Obesity destroys beauty by annihilating the harmony of primitive proportions, for all the limbs do not proportionately fatten.

It destroys beauty by filling up cavities nature’s hand itself designed.

Nothing is so common as to see faces, once very interesting, made common-place by obesity.

The head of the last government did not escape this law.  Towards the latter portion of his life, he (Napoleon) became bloated, and his eyes lost a great portion of their expression.

Obesity produces a distaste for dancing, walking, riding, and an inaptitude for those amusements which require skill or agility.

It also creates a disposition to certain diseases, such as apoplexy, dropsy, ulcers in the legs, and makes all diseases difficult to cure.

Examples of obesity.

I can remember no corpulent heroes except Marius and John
Sobieski.

Marius was short, and was about as broad as he was long.  That probably frightened the Cimber who was about to kill him.

The obesity of the King of Poland had nearly been fatal to him, for having stumbled on a squadron of Turkish cavalry, from which he had to fly, he would certainly have been massacred, if his aids had not sustained him, almost fainting from fatigue on his horse, while others generously sacrificed themselves to protect him.

If I am not mistaken, the Duc de Vendome, a worthy son of Henry IV., was also very corpulent.  He died at an inn, deserted by all, and preserved consciousness just long enough to see a servant snatch away a pillow on which his head was resting.

There are many instances of remarkable obesity.  I will only speak, however, of my own observations.

M. Rameau, a fellow student of mine and maire of Chaleur, was about five feet two inches high, but weighed five hundred pounds.

The Duc de Luynes, beside whom I often sat, became enormous.  Fat had effaced his handsome features, and he slept away the best portion of his life.

The most remarkable case, though, I saw in New York, and many persons now in Paris will remember to have seen at the door of a cafe in Broadway, a person seated in an immense arm-chair, with legs stout enough to have sustained a church. [Footnote:  Many persons in New York remember the person referred to.  The translator has heard, that as late as 1815, he was frequently to be seen at the door of a house near where the Atheneum Hotel was.  Brillat Savarin is said scarcely to exaggerate.]

Edward was at least five feet ten inches, and was about eight feet (French) in circumference.  His fingers were like those of the Roman Emperor, who used to wear his wife’s bracelets as rings.  His arms and legs were nearly as thick as the waist of a man of medium size, and his feet were elephantine, covered by fat pendant from his legs.  The fat on his cheek had weighed down his lower eye-lid, and three hanging chins made his face horrible to behold.