im among the host of writers, ancient and
modern, who have treated the subject of food with a sort of sovereign
contempt, or at least with indifference, because its study presented
unsurmountable difficulties, and the subject, _per se_, was a menial
one. With this attitude of our potential chief witnesses defined, we
have no occasion to further appeal to them here, and we might proceed
to real business, to the sifting of the trustworthy material at hand.
It is really a relief to know that we have no array of formidable
authorities to be considered in our study. We have virgin field before
us--i.e., the ruins of ancient greatness grown over by a jungle of two
thousand years of hostile posterity.

POMPEII

Pompeii was destroyed in A.D. 79. From its ruins we have obtained in
the last half century more information about the intimate domestic and
public life of the ancients than from any other single source. What is
more important, this vast wealth of information is first hand,
unspoiled, undiluted, unabridged, unbiased, uncensored;--in short,
untouched by meddlesome human hands.

Though only a provincial town, Pompeii was a prosperous mercantile
place, a representative market-place, a favorite resort for fashionable
people. The town had hardly recuperated from a preliminary attack by
that treacherous mountain, Vesuvius, when a second onslaught succeeded
in complete destruction. Suddenly, without warning, this lumbering
_force majeur_ visited the ill-fated towns in its vicinity with
merciless annihilation. The population, just then enjoying the games in
the amphitheatre outside of the "downtown" district, had had hardly
time to save their belongings. They escaped with their bare lives. Only
the aged, the infirm, the prisoners and some faithful dogs were left
behind. Today their bodies in plaster casts may be seen, mute witnesses
to a frightful disaster. The town was covered with an airtight blanket
of ashes, lava and fine pumice stone. There was no prolonged death
struggle, no perceivable decay extended over centuries as was the cruel
lot of Pompeii's mistress, Rome. There were no agonies to speak of. The
great event was consummated within a few hours. The peace of death
settled down to reign supreme after the dust had been driven away by
the gentle breezes coming in from the bay of Naples. Some courageous
citizens returned, searching in the hot ashes for the crashed-in roofs
of their villas, to recover this or that. Pe