De Goncourt was able to purchase two larks for his breakfast—like the toasted mice of the hero of Bulwer Lytton’s Parisians, “dainty, but not nutritious.” That evening he found, at Voisins, the famous elephant sausage, and he dined on it.
The rarer animals from the Jardin d’Acclimatation in the Bois de Boulogne were transferred before the siege to the Jardin des Plantes. These were mostly bought by the proprietor of the English butcher’s shop, M. Debos; he also bought the elephants of the Jardin des Plantes for 27,000 francs. “Personally, I have eaten the flesh of elephants, wolves, cassowaries, porcupines, bears, kangaroos, rats, cats, and horses,” says the author of the Englishman in Paris. His views on these creatures as articles of food are only given at length in the case of the dog, cat, and horse. The last was supposed to have become a recognized part of the food supply of Paris in the year before the siege, but it never acquired any popularity. “It is very curious, but a positive fact nevertheless, that I have heard Parisians speak favourably afterwards of dog’s and cat’s flesh, even of rats baked in a pie; I have heard them say, that for once in a way, and under ordinary circumstances, they would not mind partaking of those dishes; I have never heard them express the same good-will towards horse-flesh. One thing is certain. At the end of the siege, the sight of a cat or dog was a rarity in Paris, while by the official reports there were thirty thousand horses left.”
The same writer records the opinion of an officer who was most successful in “siege cookery” on the subject of the dog as food. This gentleman, aided by a soldier servant, had made an excellent dish of “larks,” which turned out to be field-mice, slightly flavoured with saffron to disguise their musky taste. “You may disguise anything with saffron except dog’s flesh. His meat is oily and flabby; stew him, fry him, do what you will, there is always a castor-oil flavour remaining, which cannot be got rid of. The only way to minimize that flavour, to make him palatable, is to salt or rather pepper him; to cut him up into large slices and leave them a fortnight, bestrewing them very liberally with peppercorns. Then before cooking them, put them into boiling water for a time, and throw the water away.”
All palates do not seem to have disliked dog so greatly. At Brebant’s, where M. Renan and other leading writers dined regularly during the siege, a “saddle of mutton” was brought in. “We shall have the shepherd served up to-morrow,” said M. Hébrard. It was explained that it was a “très belle selle de chien,” and that this was the third time they had eaten dog.
“No, no,” exclaimed M. Saint-Victor, horrified. “M. Brebant is a respectable man—he would have told us—horse, not dog.”
“Dog or mutton,” said Nefftzer, his mouth full, “I have never eaten a better rôti. If Brebant would give you rat, it is excellent, a mixture of pork and partridge.”
During this dissertation poor M. Renan, who appeared preoccupied and thoughtful, grew pale, then green, threw his five francs on the table, and left hurriedly.
The result of the compulsory experiments in food during the siege will not be much assistance to guide the work of acclimatization, or to aid in the discovery of a new meat, either from the menageries of the Zoological Gardens, or our beasts of burden, though all the needful accessories of good cooks, good wines, and good company were available to secure success.