The History of a Mouthful of Bread | Page 9

doorkeeper, or porter, as we will call him, of the mouth.
I do not suppose you have guessed who he is; so I am going to tell you.
The porter who keeps the door of the mouth is the sense of taste.
It is he who does the honors of the house so agreeably to proper visitors,
and gives such an unscrupulous dismissal to unpleasant intruders. In
other words, it is by his directions that we welcome so affectionately
with tongue and lips whatever is good to eat, and spit out unhesitatingly
whatever is unpleasant.
I could speak very ill of this porter if I chose; which would not be very
pleasant for certain little gourmands that I see here, who think a good
deal too much of him. But I would rather begin by praising him. I can
make my exceptions afterwards.
In the history I am going to give you, my dear child, there is one thing
you must never lose sight of, even when I do not allude to it; and that is,
that everything we shall examine into, has been expressly arranged by
God for the good and accommodation of our being in this world; just as
a cradle is arranged by a mother for the comfort of her baby. We must
look upon all these things, therefore, as so many presentsfrom the
Almighty himself; and abstain from speaking ill of them, were it only
out of respect for the hand which has bestowed them.
Moreover, there is a very easy plan by which we may satisfy ourselves
of the usefulness and propriety of these gifts--namely, by considering
what would become of us if we were deprived of any one of them.
Suppose, for instance, that you were totally deficient in the sense of
taste, and that when you put a piece of cake into your mouth, it should
create no more sensation in you than when you held it in your hand?
You would not have thought of imagining such a case yourself, I am
aware; for it never comes into a child's head to think that things can be
otherwise than as God has made them. And in that respect children are
sometimes wiser than philosophers. Nevertheless, we will suppose this
for once, and consider what would happen in consequence.
Well, in the first place, you would eat old mouldy cake with just the
same relish as if it were fresh; and this mouldy cake, which now you

carefully avoid because it is mouldy, is very unwholesome food, and
would poison you were you to eat a great deal of it.
I give this merely as an instance, but it is one of a thousand. And
although, with regard to eatables, you only know such as have been
prepared either in shops or in your mamma's kitchen, still you must be
aware there are many we ought to avoid, because they would do no
good in our stomachs, and that we should often be puzzled to
distinguish these from others, if the sense of taste did not warn us about
them. You must admit, therefore, that such warnings are not without
their value.
In short, it is a marvellous fact that what is unfit for food, is almost
always to be recognized as it enters the mouth, by its disagreeable taste;
a further proof that God has thought of everything. Medicines, it is true,
are unpleasant to the taste, and yet have to be swallowed in certain
cases. But we may compare them to chimney-sweepers, who are
neither pretty to look at, nor invited into the drawing-room; but who,
nevertheless, are from time to time let into the grandest houses by the
porters--though possibly with a grimace--because their services are
wanted. And in the same way medicines have to be admitted
sometimes--despite their unpleasantness--because they, too, have to
work in the chimney. Taste does not deceive you about them, however;
they are not intended to serve as food. If any one should try to breakfast,
dine, and sup upon physic he would soon find this out.
Besides, I only said almost always, in speaking of unwholesome food
making itself known to us by its nasty taste; for it is an unfortunate
truth that men have invented a thousand plans for baffling their natural
guardian, and for bringing thieves secretly into the company of honest
people. They sometimes put poison, for instance, into sugar--as is too
often done in the case of those horrible green and blue sugar plums,
against which I have an old grudge, for they poisoned a friend whom I
loved dearly in my youth. Such things as these pass imprudently by the
porter, who sees nothing of their real character--Mr. Sugar concealing
the rogues behind him.
Moreover, we are sometimes so foolish