Animals are limited in their taste; some live only on vegetables, others on flesh; others feed altogether on grain; none know anything of composite flavors.

Man is omnivorous.  All that is edible is subjected to his vast appetite, a thing which causes gustatory powers proportionate to the use he has to make of them.  The apparatus of taste is a rare perfection of man and we have only to see him use it to be satisfied of it.

As soon as any esculent body is introduced into the mouth it is confiscated hopelessly, gas, juice and all.

The lips prevent its retrogression.  The teeth take possession of it and crush it.  The salva imbibes it; the tongue turns it over and over, an aspiration forces it to the thorax; the tongue lifts it up to suffer it to pass.  The sense of smell perceives it en route, and it is precipitated into the stomach to undergo ulterior transformations, without the most minute fragment during the whole of this escaping.  Every drop every atom has been appreciated.

In consequence of this perfection, gourmandise is the exclusive apanage of man.

This gourmandise is even contagious, and we impart it without difficulty to the animals we have appropriated to our use, and which in a manner associate with us, such as elephants, dogs, cats, and parrots even.

Besides taste requiring to be estimated only by the value of the sensation it communicates to the common centre, the impression received by the animal cannot be compared to that imparted to man.  The latter is more precise and clear, and necessarily supposes a superior quality in the organ which transmits it.

In fine, what can we desire in a faculty susceptible of such perfection that the gourmands of Rome were able to distinguish the flavors of fish taken above and below the bridge?  Have we not seen in our own time, that gourmands can distinguish the flavor of the thigh on which the partridge lies down from the other?  Are we not surrounded by gourmets who can tell the latitude in which any wine ripened as surely as one of Biot’s or Arago’s disciples can foretell an eclipse?

The consequence then is that we must render to Caesar the things which are Caesar’s and proclaim man the great gourmand of nature, and not be surprised if the good Doctor does sometimes as Homer did:—­“Much zumeilen ichlafert der gute.”

Method of the author.

As yet we have treated the taste only from the physical point of view, and in some anatomical details which none will regret, we have remained pari passu with science.  This does not however conclude the task we have imposed on ourselves, for from its usual attributes especially does this reparatory sense derive its importance.

We have then arranged in analytical order the theories and facts which compose the ensemble of this history, so that instruction without fatigue will result from it.