At this point many pleasantries will occur to you to apply to my 1 incredible narrative, which you will politely call a good story. A man will no longer go to fish with net and hook, but with his mattock! The next thing will be for some one to go out hunting at sea. Now what reason is there, I ask, why fish should not cross the land if we can cross the sea and change our abodes? You are surprised at this happening. How much more incredible are the achievements of luxury as often as it either counterfeits or vanquishes nature? Fish are to be found swimming in the dining couch; one is caught right under the table, to be transferred immediately to the table. A mullet is not thought fresh enough unless it expires in the hand of the banqueter. 2 These fish are handed round enclosed in glass jars, and their colours are observed while they expire; death paints many hues on them as they draw their last struggling breath. Others are pickled alive and killed in the sauce. These are the people who think one is romancing who asserts that a fish can live underground and instead of being caught can be dug up! How inconceivable it would sound to them to hear that a fish swam in sauce and was killed during dinner, but not to be served at dinner; that first it was long admired, and that the eyes were feasted on it before the gullet was! XVIII Suffer me here to lay aside my subject, and to apply the scourge to 1 luxury! Commend me for a beautiful sight, says one, to an expiring mullet. In the death-struggle, as its life ebbs away, first a ruddy glow, then a pallor suffuses it. How symmetrical are the variations as it changes from tint to tint between life and death! Our somnolent, jaded luxury gets a long respite by means of this.[56] It was late in waking up to find how cruelly it had been circumscribed in being cheated of such a pleasure! Hitherto only fishermen have been able to enjoy this grand and beauteous sight. But why should we at the 2 banquet be satisfied with a cooked, a lifeless fish? Let him expire on the very tray. We used to be surprised at the fastidiousness of our epicures in refusing to touch fish unless it had been caught on the same day, when, as the saying goes, it smacked of the briny. It used for that reason to be delivered post haste--way had to be made for the breathless porters as they hurried along shouting. To what 3 lengths have refinements now been pushed? A fish killed to-day has come to be considered as already stinking. “He was taken out of the water this day, I assure you.” “I cannot trust you in a matter of such moment. I must have the evidence of my own senses; let the creature be brought here and breathe out his life before my eyes.” Such a pitch of fastidiousness has the gourmands’ palate reached that they will not taste a fish unless they have seen it swimming and throbbing in the very banqueting room.