The love of fish became a real mania: turbots excited a furore of admiration—the muræna Helena was worshipped. Hortensius, the orator, actually wept over the death of the one he had fed with his own hands; the daughter of Drusus ornamented hers with golden rings; each had a name, and would come with speed when it heard the voice of the master, whose happiness depended on his fish.[XXI_19]
Sometimes, in a moment of over tenderness for his dear muræna Helena, Vedius Pollio, a Roman knight of the highest distinction, and one of the intimate friends of the Emperor Augustus, could find nothing better to do than to feed them with the flesh of his slaves, who were thrown to them alive.[XXI_20] It is true that these wretched creatures generally deserved this terrible chastisement; for instance, Seneca speaks of one who had the awkwardness to break a crystal vase[XXI_21] while waiting at supper on the irascible Pollio. This unfortunate slave having managed to escape from the hands of those who were conducting him to this horrible death, he went and fell on his knees at the feet of Cæsar, whom he implored to inflict some less frightful torture. Augustus, moved to the very soul, granted him his liberty, had all of Vedius’s vases broken, and ordered that the pieces should be used to fill up the reservoir in which the barbarous knight fed his muræna Helena.[XXI_22]
Having given this rapid sketch of the principal periods of ichthyophagy among the ancients, little remains to be said of later ages in which we find few traces of any particular or excessive predilection for this kind of alimentation. If we are to believe Dio,[XXI_23] the first inhabitants of Great Britain never eat fish. The English have not thought it expedient to imitate their ancestors in this respect.
Under the reign of Edward II., certain fish, especially the sturgeon, never appeared in England except on the table of the king: it was prohibited to all others. In 1138, Stephen wanted to modify this interdiction; but after his reign it was again in vigour, and considered as a royal prerogative.
In France, anybody could eat fish, of any and all kinds; but every fishmonger was obliged to obtain permission from the king to sell it.[XXI_24]
The sumptuary laws of that kingdom inform us of nothing very interesting on this essential of gastrology. We find, however, by the Edict of 1294, that Philip-le-Bel allowed, on fast-days, two herring-pottages, and only one sort of fish—a meagre dinner, if ever there was one, and which, thank heaven, has fallen into complete disuse. Louis XII. was very fond of good cheer, and, consequently, he appointed six fishmongers to supply his table with fresh-water fish;[XXI_25] Francis I. had twenty-two;[XXI_26] Henry the Great, twenty-four.[XXI_27]
Under the reign of Louis XIV. fish acquired a singular vogue in the city as well as at court, owing to the marvellous talent of that prince’s cook, who discovered the art, supposed to be lost, of giving to the delicate flesh of the pike, the carp, and the trout, the shape and flavour of the most exquisite game.
At this period we have the celebrated Vatel, one of the most illustrious officers of the household that ever flourished in the palace of the Princes of Condé. This inimitable major-domo understood that a dinner without fish was a cheerless one. One day when his noble master entertained Louis XIV. at a royal banquet, at Chantilly, which the genius of Vatel rendered more brilliant, the fish from the coast failed; he sent everywhere, but none could be found. He was completely bewildered: he met his august master, whose kind words, full of benevolence, only served to increase his desperation; he left him, ran to his chamber, took his sword, and three times pierced his heart. Shortly after, fish arrived from all quarters. Vatel was called—no Vatel! He was sought for, and at last discovered—Vatel was no more!
It appears that, in former times, there was a remarkable consumption of fish in England on the 4th of July, the Festival of St. Ulric. The following verses, by Barnaby Gouge prove it:—