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Updated: May 13, 2025
This it is which makes the Press more dangerous in France than it is in any other country. Elsewhere the Press sometimes leads, sometimes follows, public opinion. Here there is no public opinion to consult, and instead of opinion the Press represents passion." "My dear Colonel Morley," said Savarin, "I hear you very often say that a Frenchman cannot understand America.
"A hard heart and a good digestion will make any man happy." So said Talleyrand, a cynic if you like, but a man who knew the temper of his day and generation. Ovid wrote about the art of love Brillat Savarin, of the art of dining; yet, I warrant you, the gastronomical treatise of the brilliant Frenchman is more widely read than the passionate songs of the Roman poet.
"A new social system is struggling from the dissolving elements of the old one, as, in the fables of priestcraft, the soul frees itself from the body which has become ripe for the grave. Of that new system I aspire to be a champion a leader. Behold the excitement that allures me, the ambition that goads." "Thank you," said Savarin, meekly; "I am answered.
The inn of Breil had not an engaging face, but it was animated by the spirit of a Brillat Savarin, by which we were provided with a wonderful dinner in numerous courses. We could not escape from it, lest we hurt the amour-propre of the cook, and it was late when we were ready for our last sortie.
M. Savarin said the other day in my hearing, "I and my set were Young France; Gustave Rameau and his set are New Paris." "And what is the distinction between the one and the other?" asked my American friend, Mrs. Morley.
Graham winced; he was spelled by the music of a name, and followed his acquaintance into the crowded room, and, after returning many greetings and nods, withdrew into a remote corner, and motioned Bevil to a seat beside him. "So you met Savarin? Where, did you say?" "At the house of the new lady-author I hate the word authoress Mademoiselle Cicogna! Of course you have read her book?" "Yes."
M. Savarin said the other day in my hearing, "I and my set were Young France; Gustave Rameau and his set are New Paris." "And what is the distinction between the one and the other?" asked my American friend, Mrs. Morley.
When first taken thus ill too ill to attend to his editorial duties information was conveyed to the publisher of the Sens Commun, and in consequence of that information, Victor de Mauleon came to see the sick man. By his bed he found Savarin, who had called, as it were by chance, and seen the doctor, who had said, "It is grave. He must be well nursed."
But like the worthy epicure that he was, Savarin reserved his highest flights of eloquence for such rare and toothsome viands as the Poularde fine de Bresse, the pheasant, "an enigma of which the key-word is known only to the adepts," a sauté of truffles, "the diamonds of the kitchen," or, best of all, truffled turkeys, "whose reputation and price are ever on the increase!
It is difficult for an Englishman to comprehend the full influence of a successful journal at Paris; the station political, literary, social which it confers on the contributors who effect the success. M. Lebeau had shown much more sagacity in selecting Gustave Rameau for the nominal editor than Savarin supposed or my reader might detect.
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