The History of a Mouthful of Bread / And its effect on the organization of men and animals

by Jean Macé

It is very surprising, too, to think of its being forthcoming in the jaws just when it is wanted there.

You begin to perceive that there are many things to be learnt before we come to the end of our history, and that we find ourselves checked at every step; now listen, for we are coming to something very important.

In distant country-seats, where people are thrown entirely upon their own resources, they must be provided beforehand with all that is requisite for repairing the building; and there is, accordingly, a person called a steward, who keeps everything under lock and key, and distributes to the workmen whatever materials they may require. Thus, the steward gives tiles to the slater, planks to the carpenter, colors to the painter, lime and bricks to the mason—the very same lime that we have in our teeth—in fact, he has got everything that can be wanted in his storehouse, and it is to him that every one applies in time of need.

Now our body also is a mansion, and has its steward too. But what a steward—how active! what a universal genius I how inefficient by comparison are the stewards of the greatest lords! He goes, he comes, he is everywhere at once; and this really, and not as we use the phrase in speaking of a merely active man: for the being everywhere at once is in this case, a fact. He keeps everything, not in a storehouse, but what is far better, in his very pockets, which he empties by degrees as he goes about, distributing their contents without ever making a mistake, without stopping, without delaying; and returns to replenish his resources in a ceaseless, indefatigable course, which never flags, night nor day. And you can form no idea how many workmen he has under his orders, all laboring without intermission, all requiring different things—not one of them pausing, even for a joke!—not even to say—"Wait a moment;"—they do not understand what waiting means: he must always keep giving, giving, giving. By and by we shall have a long account to give of this wonderful steward, whose name, be it known, if you have not already guessed it, is Blood.

It is he who, one fine day when he was making his round of the jaws, found those little germs I spoke of, awake and eager for work; and he began at once to start them with materials. He knew that phosphorus and lime were what they needed: he drew phosphorus and lime therefore out of his pockets,—and, to be very exact, some other little matters too,—but these were the most important; but I cannot stop to tell you everything at once.

Now, where did the blood obtain this phosphorus and lime?

I expected you to ask this, but if you want everything explained as we go along, we shall not get very far. In fact, if I answer all your questions I shall be letting out my secret too soon, and telling you the end of my story almost before it is begun.

So be it, however; perhaps you will feel more courage to go on, when you know where we are going.

The steward of a country-house distributes tiles, planks, paint, bricks, lime; but none of these things are his own, as you know; he has received them from his master: and, in the same way, our steward has nothing of his own: everything he distributes comes from the master of the house, and as I have already told you, this master is the stomach. As fast as the steward distributes, therefore, must the master renew the stores—and renew them all, for unless he does this, the work would stop. In proportion as the blood gives out on all sides the contents of his pockets, the stomach must replenish them, and fill them with everything necessary, or there would be a revolution in the house. Now, as there can be nothing in the stomach but what has got into it by the mouth, it behooves us to put into the mouth whatever is needed for the supply of our numerous workmen; and this is why we eat.

I perceive that I have plunged here into an explanation out of which I shall not easily extricate myself, for I can guess what you are going to say next. When you began to cut your teeth, you had eaten neither phosphorus nor lime, as nothing but milk had entered your mouth.