by Emile Calvet
“The capital had become extraordinarily rich, by virtue of the continual movement of an opulent and numerous floating population. Its artistic industry was powerfully developed; its monuments, its nascent splendor and its pleasures attracted tourists from the entire world. On the other hand, the citizens whom fortune had maltreated set off boldly for the newly-exploited regions in order to become wealthy, while those who had accumulated considerable fortunes in exotic lands, leaving their instruments of labor in the hands of newcomers, returned once and for all to the magical city in order to enjoy the pleasures of life to the full.
“Then again, because the progress of architecture and technology, the employment of new forces of incomparable power, and the rapid transportation of materials by air, reduced the difficulties considerably, the grandiose plans were gradually implemented at various points. Finally, its wealth increasing incessantly, the entire city ended up being transformed, and presented in its entirety the character of sumptuous magnificence that the most audacious imaginations of ancient times would not have dared to conceive.”
“The city seems to have been particularly lavish in the construction of its schools,” observed the doctor. “You’re in a veritable palace here.”
“We occupy ten hectares,” Herber replied, modestly. “All scholarly monuments are nearly identical in appearance and extent. Each school has between two and three thousand pupils. Today, of course, they’re deserted, because it’s the day of rest.
“Discipline can’t be easy to maintain,” said Gédéon, who had once given his teachers a hard time.
“It doesn’t cause us any difficulty,” the schoolmaster replied, “for a certain level of education is compulsory, and a child, in quitting the paternal home, falls directly and exclusively under our authority. That way, discipline is respected because it’s all-powerful. I ought to add that the education of the body preoccupies us no less than that of the mind, and has a sovereign influence over the character. You can see from here, in the left wing of the building at the back of the courtyard, twelve arched doors. They open into the gymnastics hall, which is abundantly provided with all the apparatus necessary to develop strength, dexterity and health.
“You must have noticed, doctor, how admirable the present generation is with regard to muscular strength and beauty of form. That is the result of the physical education to which men and women are subjected from infancy to maturity. I will add that the great majority of citizens continue to practice gymnastic exercises into old age, and that all houses have two special rooms, one of which is devoted that beneficent recreational labor and the other to hydrotherapy, which rounds it off.
“That universal system, which no one dreams of neglecting, is based on public education, uniform everywhere, which inculcates in everyone, from an early age, a set of habits that generally become indispensable needs. Thus, endemic diseases, caused and maintained as much by the absence of the most indispensable cares of hygiene as by the privation of bodily exercise, have disappeared completely. Nothing about us resembles those emaciated generations of bygone ages, weighed down by speculation or twisted by bureaucratic life.”
“One cannot approve too highly, in fact, of care devoted to physical culture,” Antius agreed. “Not only does it constitute the most solid rampart for health, but its influence also extends in the most fortunate manner to the mental and intellectual faculties.”
X. A Model Cellar and Kitchen
At that moment, a man of robust appearance suddenly emerged from a doorway twenty paces away from the guests. The furrows that time had engraved on his calm and reflective face revealed that he was over sixty. His curly white hair, which resembled a mass of snowflakes, his bronzed skin and thick lips, established a very obvious African origin.
The individual appeared to be plunged in grave meditation, which did not prevent him from puffing in perfect cadence on the end of an enormous meerschaum pipe, the color of which attested to long and honorable service.
“Come here, Master Nyera!” Herber called to the silent smoker.
The latter stated walking at a measured pace and, having arrived within four paces, gravely saluted the assembly.
“Messieurs,” said the schoolmaster, “you have before you an artist who would have been worthy of the ovens of Apicius. Moreover, Master Nyera is a scholar who has written remarkable commentaries on the Latin poets. After several voyages to France, our excellent maître d’hôtel, who is originally from Timbuktu, decided to settle in Paris, which he declared to be the hearth of fine literature, and I was fortunate enough to make his acquaintance and obtain his services.”
“In truth, Monsieur Herber, it is written on high that everyone must live on his trade,” the cook replied.
“I am curious to know,” said the physicist, “why a literate man like you, Monsieur, has been led to exercise a profession that, although very honorable, appears to be in scant harmony with the qualities of your mind. In antiquity, we see Cincinnatus steering the plough after having led Roman armies, and later the great Linnaeus darning his own socks, but they were glaring exceptions.”
“My story,” Nyera replied, “is much more modest. In Timbuktu, my father owned the Grand Continental Hotel. As a child, my primary intellectual faculties were exercised in the culinary field, doubtless less brilliant but more fecund and more useful than many others. While giving me a solid education, my father favored that particular disposition, because he anticipated that I would succeed him, and it was important for him to put the future and the reputation of the house into hands that would not let them slip.
“For ten years I balanced literature and cuisine, my intellectual efforts being devoted to each in turn, in the morning to scholarly books, in the evening to the paternal ovens. My name was sometimes cited eulogistically by my professors and with veneration by our guests.
“That association of the spit and the lexicon gave rise to an opusculum entitled De re coquinaria apud Romanos,12 which attracted a certain attention. In sum, everything presaged a settled future for me, honored and full of material and mental wellbeing, when, in the wake of reckless speculations, my father was completely ruined and our magnificent establishment was sold. The old man did not survive the catastrophe; as for me, having shaken the dust of the place that had seen my downfall from my shoes, I came to Paris, with which I was already familiar, and a stroke of luck introduced me to the honorable Monsieur Herber, in whom I found a devoted protector, an sincere friend and, thank God, a great connoisseur.”
“Master Nyera’s case does not constitute an exception, as you might think,” the schoolmaster added. “You will frequently encounter artisans endowed with a remarkable education, for that capital element of our civilization and progress is within the reach of everyone here. Many, like our friend Master Nyera for his research on the ancient culinary arts, have merited the public eulogies of the Institut for their work, a favor that constitutes a superiority before which everyone bows.”
“We cannot, at present, fully appreciate your estimable maître d’hôtel from the point of view of his art,” said Antius, “but we are sure that he is unrivaled in that regard.”
“Messieurs,” said the culinary litterateur, forcing himself to maintain an equilibrium between his conscience and his self-esteem, “I can only accept a fraction of the felicitations that you would like to grant me, for they are almost all due by rights to Monsieur Herber, who has put at my disposal a laboratory equipped with the latest improvements, and a cellar incomparable in extent, profundity, temperature and humidity.”
The topic of conversation seemed to the doctor to offer a providential opportunity. “We would be very glad, my dear host,” he said, “to visit those two rooms with you, so important in a well-run household.”
“We are at your disposal, Messieurs,” the schoolmaster replied, with a gesture full of courtesy, “and if you will grant us a few minutes we shall direct our steps in that direction.”
The five men went back into the buildin
g. A few minutes later, they entered a corridor illuminated by high arched windows. After fifty paces, they stopped in front of a massive oak door, which opened silently in response to slight pressure.
In a half-light that the contrast with the dazzling light outdoors rendered almost dark, the travelers perceived the first steps of a broad staircase with a gentle slope, which extended underground. The maître d’hôtel reached out an ivory switch beside the door and pressed it. A dazzling light suddenly filled the corridor and the visitors went down.
Below the thirtieth step they found themselves on a floor of shiny fine sand, confronted by a vast vaulted hall above which shone an electric globe. Several rows of stout barrels, whose shadows were sharply outlined on the walls, were wedged on oak beams. Every label bore a name famous in gastronomic litanies.
The doctor, who was singularly astonished by that catalogue, turned to the maître d’hôtel excitedly. “My dear host,” he said in a voice that gave evidence of as much admiration as sympathy, “the transcendent nomenclature that we have before our eyes plunges me into a delight that is not exempt from surprise.”
“Those two sentiments are very flattering for our domestic economy,” Herber replied, “but I cannot explain them.”
“I tell you sincerely,” Antius continued, “that my friends and I were convinced that, in spite of the opulence of the house, the excellent wines served at table this morning constituted very flattering exceptions established in our favor, but the examination of your cellar seems to indicate that we have simply been subjected to your habitual regime.”
“That’s true,” said the schoolmaster.
“In that case, I believe that there are few gourmets as richly and as exclusively equipped as you are.”
“You’re mistaken, my dear guest. All cellars are very similar to this one, at least in terms of quality.”
“In certain places, however, the authenticity of grands crus is merely a myth, cleverly exploited.”
“In my turn, I don’t understand.”
“I’ll explain. I’ve always thought that every year, a hundred times more fine wines than Burgundy and Médoc can produce are routinely sold under deceptive labels.”
“Once, that might have been possible,” Herber replied, “but now we transform our wines ourselves in our cellars.”
Antius looked at his host in amazement.
“Of course,” the schoolmaster continued. “You know that costly wines only owe their preeminence to certain oenanthic ethers, that these substances, with which our ancestors were preoccupied from the viewpoint of analysis, have for a long time been capable of perfect synthesis, and that it is sufficient to pour a few drops of those volatile compounds into a barrel of coarse wine to obtain the corresponding liqueur. Vulgar wines, however, generally represent differences in composition, which assign to each of them in advance the terms of the transformation.
“I should add that the perfection of methods puts the various species of oenanthic ether within the range of every purse, and that everyone has the intelligence to take advantage of modern science.”
Paralyzed by astonishment, the travelers remained silent.
Assuming that their curiosity was satisfied on this point, the schoolmaster proposed a visit to the kitchen.
The five men went back upstairs. On the top step, the schoolmaster flicked the switch, and darkness fell behind them.
Ten paces from the door to the cellar they turned into a lateral corridor, which opened into a large square room paved with flagstones, with a profoundly vaulted ceiling sustained by arches, reminiscent of those monumental kitchens depicted by Van Ostade in his marvelous interiors.13
A hundred receptacles of every shape and size, suspended symmetrically along the walls, glittered in the daylight that was flooding through high arched windows on both sides. Two middle-aged women dressed with extreme neatness, whose opulent forms would have constituted a very reassuring advertisement for the temples they served, were occupied in restoring a normal luster to the equipment that had been used in preparing and serving the morning meal.
The clink of a fish-kettle on a polished marble table-top caused the physicist to prick up his ears.
“What is that metal?” he asked, unceremoniously.
“An alloy of silver and platinum, of which almost all the equipment is made,” Herber replied.
“Platinum was once very expensive,” ventured the professor, prudently avoiding plunging more deeply into discussion.
“Yes, but inexhaustible mines were discovered in regions unexplored by our ancestors, and the metal has become as commonplace as iron. You will admit, my dear colleague, that it suits its purpose very well in the present instance.”
“Undoubtedly, and I know nothing preferable, platinum only melting at two thousand degrees, and only being attackable by a very limited number of chemical substances.”
“Here are a few vessels in iridium, a metal that always accompanies native platinum,” the schoolmaster added, indicating a series of kettles that appeared to occupy a place of honor.
“I’ve never seen as many at one time,” murmured the professor,
On the left hand side of the vast culinary laboratory stood a long oven in heat-resistant brick, whose top, covered with enameled porcelain, was pierced with a large number of hemispherical, cylindrical and conical cavities.
At the back, several demi-ellipsoids, capped with reflectors and equipped with metallic grilles, were fixed to the wall. Antius looked at these singular items of apparatus curiously.
“What do you think of our ovens, Doctor?” asked Herber, who had drawn nearer to his guest.
“I can’t quite grasp the theory,” the scientist replied, frankly. “What is the significance of these cavities, especially those niches lined with sheets of solid gold?”
“The hollow molds in forged iridium are designed to accommodate items of cooking equipment, which are adapted to them perfectly. The supports, resting on crowns of quicklime, are brought to red heat by the electric current and transmit their heat to platinum vessels, which heat up rapidly and can maintain a constant heat for an indeterminate time. The shiny furnaces you were examining so attentively are simple rotisseries. The grilles, made of iridium wire, are rapidly brought to red heat by a slight deviation of the current acting on enclosed stones, which also receive a large quantity of radiant heat by reflection.”
“What progress!” exclaimed Antius. “What superiority over the murderous ovens of Parisians of the past, in which all substances were gradually covered with a layer of noxious hydrogen products capable of sowing devastation in the most intrepid stomachs.”
During this conversation, the physicist examined a series of shaped tubes fitted with taps, on which were engraved the numbers 30, 50, 70, 90 and 100.
“You see, my dear colleague, that we have water heated to all desirable temperatures,” said the schoolmaster.
An electric mincer, operated by means of a mercury switch, which began to function under the expert eye of a kitchen-maid, had captured Gédéon’s full attention.
The kitchen communicated via a large bay with a parlor cluttered with glazed shelves laden with hermetically sealed vessels, the labels of which advertised condiments collected in all latitudes. After that, a room annexed to the dining-room contained several carved oak dressers filled with vessels of crystal and gold.
Herber received the eulogies of his companions regarding the state of perfection of the two departments they had just visited with modesty, and led his guests back to the central courtyard. It did not take long for an interesting discussion of the radiation of electric heat to begin between the physicist and the schoolmaster. The doctor and his nephew followed a little way behind. The latter suddenly stopped his companion by taking hold of his sleeve.
“I wouldn’t be sorry,” he said, “to submit a reflection to you.”
“A sensible one?”
“I think so.”
“Speak.”
“T
his is it: It seems to me that there’s a singular disproportion between present-day alimentation and that of yore.”
“The reflection is indeed more sensible than I expected, for it had occurred to me too—except that I have resolved the question logically, which you would have been incapable of doing.”
Gédéon admitted that, modestly.
“It was sufficient for me,” the doctor went on “to compare the resources of our original contemporaries with those of their 17th century ancestors. All the chroniclers who lived under Louis XIV, notably a celebrated bluestocking whose letters, rightly or wrongly, make the people of our epoch swoon,14 agree in depicting the peasant of the era of the Sun King as a sort of anthropomorphic animal, scantily clad in rags and living on nothing but acorns, plants and roots—a diet highly recommended by the vegetarian school, but which the most wretched of 19th century indigents would have rightly disdained.
“Now, it’s unnecessary to be a profound mathematician to establish the following proportion: the alimentation of our descendants relates to ours as ours does to that of our ancestors.”
“I understand—but why, if you please?”
“Because, naïve young man, the ultimate result of progress is the mental and material improvement of individuals. If the astronomer Hippalus of Alexandria had not hypothesized the existence of the monsoon,15 which permitted the organization of the double navigation of the Red Sea and the Indian Sea, Europe would have been deprived for a long time of the riches of the Orient. If Flavio Gioja of Amalfi had not, in 1300, discovered the compass,16 the American continent might never have been discovered. If Salomon de Caus had not prepared the reign of steam17 and Galvani that of dynamic electricity, the formidable material development of the 19th century, to which we have been the witnesses, would not have happened.
