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Luxury - Gluttony: Two of the Seven Cardinal Sins
"Twenty thousand income!" cried Dom Diégo in astonishment, "twenty thousand!"
"Now you see, my lord canon, how capital is created by eating hot pies and plum cake with pistachios. But would you like to see something really grand? For this time we are discussing an industry which affects not only the interests of almost all the counties of France, but which extends over a great part of Europe and the East, — that is to say, Germany, Italy, Greece, Spain, and Portugal. An industry which puts in circulation an enormous amount of capital, which occupies entire populations, whose finest products sometimes reach a fabulous price, — an industry, in short, which is to gluttony what the soul is to the body, what mind is to matter. Wait, Dom Diégo, look and reverence, for here the youngest are already very old."
Immediately, through instinct, the canon took off his hat, and reverently bowed his head.
"I present to you my nephew Theodore, commissary of fine French and foreign wines," said the doctor to the canon.
There was nothing brilliant or showy in this stall; only simple wooden shelves filled with dusty bottles and above each shelf a label in red letters on a black ground, which made the brief and significant announcement:
"France.— Chambertin (comet); Clos-Vougeat, 1815; Volney (comet); Nuits, 1820; Pomard, 1834; Châblis, 1834; Pouilly (comet); Château Margot, 1818; Haut-Brion, 1820; Château Lafitte, 1834; Sauterne, 1811; Grave (comet); Roussillon, 1800; Tavel, 1802; Cahors, 1793; Lunel, 1814; Frontignan (comet); Rivesaltes, 1831; Foamy Ai, 1820; Ai rose, 1831; Dry Sillery (comet); Eau de vie de Cognac, 1757; Anisette de Bordeaux, 1804; Ratafia de Louvres, 1807.
"Germany.— Johannisberg, 1779; Rudesteimer, 1747; Hocheimer, 1760; Tokai, 1797; Vermouth, 1801; Vin de Hongrie, 1783; Kirchenwasser of the Black Forest, 1801.
"Holland.— Anisette, 1821; Curacao red, 1805; White Curacao, 1820; Genievre, 1799.
"Italy.— Lacryma Christi, 1803; Imola, 1819.
"Greece.— Chypre, 1801; Samos, 1813.
"Ionian Islands.— Marasquin de Zara.
"Spain.— Val de Penas, 1812; Xeres dry, 1809; Sweet Xeres, 1810; Escatelle, 1824; Tintilla de Rota, 1823; Malaga, 1799.
"Portugal.— Po, 1778.
"Island of Madeira.— Madeira, 1810; having made three voyages from the Indies.
"Cape of Good Hope.— Red and white and pale wines, 1826."
While Dom Diégo was looking on with profound interest, Doctor Gasterini said to his nephew:
"My boy, do you recollect the price at which some celebrated wine-cellars have been sold?"
"Yes, dear uncle," replied Michel, "the Duke of Sussex owned a wine-cellar which was sold for two hundred and eighty thousand francs; Lafitte's wine-cellar sold in Paris for nearly one hundred thousand francs; the one belonging to Lagillière, also in Paris, was sold for sixty thousand francs."
"Well, well, Dom Diégo," said Doctor Gasterini to his guest, "what do you think of it? Do you believe all this to be an abomination, as that wag Abbé Ledoux, who is observing us now with such a deceitful countenance, declares? Do you think the passion, which promotes an industry of such importance, deserves to be anathematised only? Think of the expenditure of labour in their transport and preservation that these wine-cellars must have cost. How many people have lived on the money they represent?"
"I think," said the canon, "that I was blind and stupid never to have comprehended, until now, the immense social, political, and industrial influence I have wielded by eating and drinking the choicest viands and wines. I think now that the consciousness of accomplishing a mission to the world in giving myself up to unbridled gluttony, will be a delicious aperient for my appetite, — a consciousness which I owe to you, and to you only, doctor. Oh, noble thinker! Oh, grand philosophy!"
"This is the science of gastronomy carried to insanity," said Abbé Ledoux. "It is a new paganism."
"My Lord Diégo," continued the doctor, "we will speak of the gratitude which you think you owe me, when we have taken a view of this last shop. Here is an industry which surpasses in importance all of which we have been speaking. The question is a grave one, for it turns the scale of gluttony's influence upon the equilibrium of Europe."
"The equilibrium of Europe!" said the canon, more and more dismayed. "What has eating to do with the equilibrium of Europe?"
"Go on, go on, Dom Diégo," said Abbé Ledoux, shrugging his shoulders, "if you listen to this tempter, he will prove to you things still more astonishing."
"I am going to prove, my dear abbé, both to you and to Dom Diégo, that I advance nothing but what is strictly true. And, first, you will confess, will you not, that the marine service of a nation like France has great weight in the balance of the destinies of Europe?"
"Certainly," said the canon.
"Well, what follows?" said the abbé.
"Now," pursued the doctor, "you will agree with me, that as this military marine service is strengthened or enfeebled, France gains or loses in the same proportion?"
"Evidently," said the canon.
"Conclude your argument," cried the abbé, "that is what I am waiting for."
"I will conclude then, my dear abbé, by saying that the more progress gluttony makes, the more accessible it becomes to the greatest number, the more will the military marine of France gain in strength and in influence, and that, my Lord Dom Diégo, I am going to demonstrate to you by begging you to read that sign."
And just above the door of this last stall, the only one not occupied by a niece or nephew of Doctor Gasterini, were the words "Colonial Provisions."
"Colonial provisions," repeated the canon aloud, looking at the physician with an interrogating air, while the abbé, more discerning, bit his lips with vexation.
"Do I need to tell you, lord canon," pursued the doctor, "that without colonies, we would have no merchant service, and without a merchant service, no navy for war, since the navy is recruited from the seamen in the merchant service? Well, if the lovers of good eating did not consume all the delicacies which you see exhibited here in small samples, — sugar, coffee, vanilla, cloves, cinnamon, ginger, rice, pistachios, Cayenne pepper, nutmeg, liquors from the islands, hachars from the Indies, what, I ask you, would become of our colonies, that is to say, our maritime power?"
"I am amazed," cried the canon, "I am dizzy; at each step I feel myself expand a hundred cubits."
"And, zounds! you are right, lord Dom Diégo," said the doctor, "for indeed, when, after having tasted at dessert a cheese frozen with vanilla, to which will succeed a glass of wine from Constance or the Cape, you take a cup of coffee, and conclude of course with one or two little glasses of liquor from the islands, flavoured with cloves or cinnamon, ah, well, you will further heroically the maritime power of France, and do in your sphere as much for the navy as the sailor or the captain. And speaking of captains, lord canon," added the doctor, sadly, "I wish you to observe that among all the shops we have seen, this one alone is empty, because the captain of the ship which has brought all these choice provisions from the Indies and the colonies dares not show himself, while he is under the cloud of your vengeance. I mean, canon, my poor nephew, Captain Horace. He alone has failed to come, to-day, to this family feast."
"Ah, the accursed serpent!" muttered the abbé, "how adroitly he goes to his aim; how well he knows how to wind this miserable brute, Dom Diégo, around his finger."
At the name of Captain Horace, the canon started, then relapsed into thoughtful silence.
CHAPTER XIV
Canon Dom Diégo, after a few moments' silence, extended his fat hand to Doctor Gasterini, and, trembling with emotion, said:
"Doctor, Captain Horace cost me my appetite; you have restored it to me, I hope, for the remainder of my life; and much more, you have, according to your promise, proven to me, not by specious reasoning, but by facts and figures, that the gourmand, as you have declared with so much wisdom, accomplishes a high social and political mission in the civilised world; you have delivered me from the pangs of remorse by giving me a knowledge of the noble task that my epicureanism may perform, and in this sacred duty, doctor, I will not fail. So, in gratitude to you, in appreciation of you, I hope to acquit myself modestly by declaring to you that, not only shall I refuse to enter a complaint against your nephew, Captain Horace, but I cordially bestow upon him the hand of my niece in marriage."
"As I told you, canon," said the abbé, "I was very sure that once this diabolical doctor had you in his clutches, he would do with you all that he desired. Where now are the beautiful resolutions you made this morning?"
"Abbé," replied Dom Diégo, in a self-sufficient tone, "I am not a child; I shall know how to stand at the height of the rôle the doctor has marked out for me."
Then turning to the doctor, he added:
"You can instruct me, sir, what to write; a reliable person will take my letter, and go immediately in your carriage to the convent for my niece, and conduct her to this house."
"Lord Dom Diégo," replied the doctor, "you assure the happiness of our two children, the joy of my declining days, and consequently your satisfaction and pleasure in the indulgence of your appetite, for I shall keep my word; I will make you dine every day better than I made you breakfast the other morning. A wing of this house will henceforth be at your disposal; you will do me the honour of eating at my table, and you see that, after the professions I have chosen for my nieces and nephews, — with the knowledge and taste of an epicure, as I have told you, — my larder and my wine-cellar will be always marvellously well appointed and supplied. I am growing old, I have need of a staff in my old age. Horace and his wife shall never leave me. I shall confide to them the collection of my culinary traditions, that they may transmit them from generation to generation; we shall all live together, and we shall enjoy in turn the practice and philosophy of gluttony, my lord canon."
"Doctor, I set my foot upon the very threshold of paradise!" cried the canon. "Ah, Providence is merciful, it loads a poor sinner like myself with blessings!"
"Heresy! blasphemy! impiety!" cried Abbé Ledoux. "You will be damned, thrice damned, as will be your tempter!"
"Come now, dear abbé," replied the doctor, "none of your tricks. Confess at once that I have convinced you by my reasoning."
"I! I am convinced!"
"Certainly, because I defy you — you and all like you, past, present, or future — to get out of this dilemma."
"Let us hear the dilemma."
"If gluttony is a monstrosity, then frugality pushed to the extreme ought to be a virtue."
"Certainly," answered the abbé.
"Then, my dear abbé, the more frugal a man is, according to your theory, the more deserving is he."
"Evidently, doctor."
"So the man who lives on uncooked roots, and drinks water only for the purpose of self-mortification, would be the type and model of a virtuous man."
"And who doubts it? You can find that celestial type among the anchorites."
"Admirable types, indeed, abbé! Now, according to your ideas of making proselytes, you ought to desire most earnestly that all mankind should approach this type of ideal perfection as nearly as possible, — a man inhabiting a cave and living on roots. The beautiful ideal of your religious society would then be a society of cave-dwellers and root-eaters, administering rough discipline by way of pastime."
"Would to God it might be so!" sternly answered the abbé; "there would be then as many righteous on the earth as there are men."
"In the first place that would deplete the census considerably, my dear abbé, and afterward there would be the little inconvenience of destroying with one blow all the various industries, the specimens of which we have just been admiring. Without taking into account the industry of weavers who make our cloth, silversmiths who emboss silver plate, fabricators of porcelain and glass, painters, gilders, who embellish our houses, upholsterers, etc., that is to say, society, in approaching your ideal, would annihilate three-fourths of the most flourishing industries, and, in other words, would return to a savage state."
"Better work out your salvation in a savage state," persisted the opinionated Abbé Ledoux, "than deserve eternal agony by abandoning yourself to the pleasures of a corrupt civilisation."
"What sublime disinterestedness! But then, why leave so generously these renunciations to others, these bitter, cruel privations, abandoning to them your part of paradise, and modestly contenting yourself with easy living here below, sleeping on eider-down, refreshing yourself with cool drinks, and comforting your stomach with warm food? Come, let us talk seriously, and confess that this is a veritable outrage, a veritable blasphemy against the munificence of creation, not to enjoy the thousand good things which she provides for the satisfaction of the creature."
"Pagans, materialists, philosophers!" exclaimed Abbé Ledoux, "who are not able to admit what, in their infernal pride, they are not able to comprehend!"
"Yes, credo quia absurdum. This axiom is as old as the world, my dear abbé, but it does not prevent the world's progress to the overthrow of your theories of privation and renunciation. Thank God, the world continually seeks welfare! Believe me, it is not necessary to reduce mankind to feeding on roots and drinking water; on the contrary, we ought to work to the end that the largest possible number may live, at least, upon good meats, good poultry, good fruit, good bread, and pure wine. Nature, in her infinite wisdom, has made man insatiable in demands for his body, and in the aspirations of his intelligence, and, if we think only of the wonderful things which man has made to gratify his five senses, for which nature has provided so bountifully, we are struck with admiration. We are then but obeying natural laws to labour with enthusiasm for the comfort and well-being of others, by the consumption and use of these provisions, and, as I told the canon, to do, each in his own sphere, as much as possible; in short, to enjoy without remorse, because — But the clock strikes six; come with me, my lord canon, and write the letter which is to bring your charming niece here. I will take a last look at my laboratory, where two of my best pupils have undertaken duties which I have entrusted to them. The dear abbé will await me in the parlour, for I intend to complete my programme and prove to him, by economic facts, not only the excellence of gluttony, but also of the other passions he calls the deadly sins."
"Very well, we will see how far you will push your sacrilegious paradoxes," said Abbé Ledoux, imperturbably. "Besides, all monstrosities are interesting to observe, but, doctor — doctor — three centuries ago, what a magnificient auto da fé they would have made of you!"
"A bad roast, my dear abbé! It would not be worth much more than the result of that hunt that you made in the glorious time of your fanaticism against the Protestants in the mountains of Cévennes. Bad game, abbé. Well, I shall be back soon, my dear guests," said the doctor, taking his departure.
The canon having written to the mother superior of the convent, a man in the confidence of Doctor Gasterini departed in a carriage to fetch Senora Dolores Salcedo, and at the same time to inform Captain Horace and his faithful Sans-Plume that they could come out of their hiding-place.
A half-hour after the departure of this emissary, the canon, the abbé, as well as the nieces and nephews of Doctor Gasterini, and several other guests, met in the doctor's parlour.
CHAPTER XV
Dolores and Horace soon arrived, within a short interval of each other, at the house of Doctor Gasterini. We leave the reader to imagine the joy of the two lovers and the expression of their tender gratitude to the doctor and the canon. The profound pity of the canon, the consciousness of assuring the happiness of his niece, were manifested by a hunger as rapacious as that of a tiger, as he whispered, with a doleful voice, in the doctor's ear:
"Alas, alas! will your other guests never come, doctor? Some people have such frightful egotism!"
"My guests will not delay much longer, my dear canon; it is half-past six, and at seven o'clock every one knows that I go to the table relentlessly."
In fact the invited guests of the doctor were not long in assembling, and a valet announced successively the following names:
"The Duke and Duchess of Senneterre-Maillefort!"
"Pride," whispered the doctor to the canon and abbé, who made a wry face as he recalled the misadventure of his protégé, who pretended to the hand of the rich heiress, Mlle. de Beaumesnil.
"How amiable you are, duchess, to have accepted my invitation!" said the doctor to Herminie, whom he advanced to welcome, kissing her hand respectfully. "If I must tell you, madame, I counted on you to decide on this dear pride, that M. de Maillefort, M. de Senneterre, and I admire so much in you."
"And how is that, my dear doctor?" said Gerald de Senneterre, affectionately. "I well know that I owe the happiness of my life to my wife's pride, but — "
"Our dear doctor is right," replied Herminie, smiling. "I am very proud of the friendship he has for us, and I avail myself of every opportunity to show him how much I appreciate his attachment, without even speaking of the eternal gratitude we owe him for his devoted care of my son and the daughter of Ernestine. I need not tell you, dear doctor, how much she regrets not being here this evening, but her indisposition keeps her at home, and dear Olivier and her uncle, M. de Maillefort, do not leave the interesting invalid one minute."
"There is nothing like these old sailors, these old soldiers of Africa, and these duellist marquises to make good nurses, without wishing to depreciate the terrible Madame Barbançon," replied the doctor, gaily. "Only, duchess, permit me to differ from you in the construction you have placed on my words. I wished to say that your own tendency to pride assured me beforehand that you will encourage in me that delightful sin, in making me proud to have you in my house."
"And I, doctor," said Gerald de Senneterre, smiling, "I declare that you encourage in us alarmingly the dainty sin of gluttony, because when one has dined at your house, he becomes a gourmand for ever!"
The conversation of the doctor, Herminie, and Gerald, to which the canon was giving close attention, was interrupted by the voice of the valet, who announced:
"M. Yvon Cloarek!"
"Anger," whispered the doctor to the canon, advancing to meet the old corsair, who, notwithstanding his great age, was still hale and vigorous.
"Long live the railroads! for I come this instant from Havre, my old comrade, to assist at the anniversary of your birthday," said Yvon, cordially grasping the doctor's hands, "and to come here I have left Sabine, Sabinon, and Sabinette, — names that the old centenarian, Segoffin, my head artilleryman, has given to my granddaughter and great-granddaughter, for I am a great-grandfather, you know."
"Zounds! old comrade, and I hope you will not stop at that!"
"And so my son-in-law, Onésime, whom you ushered into life thirty years ago, charged me to remember him to you. And here I am!"
"Could you fail to be at our annual reunions, Yvon, my brave comrade, I should have one of those magnificent attacks of anger which used to possess you."
Then turning to the canon and the abbé, the doctor presented Yvon, saying:
"This is Captain Cloarek, one of our oldest and most illustrious corsairs, the famous hero of the brig Hellhound, which played wonderful tricks at the end of the Empire."
"Ah, captain," said the canon, "in 1812 I was at Gibraltar, and I had the honour of often hearing you and your ship cursed by the English."
"And do you know, my dear canon, to what admirable sin Captain Cloarek owes his glory, and the services he rendered to France in the victorious cruises he made against the English? I am going to tell you, and my old friend will not contradict me. Glory, success, riches, — he owes all to anger."
"To anger?" exclaimed the abbé.
"To anger!" said the canon.
"The truth is, gentlemen," modestly answered Cloarek, "that the little I have done for my country I owe to my naturally tremendous anger."
"M. and Madame Michel," announced the valet.
"Indolence," said the doctor to the canon and the abbé, approaching Florence and her husband, — Michel having married Madame de Lucenay after the death of M. de Lucenay, victim of a balloon ascension he had attempted from Mount Chimborazo, in company with Valentine.
"Ah, madame," said Doctor Gasterini, gallantly kissing the hand of Florence, "how well I know your good-will when you tear yourself away from your self-indulgent, sweet habits of idleness, to give me the pleasure of having you at my house before your departure for your beautiful retreat in Provence."
"Why, my good doctor," replied the young woman, smiling, "do you forget that indolent people are capable of everything?"
"Even of making the incredible effort of coming to dine with one of their best friends," added Michel, grasping the doctor's hand.
"And to think," replied Doctor Gasterini, "just to think that several years ago I was consulted for the purpose of curing you of this dreadful sin of indolence. Happily the limitations of science, and especially the profound respect I feel for the gifts of the Creator, prevented my attempt upon the ineffable supineness with which you are endowed."
And designating Abbé Ledoux by a glance of his eye, the doctor added:
"And, madame, Abbé Ledoux, whom I have the honour of presenting to you, considers me, at this hour even, a pagan, a dreadful idolater. Be good enough to rehabilitate me in his opinion, by informing this saintly man that you and your husband have, in the midst of profound and invincible idleness, exercised an activity without bounds, an inconceivable energy, and a sagacity which have secured for both of you an honourable independence."
"For the honour of indolence, respected abbé," replied Florence, smiling, "I am obliged to do violence to my own modesty, as well as that of my husband, by confessing that the dear doctor has spoken the truth."
"M. Richard!" announced the valet.
"Avarice," whispered the doctor to the canon and the abbé, while the father of Louis Richard, the happy husband of Marietta, advanced to meet him.
"Is this M. Richard?" said the abbé, in a low voice to Doctor Gasterini, "the founder of those schools and houses of retreat established at Chaillot, and so admirably organised?"
"It is he, himself," replied the doctor, extending his hand to the old man, as he said, "Welcome, good Richard, the abbé was just speaking to me of you."
"Of me, dear doctor?"
"Or, if you prefer it, of your wonderful endowments at Chaillot."
"Ah, doctor," said the old man, "you must render unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar's, — my son is the founder of those charitable institutions."
"Let us see, my good Richard," replied the doctor, "if you had not been as thorough a miser as your friend, Ramon, your worthy son would not have been able to make your name blessed everywhere as he has done."
"As to that, doctor, it is the pure truth, and, too, I confess to you that there is not a day I do not thank God, from this fact, for having made me the most avaricious of men."
"And how is your son's friend, the Marquis of Saint-Hérem?"
"He came to visit us yesterday with his wife. His household is the very pearl of establishments. He invited us to visit his castle just erected in the valley of Chevreuse. They say that no palace in Paris equals it in splendour. It seems that for three years fifteen hundred artisans have been at work on it, without counting the terraces of the park, which alone have employed the force of four villages, and, as the marquis pays handsomely, you can conceive what comfort has been spread abroad through the neighbourhoods around his castle."
"Well, then, my good Richard, you confess that, if the uncle of the marquis had not had the same avarice which you possessed, this generous fellow would not have been able to give work to so many families."
"That is true, my dear doctor, so, under the name of Saint-Ramon, as the marquis has jestingly christened his uncle, the memory of this famous miser is blessed by everybody."
"It is inconceivable, abbé," said the canon, "the doctor must be right. I am confounded with what I hear and with what I see. We are actually going to dine with the seven deadly sins."
"M. Henri David!" said the valet.
At this name the countenance of the doctor became grave; he walked up to David, took both his hands with effusive tenderness, and said:
"Pardon me for having insisted upon your acceptance of this invitation, my dear David, but I promised my excellent friend and pupil, Doctor Dufour, who recommended you to me, to try to divert you during your short sojourn in Paris."
"And I feel the need of these diversions, I assure you, sir. Down there our life is so calm, so regular, that hours slip away unperceived; but here, lost in the turmoil of this great city to which I have become a stranger, I feel these paroxysms of painful sadness, and I thank you a thousand times for having provided for me such an agreeable distraction."
Henri David was talking thus to the doctor when seven o'clock sounded.
The canon uttered a profound sigh of satisfaction as he saw the steward open the folding doors of the dining-room.
