SUBSECTION 2. Diet corrected in quantity.

Human beings alone, says Cardan, eat and drink without appetite and indulge in every pleasure without need, “through a fault of the soul”; and many troubles come to them from this. For no food, however wholesome and good in itself, can be eaten at an unsuitable time or in excessive amounts, beyond what the stomach can comfortably bear, without producing indigestion and doing great harm.

Crato therefore advises his patient to eat only twice a day, at fixed mealtimes; never to eat without an appetite or on a full stomach; and to leave seven hours between dinner and supper. If we observed this rule in our colleges, it would be much better for our health. But that tyrant custom is so powerful that, contrary to all good order and the rules of medicine, we scarcely allow five.

If he has no appetite after waiting seven hours, he should postpone his meal, or eat very little at his usual mealtime. Prosper Calenus gave this very advice to Cardinal Caesius when he was suffering from this disease, and Plater prescribes it for a patient of his, to be observed with the utmost strictness. Guianerius allows three meals a day, but Montanus, consultation 23, for an Italian abbot, limits him strictly to two. And just as he must not eat too much, so he must not fast altogether: for, as Celsus argues in book 1, and Iacchinus, 15 on book 9 of Rhazes, overfilling and emptying the body can both do harm at their opposite extremes.

Moreover, whatever he eats must be chewed well, not hastily gobbled down, for that causes indigestion and wind; and he must take care to eat no more than he can properly digest. Some people think, says Trincavelius, book 11, chapter 29, On Treating the Parts of the Human Body, that the more they eat, the more they nourish themselves—“eat and live,” as the proverb says. They do not know that only what is properly digested restores a person, not whatever is swallowed.

Melancholy people generally have good appetites but poor digestion, and for that reason they must make sure to leave the table still hungry. What Socrates and Disarius, the physicians in Macrobius, so strongly recommend, Saint Jerome also enjoins on Rusticus: to eat and drink no more than will satisfy hunger and thirst.

Lessius the Jesuit considers twelve, thirteen or fourteen ounces of food, bread and so on—or at most sixteen in our northern countries—a suitable allowance for a whole day for all students, people in poor health, and those who lead an inactive, sedentary life; with the same amount, or a little more, to drink. Nothing burdens body and mind sooner than continual feeding: eating and gulping down food beyond all measure, as many do.

By overeating and continual feasting they smother nature and choke themselves up; whereas, if they had lived on coarse fare, or been tied to an oar like galley slaves, they might perhaps have prolonged their lives by many good years.

A great deal of harm comes from a variety of dishes, which causes the disorder just described. Nothing, says Avicenna, is worse than eating many different foods, or eating too much; dining like Sertorius “until daylight,” and prolonging meals all day or all night, as people commonly do in Muscovy and Iceland.

Our northern countries are especially guilty of this, and we on this island—“living lavishly at dinner and supper,” as Polydore observes—are the most generous eaters, but to our own harm. “I hate Persian extravagance, boy.” Excessive eating breeds sickness, and gluttony causes bilious diseases; many die from overeating, but someone who restrains his diet prolongs his life: Ecclesiasticus 37:29–30.

We count it a great distinction for a man to have his table furnished every day with a variety of foods. But listen to the physician: he pulls you by the ear as you sit there and tells you that nothing can be more harmful to your health than such variety and abundance.

Temperance is a golden bridle, and whoever can use it rightly—“I do not compare him with the greatest men, but judge him most like a god”—is more like a god than a man. For just as it will transform a beast into a man again, so it will make a man a god.

To preserve your honour and health, therefore, and avoid all the swellings, pains, obstructions, indigestion and diseases that come from a heavy diet, the best course is to eat sparingly from one or two dishes at most; to have “a well-behaved stomach,” as Seneca calls it; to choose one dish from many and eat that alone, as Crato advises his patient.

Prosper Calenus gives Cardinal Caesius the same advice: to follow a moderate, simple diet; and although his rank and guests require his table to be generously furnished, he himself should select one appetizing dish and eat that.

Crato, consultation 9, book 2, presses the same advice on a nobleman suffering from this complaint. He would have His Highness dine or sup alone, without all his distinguished attendants and courtly company, with perhaps a personal friend, a dish or two, and a cup of Rhenish wine.

Montanus, consultation 24, for a noble lady, prescribes one dish and forbids drinking between meals. He gives similar advice in consultation 229, or says not to eat until one is hungry: a rule Berengarius observed most strictly, as Hildebert, bishop of Le Mans, writes in his life.

“He never drank before he was thirsty, nor ate before he was hungry,”

and all temperate people constantly observe it. We still commonly follow this ceremony: when friends meet, they go to an alehouse or tavern; otherwise they are not being sociable. And if they visit one another's houses, they must both eat and drink. I do not condemn this when practised in moderation, but for some people nothing could be more harmful: they would do better, as I say with Saint Ambrose, to pour that much water into their shoes.