Luxury - Gluttony: Two of the Seven Cardinal Sins

Then addressing his majordomo for the first time, Dom Diégo exclaimed, in a tender voice, while tears glittered in his eyes:

"Ah, Pablo!"

"What is the matter, my lord? This emotion — "

"Pablo, I do not know who it is has said that great joys have something melancholy in them; whoever did say it has not made a mistake, because, from the infirmity of our nature, we often sink under the weight of the greatest felicities. Now, for the first time in two months, I can really say I eat, and I eat as I have never eaten in my life. No, no, human language, you must see, my dear Pablo, cannot express the luxury, the exquisite delicacy of this dish, so simple in appearance, Guinea fowl eggs fried in the fat of quail, watered with gravy of crabs. No, for you see, in proportion as I relish them I felt my appetite renew itself, and at present I am much more hungry than before I ate. And this wine, Pablo, this wine, how it melts in the mouth, hey?"

"Alas! my lord," said the majordomo, with a woeful face, "I do not know even the taste of this wine, but I am glad to believe you."

"Oh, yes, believe me, my poor Pablo; it is dry and velvety at the same time, — what shall I say? a nectar! and if you only knew, Pablo, how admirably the flavour of this nectar mingles with the perfume of the crab gravy! It is ideal, Pablo, ideal, I tell you, and I ought to be radiant, crazy with joy in the recovery of my lost appetite, — well, no, I feel myself overcome with an inexpressible tenderness; in fact, I weep like a child! Pablo, do you see it? I am weeping, I am hungry!"

A bell sounded.

"What is that, Pablo?"

"It is he, my lord."

"Who?"

"The great man! he is ringing for us."

"He?"

"Yes, my lord," replied Pablo, removing the dish. "He declares that those who eat should be at the call of those who prepare their food, for only the latter know the hour, the minute, the instant each dish ought to be served and tasted so as not to lose one atom of its worth."

"What he has said is very deep! He is right. Run, then, Pablo. My God! he is ringing again! I hope he has not taken offence. Go quick, quick!"

The majordomo ran, and, let us confess the impropriety, the poor creature, instigated by a consuming curiosity, dared to lick the dish he carried with desperate greediness, although the canon had left it absolutely clean. The ever increasing impatience with which the canon looked for the different dishes, always unknown to him beforehand, can be imagined.

Each service was accompanied with an "order," as Pablo called it, and a new flagon of wine, drawn, no doubt, from the cellar of this wonderful cook.

A collection of these culinary bulletins will give an idea of the varied delights enjoyed by Dom Diégo.

After the note which announced the Guinea fowl eggs, the following menu was served, in the order in which we present it:

"Trout from the lake of Geneva with Montpellier butter, preserved in ice.

"Envelope each mouthful of this exquisite fish, hermetically, in a layer of this highly spiced seasoning.

"Masticate allegro.

"Drink two glasses of this Bordeaux wine, Sauterne of 1834, which has made the voyage from the Indies three times.

"This wine should be meditated."

"A painter or a poet would have made an enchanting picture of this trout with Montpellier butter preserved in ice," said the canon to Pablo. "See there, this charming little trout, with flesh the colour of a rose, and a head like mother-of-pearl, voluptuously lying on this bed of shining green, composed of fresh butter and virgin oil congealed by ice, to which tarragon, chive, parsley, and water-cresses have given this bright emerald colour! And what perfume! How the freshness of this seasoning contrasts with the pungency of the spices which relieve it! How delicious! And this wine of Sauterne! As the great man of the kitchen says, how admirably this ambrosia is suited to the character of this divine trout which gives me a growing appetite!"

After the trout came another dish, accompanied with this bulletin:

"Fillets of grouse with white Piedmont truffles, minced raw.

"Enclose each mouthful of grouse between two slices of truffle, and moisten the whole well with sauce à la Perigueux, with which black truffles are mingled.

"Masticate forte, as the white truffles are raw.

"Drink two glasses of this wine of Château-Margaux 1834, — it also has made a voyage from the Indies.

"This wine reveals itself in all its majesty only in the after-taste."

These fillets of grouse, far from appeasing the growing appetite of the canon, excited it to violent hunger, and, in spite of the profound respect which the orders of the great man had inspired in him, he sent Pablo, before another ringing of the bell, in search of a new culinary wonder.

Finally the bell sounded.

The majordomo returned with this note, which accompanied another dish:

"Salt marsh rails roasted on toast à la Sardanapalus.

"Eat only the legs and rump of the rails; do not cut the leg, take it by the foot, sprinkle it lightly with salt, then cut it off just above the foot, and chew the flesh and the bone.

"Masticate largo and fortissimo; eat at the same time a mouthful of the hot toast, coated over with an unctuous condiment made of the combination of snipe liver and brains and fat livers of Strasburg, roebuck marrow, pounded anchovy, and pungent spices.

"Drink two glasses of Clos Vougeot of 1817.

"Pour out this wine with emotion, drink it with religion."

After this roast, worthy of Lucullus or Trimaleyon, and enjoyed by the canon with all the intensity of unsatisfied hunger, the majordomo reappeared with two side-dishes that the menu announced thus:

"Mushrooms with delicate herbs and the essence of ham; let this divine mushroom soften and dissolve in the mouth.

"Masticate pianissimo.

"Drink a glass of the wine Côte-Rôtie 1829, and a glass of Johannisberg of 1729, drawn from the municipal vats of the burgomasters of Heidelberg.

"No recommendation to make for the advantage of the wine, Côte-Rôtie; it is a proud, imperious wine, it asserts itself. As for the old Johannisberg, one hundred and forty years old, approach it with the veneration which a centenarian inspires; drink it with compunction.

"Two sweet side-dishes.

"Morsels à la duchesse with pineapple jelly.

"Masticate amoroso.

"Drink two or three glasses of champagne dipped in ice, dry Sillery the year of the comet.

"Dessert.

"Cheese from Brie made on the farm of Estonville, near Meaux. This house had for forty years the honour of serving the palate of Prince Talleyrand, who pronounced the cheese of Brie the king of cheeses, — the only royalty to which this great diplomatist remained faithful unto death.

"Drink a glass or two of Port wine drawn from a hogshead recovered from the great earthquake of Lisbon.

"Bless Providence for this miraculous salvage, and empty your glass piously.

"N. B. Never fruits in the morning; they chill, burden, and involve the stomach at the expense of the repose of the evening; simply rinse the mouth with a glass of cream from the Barbadoes of Madame Amphoux, 1780, and take a light siesta, dreaming of dinner."

It is needless to say that all the prescriptions of the cook were followed literally by the canon, whose appetite, now a prodigious thing, seemed to increase in proportion as it was fed; finally, having exhausted his glass to the last drop, Dom Diégo, his ears scarlet, his eyes softly closed, and his cheeks flushed, commenced to feel the tepid moisture and light torpor of a happy and easy digestion; then, sinking into his armchair with a delicious languor, he said to his majordomo:

"If I were not conscious of a tiger's hunger, which threatens explosion too soon, I would believe myself in Paradise. So, Pablo, go at once for this great man of the kitchen, this veritable magician; tell him to come and enjoy his work; tell him to come and judge of the ineffable beatitude in which he has plunged me, and above all, Pablo, tell him that if I do not go myself to testify my admiration, my gratitude, it is because — "

The canon was interrupted by the sight of the culinary artist, who suddenly entered the room, and stood face to face with Diégo, staring at him with a strange expression of countenance.

CHAPTER VIII

At the sight of the cook, who wore, according to the habit of his profession, a white vest and a cotton cap, — the ancient and highly classic schools of Laguipierre, Morel, and Carême remained faithful to the cotton cap, the young romantic school adopting the toque of white muslin, — Canon Dom Diégo rose painfully from his armchair, made two steps toward the culinary artist, with his hands extended, and cried, in a voice full of emotion:

"Welcome, my saviour, my friend, my dear friend! Yes, I am proud to give you this title; you have deserved it, because I owe you my appetite, and appetite is happiness, — it is life!"

The cook did not appear extremely grateful for the friendly title with which the canon had honoured him; he remained silent, his arms crossed on his breast, and his gaze fixed on Dom Diégo, but the latter, in the fiery ardour of gastronomic gratitude, did not observe the sardonic smile, — we would almost say Satanic smile, — which played upon the lips of the great man of the kitchen, and so continued the expression of his gratitude:

"My friend," pursued the canon, "from this day you are mine; your conditions will be mine. I am rich; good cheer is my only passion, and for you I will not be a master, but an admirer. Never, my friend, never, have you been better appreciated. You have told me yourself you work only for art, and you prove it, for I declare openly you are the greatest master cook of the world. The miracle that you have wrought to-day, not only in restoring my appetite, but in increasing it as I tasted your masterpieces (even at this hour I feel able to enjoy another breakfast), this miracle, I say, places you outside of the line of ordinary cooks. We will never part, my dear friend; all that you ask I will grant; you can take other assistants, other subalterns, if you desire to do so. I wish to spare you all fatigue; your health is too precious to me to permit you to compromise it, for henceforth, — I feel it there," and Dom Diégo put his fat hand on his stomach, — "henceforth, I shall not know how to live without you, and — "

"So," cried the cook, interrupting the canon, and smiling with a sarcastic air, "so you have breakfasted well, my lord canon?"

"Have I breakfasted well, my dear friend! Let me tell you I owe you the enjoyment of an hour and a quarter. An inexpressible enjoyment, without intermission except when your services were interrupted, and these intermissions were filled with delight. Hovering between hope and remembrance, was I not expecting new pleasures with an insatiable longing? You ask me if I have breakfasted well! Pablo will tell you that I have wept with tenderness. That is my reply."

"I have been permitted, my lord, to send you some wines as accompaniments, because good dishes without good wines are like a beautiful woman without soul. Now, have you found these wines palatable, my lord?"

"Palatable! Great God, what blasphemy! Inestimable samples of all known nectars — palatable! Wines whose value could not be paid, if you exchanged them, bottle for bottle, with liquid gold — palatable! Come now, my dear friend, your modesty is exaggerated, as you seemed a moment ago to exaggerate your immense talent. But I recognise the fact that, if your genius should be boasted to hyperbole, there would still remain more than half untold."

"I have still more wine of this quality," said the cook, coldly; "for twenty-five years I have been preparing a tolerable cellar for myself."

"But this tolerable cellar, my dear friend, must have cost you millions?"

"It has cost me nothing, my lord."

"Nothing."

"They are all so many gifts to my humble merit."

"I am by no means astonished, my dear friend, but what are you going to do with this cellar, which is rich enough to be the envy of a king? Ah, if you desired to surrender to me the whole, or a part of it, I would not hesitate to make any sacrifice for its possession; because, as you have just said with so much significance, good dishes without good wines are like a beautiful woman without soul. Now, these wines accompany your productions so admirably that — I — "

The cook interrupted Dom Diégo with a sarcastic, sneering laugh.

"You laugh, my friend?" said the canon, greatly surprised. "You laugh?"

"Yes, my lord, I laugh."

"And at what, my friend?"

"At your gratitude to me, my lord canon."

"My friend, I do not understand you."

"Ah, Lord Dom Diégo! you believe that your good angel — and I picture him to myself, fat and chubby, dressed as I am, like a cook, and wearing pheasant wings on the back of his white robe! — ah, you believe, I say, my lord canon, that your good angel has sent me to you!"

"My dear friend," said Dom Diégo, stretching his large eyes, and feeling very uncomfortable on account of the cook's sardonic humour, "my dear friend, I pray you, explain yourself clearly."

"My lord canon, this day will prove a fatal one for you."

"Great God! what do you say?"

"My lord canon!" replied the cook, his arms crossed and his eyes fixed in a threatening manner on the canon.

And he took a step toward Dom Diégo, who recoiled from him with an expression of pain.

"My lord canon, look at me well."

"I — I — am looking at you," stammered Dom Diégo, "but — "

"My lord canon, my face shall pursue you everywhere, in your sleep and in your waking hours! You shall see me always before you, with my cotton cap and white jacket, like a terrible and fantastic apparition."

"Ah, my God! it is all up with me!" murmured the canon, terrified. "My presentiments did not deceive me; this appetite was too miraculous, these dishes, these wines, too supernatural not to have some awful mystery, some infernal magic in them."

Just at this critical moment the canon fortunately saw his majordomo enter.

"My lord," said Pablo, "the lawyer has just arrived; you know the lawyer who — "

"Pablo, stop there!" cried Dom Diégo, seizing his majordomo by the arm and drawing him near to himself. "Do not leave me."

"My God, sir! what is the matter?" said Pablo. "You seem to be frightened."

"Ah, Pablo, if you only knew," said Dom Diégo, in a low, whining voice, without daring to turn his eyes away from the cook.

"My lord," replied Pablo, "I told you the lawyer had arrived."

"What lawyer, Pablo?"

"The one who comes to draw up in legal form your demand for the arrest of Captain Horace, guilty of the abduction of Senora Dolores."

"Pablo, it is impossible to occupy myself now with business. I have no head — I must be dreaming. Ah, if you only knew what had happened! This cook — oh, my presentiments!"

"Then, my lord, I am going to send the lawyer away."

"No!" cried the canon, "no, it is this miserable Captain Horace who is the cause of all my ills. If he had not destroyed my appetite, I should have already breakfasted this morning when this tempter in a white jacket introduced himself here, and I would not have been the victim of his sorcery. No," added Dom Diégo, in a paroxysm of anger, "tell this lawyer to wait; he shall write my complaint this very hour. But first let me get out of this awful perplexity," added he, throwing a frightened glance at the silent and formidable cook. "I must know what this mysterious being wants of me to terrify me so. Tell the lawyer to enter my study, and do not leave me, Pablo."

The majordomo went to say a few words outside of the door to the lawyer, who entered an adjacent room, and the canon, the majordomo, and the cook remained alone.

Dom Diégo, encouraged by the presence of Pablo, tried to reassure himself, and said to the man in the white jacket, who still preserved his unruffled and sardonic demeanour:

"See, my good friend, let us talk seriously. It is neither a question of good or of bad angels, but of a man who possesses tremendous talent, — I am speaking of you, — whom I would like to attach to my household at whatever price it may cost. We were discussing the cellar of divine wines, for the acquisition of which I would esteem no sacrifice too much. I speak to you with all the sincerity of my soul, my dear and good friend; reply to me in the same way."

Then the canon whispered to his majordomo:

"Pablo, do you stand between him and me."

"Then," replied the cook, "I will speak to you with equal sincerity, my lord canon, and first, let me repeat, I will be the desolation, the despair of your life."

"You?"

"I."

"Pablo, do you hear him? What have I done to him? My God!" murmured Dom Diégo, "what grudge has he?"

"Remember well my words, my lord canon. In comparison with the marvellous repast I have served you, the best dishes will seem insipid, the best wines bitter, and your appetite, awakened a moment by my power, will be again destroyed when I am no longer there to resurrect it."

"But, my friend," cried the canon, "you are thinking then of — "

The man in the cotton cap and white jacket again interrupted the canon and said:

"In recalling the delicacies which I have made you enjoy a moment, you will be like the fallen angels, who recall the celestial joys of paradise only to regret them in the midst of lamentation and gnashing of teeth."

"My good friend, I pray you one word!"

"You will gnash your teeth, canon!" cried the cook, in a solemn voice, which sounded in the depths of Dom Diégo's soul like the blast of the trumpet of the last judgment. "You will be as a soul, — no, you have no soul, you will be like a stomach, scenting, hunting, touching all the choicest dishes that can be served, and crying with terrible groanings as you recall this morning's breakfast: 'Alas! alas! my appetite has passed like a shadow; those exquisite dishes I will taste no more! alas! alas!' Then in your despair you will become lean, — do you hear me, canon? — you will become lean."

"Great God! Pablo, what is this wretched man saying?"

"Until the present, in spite of your loss of appetite, you have lived upon your fat, like rats in winter, but henceforth you will suffer the double and terrible blow of the loss of appetite and the ceaseless regrets that I will leave to you. You will become lean, canon, yes, your cheeks will be flabby, your triple chin will melt like wax in the sun, your enormous stomach will become flat like a leather bottle exhausted of its contents, your complexion, so radiant to-day, will grow yellow under the constant flow of your tears, and you will become lean, scraggy, and livid as an anchorite living on roots and water, — do you hear, canon?"

"Pablo," murmured Dom Diégo, shutting his eyes, and leaning on his majordomo, "support me. I feel as if I were struck with death. It seems to me I see my own ghost, such as this demon portrays. Yes, Pablo, I see myself lean, scraggy, livid. Oh, my God! it is frightful! it is horrible! It is the divine punishment for my sin of gluttony."

"My lord, calm yourself," said the majordomo.

And addressing the cook with mingled fear and anger, he said:

"Do you undertake to tyrannise over such an excellent and venerable a man as the Lord Dom Diégo?"

"And now," continued the cook, pitilessly, "farewell, canon, farewell for ever."

"Farewell, farewell for ever," cried Dom Diégo, with a violent start, as if he had received an electric shock. "What! can it be true? you will abandon me for ever. Oh, no, no, I see all now: in making me regret your loss so deeply, you wish to put your services at a higher price. Well, then, speak, how much must you have?"

"Ah, ah, ah, ah!" shouted the man with the cotton cap and white jacket, bursting into Mephistophelian laughter, and walking slowly toward the door.

"No, no," cried the canon, clasping his hands; "no, you will not abandon me thus, — it would be atrocious, it would be savage, it would be to leave an unfortunate traveller in the middle of a burning desert, after having given him the delight of an oasis full of shade and freshness."

"You ought to have been a great preacher in your time, canon," said the man in the white jacket, continuing his march toward the door.

"Mercy, mercy!" cried Dom Diégo, in a voice choked with tears. "Ah, indeed, it is no longer the artist, the cook of genius with whom I plead; it is the man, — it is to one like myself that I bend the knee, — oh, see me, and beseech him not to leave a brother in hopeless woe."

"Yes, and see me at your knees, too, my lord cook!" cried the worthy majordomo, excited by the emotion of his master, and like him, falling on his knees; "a very humble poor creature joins his prayer to that of the Lord Dom Diégo. Alas! do not abandon him, he will die!"

"Yes," replied the cook, with a Satanic burst of laughter, "he will die, and he will die lean."

The last sarcasm changed the despair of Dom Diégo to fury. He rose quickly, and, notwithstanding his obesity, threw himself upon the cook, crying:

"Come to me, Pablo; the monster shall not cook for anybody, his death only can deliver me from his infernal persecution!"

"My lord," cried the majordomo, less excited than his master, "what are you doing? Grief makes you wild."

Fortunately, the man in the white jacket, at the first aggressive movement of Dom Diégo, recoiled two steps, and put himself in a defensive attitude by means of a large kitchen knife which he brandished in one hand, while in the other he held a sharp larding-pin.

At the sight of the formidable knife and larding-pin, drawn like a dagger, the murderous exasperation of the canon was dispelled; but the violence of his emotions, the heat of his blood, and the state of his digestion produced such a revolution that he tottered and fell unconscious in the arms of the majordomo, who, too weak to sustain such a weight, himself sank to the floor, screaming with all his strength:

"Help! help!"

Then the man in the white jacket disappeared, with a last resounding burst of laughter which would have done honour to Satan himself, and terrified the majordomo almost to death.

CHAPTER IX

Many days had elapsed since the canon, Dom Diégo, had been so mercilessly abandoned by the strange and inimitable cook of whom we have spoken.

In the home of the Abbé Ledoux, the following scene occurred between him and the canon.

The threatening predictions of the great cook were beginning to be realised. Dom Diégo, pale, dejected, with a complexion yellowed by abstinence, — for all dishes seemed to him tasteless and nauseating since the marvellous breakfast of which he constantly dreamed, — would scarcely have been recognised. His enormous stomach had already lost its rotundity, and the poor man, whose physiognomy and attitude betrayed abject misery, responded in a mournful tone to the questions of the abbé, who, walking up and down the parlour in the greatest agitation, addressed him in a rude and angry tone:

"In truth, you have not the least energy, Dom Diégo; you have fallen into a desperate state of apathy."