You will hardly believe that what I have here explained to you so quietly by a childish comparison, has been, and alas! still is, the subject of terrible disputes among grown-up people. If hereafter they reach your ears, remember what I have told you now, viz., that the pleasure lodged in the tongue and its surroundings, is a plaything, but a plaything given to us by GOD; and that we must use it accordingly.

If a little girl has had a plaything given to her by her mother, would she think to please her by breaking it or throwing it into a corner? No, certainly not: she would know that in so doing she would be going directly against her mother's intentions and wishes. Nevertheless she would amuse herself with it in play hours, with an easy conscience, and, if she is amiable, she will remember while she does so, that it comes to her from her mother, and will thank her at the bottom of her heart.

It is the same with man, of whose playthings we are speaking.

But, moreover, this little girl (it is taken for granted that she is a good little girl) will not make the plaything the business of her whole day, the object of all her thoughts; she will not forget everything for it, she will leave it unhesitatingly when her mamma calls her. Neither will she wish to be alone in her enjoyments, but will gladly see her little friends also enjoy similar playthings, because she thinks that what is good for her must be good for others too.

It is thus that man should do with his playthings; but, alas! this is what he does not by any means always do with them, and hence a great deal has been said against them. Little girls, in particular, are apt to fail on this point, and that is how the dreadful word gluttony came to be invented. For the same reason, also, people get punished from time to time; such punishments being the consequence of the misuse I speak of.

If people who call to see your mamma were, instead of going straight up stairs to her, to establish themselves at the lodge with the porter, and stay there chatting with him, do you think she would be much flattered by their visits? And yet this is exactly what people do who, when eating, attend only to the porter. He is so pleasant, this porter; he says such pretty things to you, that you go on talking to him just as if he were the master of the house, who, meanwhile, has quite gone out of your head.

You heap sugar-plums upon sugar-plums, cakes upon cakes, sweetmeats upon sweetmeats—everything that pleases the porter, but is of no use whatever to the master of the house. And then what happens? The master gets angry sometimes, and no wonder. Mr. Stomach grows weary of these visits, which are of no use to him. He rings all the bells, makes no end of a noise in the house, and forces that traitor of a porter who has engrossed all his company, to do penance. You are ill—your mouth is out of order—you have no appetite for anything. The mamma has taken away the plaything which has been misused, and when she gives it back, there must be great care taken not to do the same thing over again.

I have thought it only right, my dear child, in telling you the history of eating, to give to this little detail of its beginning, a place proportioned to your interest in it. You see by what I have said, that you are not altogether wrong in following your taste; but neither must it be forgotten that this part of the business is not in reality the most important; that a plaything is but a plaything, and that the porter is not the master of the house.

Now that we have made our good friend's acquaintance, we will wish him farewell, and I will presently introduce you to his companions of the antechamber, who are ranged on the two sides of the door, to make the toilettes for the visitors who present themselves, and to put them in order for being received in the drawing-room. You will see there some jolly little fellows, who are also very useful in their way, and whose history is no less curious. They are called TEETH.