of the peace of Vervins, returned to Italy, he
could speak of nothing else. His only
remembrance was of the roast meats of the
Rue de la Huchette, and of the Rue aux Ours.
Sauval, the historian tells us, that when
Father Bonaventure was questioned about
the pleasures of Paris, he raised his eyes to
Heaven, and, with expanding nostrils as if
the flavour was still there, exclaimed: "Truly
those roasts are a stupendous thing." The
Venetian Ambassador, Jerome Lippomano,
who visited Paris in the year fifteen hundred
and seventy-seven, has left a curious account of
the mode of living in that capital in his time.
"Paris," he writes, "contains, in abundance,
everything that can be desired. It is a market
for all countries, and provisions are carried
thither from every part of France. Thus,
although its population is numberless, nothing
is wanting there: whatever is required seems
as if it fell from the skies. The price of
provisions is, nevertheless, rather high; for, to
speak the truth, the French lay out money
on nothing so willingly as on eating, and what
they call making good cheer. On this account
it is that butchers, cooks, poulterers, and
tavern-keepers are to be met with in such
numbers that they create a general confusion:
there is no street of any pretension that is
not filled with them. At any time, in any
place, live animals and raw meat are to be
bought, and you may get anything you like
drest in less than half an hour, for any
number of guests: the rôtisseur supplies the
flesh and fowl, and the patissier, the
patties, tarts, entrées, sauces, and ragoûts. You
may dine at the cabarets at any price you
may choose to name; being served accordingly,
whether at one or two testoons; at a
crown, at four, six, or even twenty crowns
a-head if you please. But for the last named
sum there is nothing you may not command;
even, I doubt not, to the extent of manna
soup, or a roasted phœnix. The princes and
the king himself, often dine at these places."

The pastrycooks, always played a
conspicuous part in Parisian gastronomy;
sparing neither labour nor invention to
heighten the attractions of their wares.
L'Estoile, who wrote in the reign of Charles
the Ninth, describes them as setting out
their pastry, in the summer, in large open
ovens which perfumed the streets; while, in
winter, they made a display in the windows
of their shops of sugared patties, crisp cakes,
marchpane, made of peeled almonds seasoned
with half of their weight of sugar and
flavoured with rose water, and tarts of musk
and amber, which costs as much as twenty-five
crowns a-piece; there were cakes, too,
steeped in hypocras and stuffed with fruit,
and immense pies (so must the grasses
pièces de four be translated), crammed
full of sweetmeats, pistachios, and citrons,
which pleased the eye by their colour,
and gratified the sense of smell by their
odour. The poor were fain to content
themselves, as Rabelais says, "by eating their dry
bread before the cook's ovens, and finding
the smell of the roast meat a most savoury
accompaniment."

The makers of ragoûts produced, two centuries
ago, names as celebrated as those of Felix,
Lesage, Carême, and others of our own time.
Amongst them were Fagnault, Flechmer,
Mignot, and the illustrious Ragueneau. The
three first are mentioned in high terms of praise
in a book called the Commode des Adresses
(a sort of cook's almanac), written by one
Abraham du Pradel, who says: "M.
Fagnault, esquire of the kitchen to his Highness
the Prince, makes excellent ragoûts, which
he sells to persons of taste. In the same
degree is the Sieur Flechmer, who lives in
the Rue Saint Antoine, at the corner of Saint
Paul. He sells large quantities of fine
brioches (light cakes, still extant and
well-known), which the ladies take in their drives
to Vincennes. The Sieur Mignot, Rue de la
Harpe, has not only a high reputation for
pastry, but also for all kinds of ragoûts,
being a patissier-traiteur." The memory of
the Sieur Mignot has been preserved by more
distinguished writers than Du Pradel; for
Boileau has deigned to abuse his sauces, and
Voltaire has indignantly denied an attributed
relationship with the famous pastry-cook.
Of the great Ragueneau something more is
known. His shop, situated in the Rue Saint
Honoré, between the Rue de l'Arbre Sec
and the Palais Royal, was the resort of all
the poets, comedians, and tipplers, who
belonged to the neighbouring theatre, or
frequented the Cross of the Trahoir. Oddly
enough, Ragueneau, preferred the custom
of the two former classes to that of the
latter, for though their coin was scant they
possessed the gift of the gab, and he was
quite content to hear them talk and receive
payment for his long bills in orders for the
Comédie Française, whither he went
joyously to applaud Mondory or Molière. If
evil communications corrupt good manners,
relations with literary men will sometimes
make poets, and by dint of frequenting the
theatres and listening to the outpourings
of the Muse, Ragueneau himself became a
rhymester; only this must be observed that
while his patties were excellent, his verses
were detestable.

The functions of the patissiers and rôtisseurs
of Paris assimilated them in many
particulars to the tavern-keepers; the rooms
behind their shops being used for all the
purposes to which those of the cabarets were
turned. It is unnecessary to dwell upon this
subject, but sufficient may be inferred from
the proverbial saying, applied to the women
who frequented the patissiers openly: "Elle
a honte bue; elle a passé par devant l'huis
du pâtissier." (She has drunk of shame; she
has entered by the pastry-cook's door). The
cooks themselves had their share in this
accusation, and they were obnoxious to