word. During the intervals, strive to fathom the depths of its multifa rious carte. I have one at this moment before me. As a curiosity, would you like to contemplate its contents? As the preliminary question of the garçon relates to wine, turn to the last page of the carte and make your choice among thirty-seven red, thirty-one white, and twelve foreign wines. Of soups, there are thirty-four different kinds. This is enormous; but look at the piscatory column. Behold one hundred and twelve different modes of serving up twenty or thirty kinds of fish? The German notion of Shakspeare's many-sidedness is totally lost in this amplitude of a French cook's idea of the many. sidedness of an epicure's piscatory palate. But look at the beef column, thirty-seven modes of cooking ox and cow, whereof nineteen are beef-steaks à la this, or à la that. Nevertheless the offspring beats the parents out and out, for lo! fifty-two modes of serving up veal! Your fowl however, though considerably smaller, beats them all, since of fowl the Rocher professes seventy-two different styles in the cooking. Of game, it likewise has fifty; and this moreover is quite independent of fowl and game rôtie, whereof are thirty-five additional forms. "Strange multitude of combinations this," you exclaim, and when I tell you that one style of serving up a chicken's leg is called à la diable, you may also exclaim that ingenuity is devoutly put to it for their designations. Moreover, here is mutton in thirty-six forms; and its offspring lamb, in twelve. Thus far I have spoken only of the entrées. Behold the entremets. Fifty-six forms of vegetable,-twenty of eggs,-ten of coquillages,-fourteen of salads, and forty-three of entremets sweet. There are also of hors d'œuvres forty-four kinds. Your dessert may be selected from forty-two different delicacies, and the dinner may be concluded by tasting one among thirty kinds of liqueur. Here is some breadth and expansiveness of invention, with minutest ingenuity. The combinations which in so few moments I have enumerated, are results of many thoughtful years, many thousand experiments, and many disappointing efforts. A first rate French dish may not, like a first rate inspiration of poetry, music or painting, be gleamed forth in a sudden instant. Time and toil are. indispensable; and I never look upon Sole en matelotte Normande, without reflecting that if such a dish were at once to be obliterated from the memory of cooks, and the Almanach des Gourmands, perhaps an age might pass away before in all its present perfection it could be re-created.*

I know no better resting-place, after our long walks among the Parisian Eating Houses, than a seat at table No. 6, in the Grand Vatel. My reader must certainly have heard of Vatel,-Vatel the cook, the Artist-the great Vatel;-how he was engaged to prepare a dinner for the royal fête at Chantilly; how the sea-fish, marée, had not arrived at 8 o'clock A. M., and how for that reason, retiring to his chamber, he stabbed himself to the heart, preferring death to even the possibility of disappointing a royal palate. The account may be read in

* M. Henrion de Pensey, late President of the Court of Cassation, wrote thus to MM. La Place, Chaptal, and Berthollet:-' I regard the discovery of a dish as a far more interesting event than the discovery of a star; for we have always stars enough, but we can never have too many dishes, and I shall not regard the sciences as sufficiently honoured, or adequately represented amongst us, until I see a Cook in the first class of the Institute."

Madame de Sévigné's letter of April 24th, 1671, wherein the writer, not without some pathos, thus conjectures: Songez que la marêe est peut-être arrivée comme il expiroit.** Fitly was this restaurant consecrated to his memory. Au Grand Vatel.' The words have to me a monumental and a melancholy interest, and seldom do I pass beneath them without half-denouncing the marée whose tardy arrival brought that martyr to a suicidal end.

You approach the restaurant, beneath those words, through a narrow staircase. Opening the door, and returning the recognition of a dame-du-comptoir on your left, walk at once round to No. 6. It is a little table for a party of two, behind which rises an immense mirror, from whose point you get a very complete visual range of the entire company. On your right hand is a table for six, and on your left another for four. The large apartment will easily accommodate one hundred and fifty persons. There are moreover private cabinets where you may retire with your friends, and where the service is similar to that of the grand hall, except that therein enter no half bottles of wine.

* Madame De Sévigné has devoted two letters to the character and death of this renowned culinary Artist. She speaks of him as of one fit to administer a government;—' cet homme d'une capacité distinguée de tous les autres, dont la bonne tête étoit capable de contenir tout le soin d'un Etat; cet homme que je connoissois;'-pluming herself thus upon his acquaintance. His melancholy fate seems for a time to have entirely absorbed her thought. Concluding one of the letters, she says, ' M. Ce Menars is about to marry Mademoiselle de la Grange-Neuville, but I know not how I have courage to talk to you about any one but Vatel.' It seems there were many presentiments, or rather pre-events which foreboded his coming destiny. On the evening before the fatal Friday, there was a Royal souper, and at several tables the roast was lacking. Vatel was exceedingly troubled, and many times was heard to exclaim in bitterness, 'I am lost. I have lost my honour;'-' je suis perdu d'honneur; voici un affront que je ne supporterai pas.' To Gourville he said, ' my brain reels,'—' la tête me tourne,' imploring his aid in giving orders. Gourville, like another Crito, often repeated consoling words, but the memory of the róti qui avoit manqué was ever returning. One of the Royal Princes visited the disconsolate cook in his chamber, telling him that nothing could have been finer than the souper of the King. Monseigneur,' replied Vatel, vôtre bonté m'acheve; je sais que le rôti a manqué à deux tables.' 'Point du tout,' answered the Prince, ne vous fàchez point; tout va bien.'

At four of the clock, on Friday morning, April the 24th, 1671, Vatel arose. All rested in sleep but a solitary purveyor, who was bringing in two loads of marée. 'Is that all;-'est ce là tout?' asked Vatel quickly. Oui, Monsieur.' Vatel had sent to every port in the kingdom. Vatel waited long, but no more marée arrived. Sa tête s'echauffoit.' He sought out Gourville, and said to him, 'I will not survive this disgrace.' Gourville dubiously smiled. Instantly Vatel rushed to his chamber; placed his sword against the door, passed it towards his heart, made two efforts in vain, a third was fatal, and he fell dead. In the mean time, the marée arrived from all quarters. They sought Vatel to take charge of it; went to his chamber, burst open the door, and found him bathed in blood. 'M. le Prince fut au désespoir. M. le Duc pleura;' for it was upon Vatel that depended his newly-proposed jaunt into Burgundy. The Prince, with much feeling, fort tristement, announced his death to the King. 'On dit que c'étoit à force d'avoir de l'honneur à sa manière; on le loua fort; on loua et blàma son courage.' The grief of the Court for Vatel was temporary as it was violent, and from Mad. De Sevigne, one learns with sad astonishment, that as if nothing had happened, the fete went merrily onward to its close. Who could have anticipated such quick forgetfulness of the great Artist, and martyr to his fame à sa manière, as that revealed in the following narration? On dîna très bien, on fit collation, on soupa, on se promena, on joua, on fût à la chasse; tout etoit parfume de jonquilles, tout etoit enchanté.'

As the hour of five has not arrived, very few dinners have made their appearance. Here and there a chair may be seen leaning against a table, to indicate that such places have been reserved. Six or seven garçons, in clean white aprons and polished hair, look silently out at the crowds in the garden, or whisper something among themselves. Here, as in all the restaurants, stands a middleaged gentleman by the side of the comptoir; his complexion is a little florid; his hair is brushed up with careful precision; his white cravat is painfully high; his dress-coat is of deep snuff colour; his stomach is advancing into embonpoint, and his polished boots are strapped. You might perhaps take him for a visitor, were it not for that official napkin thrust under his left arm. He is the proprietor of the establishment, its Amphytrion, and is there stationed to look at the garçons, and see that all proceeds well.

Suspending your hat and surtout from loops behind, you take a seat, and the garçon depositing by the side of your plate,--whereon rest the usual napkin and large roll of bread, a knife, fork, and spoon, presents you the carte, and at once puts the question, "Quel vin de. sirez vous, Monsieur ?” Looking through that part of the carte, which contains at least forty-eight different kinds of wine, you resolve, as the dinner is to be an ordinary one, on Macon. The Macon of the Grand Vatel is altogether the finest I have tasted in Paris. It is however much inspirited by an intermingling of eau-de-seltz, a bottle of which you likewise order.

Each individual has certain predilections and associations which render one style of dinner more dear to him than any other. That all persons should be similarly impressed by the same meal, is as absurd as that all persons should be similarly impressed by the same style in poetry, music, or painting. I almost fear that my reader,whom I now most respectfully invite to dine with me on the opposite side of the table,-may neither approve my choice of dishes nor the order of their succession. And yet I trust he will rub his hands in assent when I call first for a dozen of Cancale oysters. Garçon, une douzaine.' They immediately enter, heaped up in their natural shells upon a large plate, in company with a lemon. The Cancale oysters have often an unpleasant taste of copper; but impregnated with that lemon juice, the constitute a very excellent hors d'œuvre.

success.

66

Soup after oysters is exactly comme-il-faut, and suppose we try it now. There are eighteen different kinds of soup in the carte of the Grand Vatel. My reader may select that which best pleases him. I venture to suggest Creci aux croutons. It is a soup delicious in itself, and is rendered more delicious by its relation to the preceding dish. Those oysters seem to have prepared the palate for that soup. To speak figuratively, the oysters have planted the elements of the soup's I may here say that unless cognizant of your dishes you are not always safe in making choice. Experimenting upon that vast mysterious carte before you, like all experimenting, is expensive and dangerous. It is not every Columbus that discovering a new world thereby contributes to his own worldly happiness. Hoping to make some valuable discoveries, I once abandoned my usual soups, and called for riz à la Turque. The name looked relishable enough; but the dish, the soup itself!-surely neither Turk nor Christian could possibly have relished that.

Soup completed, the palate instinctively longs for fish. The carte

of the Grand Vatel reveals to you seventy-six different forms of cooking fish. Very's having ninety-one of course surpasses it; but it beats Vefour's by twenty-four. I doubt not that dining at Havre, you pronounced fried sole the most delicious piscatory dish that ever had been served before you. At the Grand Vatel however do not, do not fling yourself away on fried sole; call at once for Turbot à la crême. It is a combination mild as moonbeams, and can only be fitly spoken of in poetry. I think you may not find its name down in the carte. To say the truth, the cartes of the Rocher and the Grand Vatel do not disclose their best treasures. As Raphael doubtless had sublimer visions in his secret soul than ever he revealed on can. vass, so the secret repertory of a first-rate French cuisine possesses dishes altogether superior to those enumerated in its carte. turbot, as it is au gratin, requires the cook's ingenuity for some twenty or twenty-five minutes. During that time the company has begun to

thicken.

The

One great beauty in the company of the Grand Vatel is this; that it is not only European but Continental. I have become familiar with several persons who frequent it. One ancient gentleman interests me exceedingly. He wears the red ribbon, and on entering salutes not only the Amphytrion and the dame-du-comptoir, but likewise his garçon. When seated, he slowly unfolds his napkin and passes it twice or thrice over his plate; then taking his glass, he deliberately rubs that, holding it finally up to the light to see if it be clean; then his knife, fork, and spoon undergo the same cleansing process; and then he tucks one corner of his napkin into the bosom of his bottoned coat. By this time the garçon who perfectly comprehends his palate has placed before him wine and soup. His subsequent dishes are always ordered without visible reference to the carte. He knows that carte by heart. This gentleman is a retired tradesman of moderate income; he patronizes the Grand Vatel and the Théâtre Francais; he is a frequenter of both. At a little distance from him stands another table, whereat are a Frenchman, his wife and three children. Farther on, behold two petits maitres in long black curls, with champaigne ice-stricken before them. Still farther on, a gentleman pours out Beaune to one, who should be his wife; and now arrive deputies, and proprietors, and gentleman of fashion, and ladies, and young people, and old people, and Germans, and Italians; throngs promiscuous, differing in ten thousand points, and resembling in two;-they are all hungry, and they are all conversational.

If the English have no restaurants, neither have they the anti-domestic state of feeling and habits which the existence of such establishments implies. Those persons who deem the hearth of home one richest nursery of private virtues, and in their development of public virtues also, will pronounce them in this respect far better off than the French. Whatever moralists and John Bull may think of this feature, no Frenchman could possibly for a moment think of making an exchange. To him, such publicity of life is indispensable to its enjoyment. He must take his dinner in public, and his coffee in public; he must read his newspaper in public, and promenade hours each day in the public places of his metropolis. The wish was implanted in him when a child, and has become a part of his character in after life. If its gratification be hostile to the birth and

growth of many substantial household virtues, it tends at least to make a frank, a graceful, a conversational, and an accomplished people. He pronounces the gratification of an opposite wish selfish, unsocial, aristocratical, and prejudice-begetting. There might perhaps be an intermediate course, capable of gathering to itself the best features of either extreme, and whose pursuit would be attended by a preferable state of private and public society. Such course a young and inflexible nation might enter upon. The social system of France is in harmony with her past habitudes, her other national features, and her existing institutions. No American in his senses can at present wish to see the English social system introduced in his country, as no man could possibly desire to see this French social system transported across the channel.

The healthy developments of a people, like those of an individual, are always natural and generally harmonious. That one nation may avail itself of certain institutions in another, to develop, not thwart or change the radical chaarcter of itself, is reasonable enough. More than this would be unsalutary and ridiculous, to say nothing of its unpatriotic character.

This Turbot à la crême, which the garçon has now brought in, after a short time, you pronounce an airy and graceful combination-a very Taglioni of piscatory dishes. Words cannot well express its sportive delicacy. Perhaps it is one of the gayest achievements of the French culinary art. It is to other dishes what "La Guzza Ladra" is to operas, or the arabesque of the Alhambra to architecture. It is only well composed at the Rocher and the Grand Vatel. Grignon prepares it wretchedly; and one garçon at Very's, when the dish was ordered, actually did not know what it was! Englishmen and Americans have been known to inhabit Paris weeks, nay months, without having tasted it. Such are among the consequences of going exclusively to Englishized French restaurants. I think you may frequently be made very cheerful by the sportiveness of this marvellous dish. I have a friend who, in some moments of despondency, has half resolved to starve himself down into the merest sketch or skeleton of a man, and then forthwith to volume and body forth his bones upon Turbot à la crême alone. A psychological experiment this, which I doubt not might lead to some very curious and perhaps very useful truths.

The

After Turbot, order a beefsteak à la Anglaise. Order it, merely to assure yourself that the French cannot cook a beefsteak. England is the only country for that simply flavourous dish; and in England, mine host John Jennings of the "Lion" at Canterbury is much to be recommended. His hot steaks exhale an indescribable aroma. beefsteaks of France are unworthy of the name. The dish is too simple for French ingenuity. It is only in intricate combinations that French cooks succeed. However chaste and classically simple may be their standard literature, their cookery is quite the reverse. A man of one idea is not more detestable to you than is a dish of one idea to a Frenchman's palate.

While you are waiting for aspergês aux petitis pois, that is, for an entremets of asparagus with peas, the garçon deposits before you a silver case of toothpicks. "What do you think of French vegetables?" asked I of a travelled American. 66 Excellent, very excellent," was his reply. "What do you think of French vegeta