Chestnuts, though a very common dessert fruit in France, are comparatively little used in England, though there is no reason why they should not be much cultivated, as they grow well in a cold, and even in a mountainous country. In Perigord they count eight different species of chestnuts, and there, as well as in Brittany, the chestnut forms a staple article of food for the peasantry. Madame de Sévigné, writing from her estate of the Rochers, near Vitré, says:—“Je ne connaissais la Provence que par les grenadiers, les oranges, et les jasmins; voilà comme on nous la dépeint. Pour nous, ce sont des châtaignes qui font notre ornement; j’en avois l’autre jour trois ou quartres paniers autour de moi. J’en fis bouiller, j’en fis rôtir, j’en mis dans ma poche; on en sert dans les plats, on marche dessus, c’est la Bretagne dans son triomphe.” In the thirteenth century Lombardy chestnuts were cried in the streets of Paris. According to heathen records chestnuts were first noticed at Sardes, in Lydia. Virgil speaks of the “castanea molles.” They are eaten at dessert boiled or roasted, and are in both ways palatable.
Cherries are, in the season, an important portion of a French as well as of an English dessert. There are in France six species of black-heart cherries, six of bigarreux, and five-and-twenty of cherries and black cherries. The cherries most prized by the Parisians, however, are those of Montmorency, so named from that rich valley in which they grow, extending from St. Denis to Pontoise. England, our own dear country, greatly transcends France in this article of dessert, brought originally from the garden of Mithridates. Not only are cherries produced in greater quantity, but are much finer in flavour. Kent, Berkshire, Oxfordshire, are pre-eminent in this produce; and the May-duke (probably originally from Médoc), Biggarroon (bigarreux), and white-heart attest our superiority.
Apricots, which frequently appear at dessert in France, and not unfrequently in England at the tables of the wealthy, were not known in either of these countries (though they are mentioned by Dioscorides, who lived in the time of Nero, under the name of prœcocia) till the sixteenth century. After that period they became rather common; but previously were sold, says Champier, as though the price were extravagant, at a farthing a-piece. When this fruit was first introduced into France it appeared no bigger than the smallest plum; but the science and art of French gardeners not only contributed to increase its size but its flavour. In 1651 there were but three species of apricots; the late, the early, and the musqué, or musk-flavoured. Now there are at least twenty, of which the apricot of Nanci is the largest and best. But the apricots of Angoumois, of Holland, of Portugal, and of Alexandria, are not to be despised. Under favour, and with submission be it said, however, that the best apricot that ever was in Grange’s, Owen’s, Marks’, Levy’s, Solomon’s, Israel’s, or Raine’s shop, is but a dry and insipid article compared with a fine peach, fine greengages, fine fresh-gathered, green, hairy gooseberries, fine Mirabel plums, fine pears, or fine mellow ribston pippins. The apricot comes originally from Armenia. The name originates in the situation which the tree prefers—a wall exposed to the heat of the meridian sun. The word apricus is sometimes differently applied, as aprici senes, old men who delight in sitting and prattling on benches exposed to the reviving warmth of Sol’s rays.
There are about twenty kinds of plums both in England and France; but among these the greengage, called by the French the reine claude, is by far the most luscious, succulent, and full-flavoured. These plums, called after the daughter of Louis XII., first wife of Francis I., have, in France, a peculiarly rich mellow juiciness, the effect probably of a drier atmosphere, and the being exposed to a warmer sun on mud-built lime-washed walls, with a southern aspect. These greengages are always eaten with a peculiar relish in Paris. There is a sun-burnt look about them, as well as,—
“A deep embrowned tint, which tells
How rich within the soul of sweetness dwells;”
whereas the greengage of England looks pale and peaky, as though it were afflicted with the green-sickness.
The peach, or Persian apple, is one of the oldest known fruits in France, and one of the commonest served at dessert. The most esteemed in the neighbourhood of Paris, is the peach of Corbeil. In the provinces, those of Troyes and Dauphiné enjoy the greatest renown. The Auberi peach is common in Languedoc, and has latterly been cultivated in the neighbourhood of Paris. The Duracine peach is a native of Brittany. It is of more than ordinary size, and the flesh firm and juicy; but almost all peaches in France are mere turnips compared with the hot-house fruit in England. Enter Grange’s in Piccadilly, or the elder Owen’s in Bond Street, Marks’ at the corner of Holles Street, and try one of the shilling peaches in the season, and you will find a rich, juicy, fleshy flavour and aroma oftener sought than found in the fruit of France. It is true that you may have six or eight peaches in France for the price you would pay for one in England at any of these three shops, but that one peach is better than a bushel of such tasteless turnip fruit as is often presented to you all over Gaul. The ten and twelve sous peaches of Corbeil, which may be obtained at Madame Malliez in the Marché St. Honoré, are certainly a more commendable fruit, but I should prefer for my own eating a first-rate hot-house peach to any three of them. I know not whether an improved peach has recently come from China. The peach is a fruit which has been cultivated in the Celestial Empire from the earliest times, and celebrated in their ancient books, in the songs of their poets, and the disquisitions of their doctors. The peach yu, it is said in their legends, produces an eternity of life, and preserves the body from corruption to the end of the world. A fine peach is a delicious fruit; it is good with sugar, good without sugar, and excellent, super-excellent with a glass of good Madeira, sherry, or brandy thrown over it. The peach-tree does not always require the protection of the sheltering wall in warmer climates. The trees stand insulated in the vineyard or orchard, swinging gently in the breeze, which the French call pêches de vigne, and abricots en plein vent.
There is no better dessert fruit than a good apple, and in this fruit England beats all the world, with the exception of America. The New-town pippin is unquestionably the first of apples, but first-rate ribstons come next to it. The nonpareil and golden pippin (the golden apple of the Hesperides) are not without merit. The great defect of French apples, however, is their general mealiness and want of juiciness. The paradis of Provence is the best of its kind. There is also an apple of very tolerable flavour, called the capendu, which ladies lock up in their drawers and wardrobes to perfume their clothes. There are about forty-six kinds of apples mentioned in the “Théâtre d’Agriculture,” but the grey and white reinette are the only apples desirable at a French dessert.
The different species of pears (from the Epirean orchards of Pyrrhus) are more numerous even than the species of apples. De Serres speaks of ninety-five kinds of pears; 400 are mentioned in the “Jardinier Française,” and more than 300 in “La Quintinié.” It is not generally known that the famous chaumontel (called by corruption in England charmontel), was a wild pear transplanted into the garden and rendered perfect by culture. The Burgundy pear, called Madame Oudotte (and by corruption Amadotte), was also a wild pear found in a wood belonging to a lady of the name of Oudotte. Four of the best dessert pears in France are the beurré, the cuisse de madame (my lady’s thigh), the pear of Lyons, the bergamotte of Lorraine, and the bon chrétien of Tourraine. The bon chrétien is by no means a common pear in England; though towards the latter end of August, or the beginning of September, it is always to be had at Covent Garden Market. The finest Spanish bon chrétiens I have ever eaten in England were grown in the garden of Mr. Powell, near to Minster and Herne, in Kent. This is extraordinary, as the Kentish soil is unfavourable both to pears and apples, while the opposite coast of Essex produces exquisite fruit, and above all, those bulbous thin-skinned gooseberries, equal to the best chasselas of Fontainbleau. Compotes of pears are excellent and cooling at dessert, and render the fruit more digestible, according to the line,—