The Appetite Cure

[Guest guest]

AT THE APPETITE CURE

by Mark Twain

First published in Cosmopolitan, August 1898

Part I

This establishment's name is Hochberghaus. It is in

Bohemia, a short day's journey from Vienna, and being in the Austrian

Empire is, of course, a health resort. The empire is made up of health

resorts; it distributes health to the whole world. Its waters are all

medicinal. They are bottled and sent throughout the earth; the natives

themselves drink beer. This is self-sacrifice, apparently - but

outlanders who have drunk Vienna beer have another idea about it.

Particularly the Pilsener which one gets in a small cellar up an

obscure back lane in the First Bezirk - the name has escaped me, but

the place is easily found: You inquire for the Greek church; and when

you get to it, go right along by - the next house is that little

beer-mill. It is remote from all traffic and all noise; it is always

Sunday there. There are two small rooms, with low ceilings are

whitewashed, otherwise the rooms would pass for cells in the dungeons

of a bastile. The furniture is plain and cheap, there is no

ornamentation anywhere; yet it is a heaven for the self-sacrifices, for

the beer there is incomparable; there is nothing like it elsewhere in

the world. In the first room you will find twelve or fifteen ladies and

gentlemen of civilian quality; in the other one a dozen generals and

ambassadors. One may live in Vienna many months and not hear of this

place; but having once heard of it and sampled it the sampler will

afterward infest it.

However, this is all incidental - a mere passing note

of gratitude for blessings received - it has nothing to do with my

subject. My subject is health resorts. All unhealthy people ought to

domicile themselves in Vienna, and use that as a base, making flights

from time to time to the outlying resorts, according to need. A flight

to Marienbad to get rid of fat; a flight to Carlsbad to get rid of

rheumatism; a flight to Kaltenleutgeben to take the water cure and get

rid of the rest of the diseases. It is all so handy. You can stand in

Vienna and toss a biscuit into Kaltenleutgeben, with a twelve-inch gun.

You can run out thither at any time of the day; you go by the

phenomenally slow trains, and yet inside of an hour you have exchanged

the glare and swelter of the city for wooded hills, and shady forest

paths, and soft, cool airs, and the music of birds, and the repose and

peace of paradise.

And there are plenty of other health resorts at your

service and convenient to get at from Vienna; charming places, all of

them; Vienna sits in the center of a beautiful world of mountains with

now and then a lake and forests; in fact, no other city is so

fortunately situated.

There are abundance of health resorts, as I have said.

Among them this place - Hochberghaus. It stands solitary on the top of

a densely wooded mountain, and is a building of great size. It is

called the Appetite Anstalt, and people who have lost their appetites

come here to get them restored. When I arrived I was taken by Professor

Haimberger to his consulting-room and questioned:

"It is six o'clock. When did you eat last?"

"At noon."

"What did you eat?"

"Next to nothing."

"What was on the table?"

"The usual things."

"Chops, chickens, vegetables, and so on?"

"Yes; but don't mention them - I can't bear it."

"Are you tired of them?"

"Oh, utterly. I wish I might never hear of them again."

"The mere sight of food offends you, does it?"

"More, it revolts me."

The doctor considered awhile, then got out a long menu

and ran his eye slowly down it.

"I think," said he, "that what you need to eat is - but

here, choose for yourself."

I glanced at the list, and my stomach threw a

handspring. Of all the barbarous layouts that were ever contrived, this

was the most atrocious. At the top stood "tough, underdone, overdue

tripe, garnished with garlic"; half-way down the bill stood "young cat;

old cat; scrambled cat"; at the bottom stood "sailor-boots, softened

with tallow - served raw." The wide intervals of the bill were packed

with dishes calculated to insult a cannibal. I said:

"Doctor, it is not fair to joke over so serious a case

as mine. I came here to get an appetite, not to throw away the remnant

that's left."

See - Eating Butterflies: "But I can't eat these

horrors."

He said, gravely, "I am not joking; why should I joke?"

"But I can't eat these horrors."

"Why not?"

He said it with a naivete that was admirable, whether

it was real or assumed.

"Why not? Because - why, doctor, for months I have

seldom been able to endure anything more substantial than omelettes and

custards. These unspeakable dishes of yours - "

"Oh, you will come to like them. They are very good.

And you must eat them. It is the rule of the place, and is strict. I

cannot permit any departure from it."

I said, smiling: "Well, then, doctor, you will have to

permit the departure of the patient. I am going."

He looked hurt, and said in a way which changed the

aspect of things:

"I am sure you would not do me that injustice. I

accepted you in good faith - you will not shame that confidence. This

appetite cure is my whole living. If you should go forth from it with

the sort of appetite which you now have, it could become known, and you

can see, yourself, that people would say my cure failed in your case

and hence can fail in other cases. You will not go; you will not do me

this hurt."

I apologized and said I would stay.

"That is right. I was sure you would not go; it would

take the food from my family's mouths."

"Would they mind that? Do they eat these fiendish

things?"

"They? My family?" His eyes were full of gentle

wonder. "Of course not."

"Oh, they don't! Do you?"

"Certainly not."

"I see. It's another case of a physician who doesn't

take his own medicine."

"I don't need it. It is six hours since you lunched.

Will you have supper now - or later?"

"I am not hungry, but now is as good a time as any, and

I would like to be done with it and have it off my mind. It is about my

usual time, and regularity is commanded by all the authorities. Yes, I

will try to nibble a little now - I wish a light horse-whipping would

answer instead."

The professor handed me that odious menu.

"Choose - or will you have it later?"

"Oh, dear me, show me to my room; I forgot your hard

rule."

"Wait just a moment before you finally decide. There

is another rule. If you choose now, the order will be filled at once;

but if you wait, you will have to await my pleasure. You cannot get a

dish from that entire bill until I consent."

"All right. Show me to my room, and send the cook to

bed; there is not going to be any hurry."

The professor took me up one flight of stairs and

showed me into a most inviting and comfortable apartment consisting of

parlor, bedchamber, and bath-room.

The front windows looked out over a far-reaching

spread of green glades and valleys, and tumbled hills clothed with

forests - a noble solitude unvexed by the fussy world. In the parlor

were many shelves filled with books. The professor said he would now

leave me to myself; and added:

"Smoke and read as much as you please, drink all the

water you like. When you get hungry, ring and give your order, and I

will decide whether it shall be filled or not. Yours is a stubborn, bad

case, and I think the first fourteen dishes in the bill are each and

all too delicate for its needs. I ask you as a favor to restrain

yourself and not call for them."

"Restrain myself, is it? Give yourself no uneasiness.

You are going to save money by me. The idea of coaxing a sick man's

appetite back with this buzzard fare is clear insanity."

I said it with bitterness, for I felt outraged by this

calm, cold talk over these heartless new engines of assassination. The

doctor looked grieved, but not offended. He laid the bill of fare on

the commode at my bed's head, "so that it would be handy," and said:

"Yours is not the worst case I have encountered, by

any means; still it is a bad one and requires robust treatment;

therefore I shall be gratified if you will restrain yourself and skip

down to No. 15 and begin with that."

Then he left me and I began to undress, for I was

dog-tired and very sleepy. I slept fifteen hours and woke up finely

refreshed at ten the next morning. Vienna coffee! It was the first

thing I thought of - that unapproachable luxury - that sumptuous

coffee-house coffee, compared with which all other European coffee and

all American hotel coffee is mere fluid poverty. I rang, and ordered

it; also Vienna bread, that delicious invention. The servant spoke

through the wicket in the door and said - but you know what he said. He

referred me to the bill of fare. I allowed him to go - I had no further

use for him.

After the bath I dressed and started for a walk, and

got as far as the door. It was locked on the outside. I rang and the

servant came and explained that it was another rule. The seclusion of

the patient was required until after the first meal. I had not been

particularly anxious to get out before; but it was different now. Being

locked in makes a person wishful to get out. I soon began to find it

difficult to put in the time. At two o'clock I had been twenty-six

hours without food. I had been growing hungry for some time; I

recognized that I was not only hungry now, but hungry with a strong

adjective in front of it. Yet I was not hungry enough to face the bill

of fare.

I must put in the time somehow. I would read and smoke.

I did it; hour by hour. The books were all of one breed - shipwrecks;

people lost in deserts; people shut up in caved-in mines; people

starving in besieged cities. I read about all the revolting dishes that

ever famishing men had stayed their hunger with. During the first hours

these things nauseated me; hours followed in which they did not so

affect me; still other hours followed in which I found myself smacking

my lips over some tolerably infernal messes. When I had been without

food forty-five hours I ran eagerly to the bell and ordered the second

dish in the bill, which was a sort of dumplings containing a compost

made of caviar and tar.

It was refused me. During the next fifteen hours I

visited the bell every now and then and ordered a dish that was further

down the list. Always a refusal. But I was conquering prejudice after

prejudice, right along; I was making sure progress; I was creeping up

on No. 15 with deadly certainty, and my heart beat faster and faster,

my hopes rose higher and higher.

At last when food had not passed my lips for sixty

hours, victory was mine, and I ordered No. 15:

"Soft-boiled spring chicken - in the egg; six dozen,

hot and fragrant!"

In fifteen minutes it was there; and the doctor along

with it, rubbing his hands with joy. He said with great excitement:

"It's a cure, it's a cure! I knew I could do it. Dear

sir, my grand system never fails - never. You've got your appetite back

- you know you have; say it and make me happy."

"Bring on your carrion - I can eat anything in the

bill!"

"Oh, this is noble, this is splendid - but I knew I

could do it, the system never fails. How are the birds?"

"Never was anything so delicious in the world; and yet

as a rule I don't care for game. But don't interrupt me, don't - I

can't spare my mouth, I really can't."

Then the doctor said:

"The cure is perfect. There is no more doubt nor

danger. Let the poultry alone; I can trust you with a beefsteak now."

The beefsteak came - as much as a basketful of it -

with potatoes, and Vienna bread and coffee; and I ate a meal then that

was worth all the costly preparation I had made for it. And dripped

tears of gratitude into the gravy all the time - gratitude to the

doctor for putting a little plain common sense into me when I had been

empty of it so many, many years.

Part II

Thirty years ago Haimberger went off on a long voyage

in a sailing-ship. There were fifteen passengers on board. The

table-fare was of the regulation pattern of the day: At seven in the

morning, a cup of bad coffee in bed; at nine, breakfast: bad coffee,

with condensed milk; soggy rolls, crackers, salt fish; at 1 p.m.,

luncheon: cold tongue, cold ham, cold corned beef, soggy cold rolls,

crackers; 5 p.m., dinner: thick pea-soup, salt fish, hot corned beef

and sauerkraut, boiled pork and beans, pudding; 9 till 11 p.m., supper:

tea, with condensed milk, cold tongue, cold ham, pickles, sea-biscuit,

pickled oysters, pickled pig's feet, grilled bones, golden buck.

At the end of the first week eating had ceased,

nibbling had taken its place. The passengers came to the table, but it

was partly to put in the time, and partly because the wisdom of the

ages commanded them to be regular in their meals. They were tired of

the coarse and monotonous fare, and took no interest in it, had no

appetite for it. All day and every day they roamed the ship half

hungry, plagued by their gnawing stomachs, moody, untalkative,

miserable. Among them were three confirmed dyspeptics. These became

shadows in the course of three weeks. There was also a bedridden

invalid; he lived on boiled rice; he could not look at the regular

dishes.

Now came shipwreck and life in open boats, with the

usual paucity of food. Provisions ran lower and lower. The appetites

improved, then. When nothing was left but raw ham and the ration of

that was down to two ounces a day per person, the appetites were

perfect. At the end of fifteen days the dyspeptics, the invalid and the

most delicate ladies in the party were chewing sailor-boots in ecstasy,

and only complaining because the supply of them was limited. Yet these

were the same people who couldn't endure the ship's tedious corned beef

and sauerkraut and other crudities. They were rescued by an English

vessel. Within ten days the whole fifteen were in as good condition as

they had been when the shipwreck occurred.

"They had suffered no damage by their adventure," said

the professor. "Do you note that?"

"Yes."

"Do you note it well?"

"Yes - I think I do."

"But you don't. You hesitate. You don't rise to the

importance of it. I will say it again - with emphasis - not one of them

suffered any damage."

"Now I begin to see. Yes, it was indeed remarkable."

"Nothing of the kind. It was perfectly natural. There

was no reason why they should suffer damage. They were undergoing

Nature's Appetite Cure, the best and wisest in the world."

"Is that where you got your idea?"

"That is where I got it."

"It taught those people a valuable lesson."

"What makes you think that?"

"Why shouldn't I? You seem to think it taught you one."

"That is nothing to the point. I am not a fool."

"I see. Were they fools?"

"They were human beings."

"Is it the same thing?"

"Why do you ask? You know it yourself. As regards his

health - and the rest of the things - the average man is what his

environment and his superstitions have made him; and their function is

to make him an ass. He can't add up three or four new circumstances

together and perceive what they mean; it is beyond him. He is not

capable of observing for himself. He has to get everything at second

hand. If what are miscalled the lower animals were as silly as man is,

they would all perish from the earth in a year."

"Those passengers learned no lesson, then?"

"Not a sign of it. They went to their regular meals in

the English ship, and pretty soon they were nibbling again - nibbling,

appetiteless, disgusted with the food, moody, miserable, half hungry,

their outraged stomachs cursing and swearing and whining and

supplicating all day long. And in vain, for they were the stomachs of

fools."

"Then, as I understand it, your scheme is - "

"Quite simple. Don't eat till you are hungry. If the

food fails to taste good, fails to satisfy you, rejoice you, comfort

you, don't eat again until you are very hungry. Then it will rejoice

you - and do you good, too."

"And I observe no regularity, as to hours?"

"When you are conquering a bad appetite - no. After it

is conquered, regularity is no harm, so long as the appetite remains

good. As soon as the appetite wavers, apply the corrective again -

which is starvation, long or short according to the needs of the case."

"The best diet, I suppose - I mean the wholesomest - "

"All diets are wholesome. Some are wholesomer than

others, but all the ordinary diets are wholesome enough for the people

who use them. Whether the food be fine or coarse, it will taste good

and it will nourish if a watch be kept upon the appetite and a little

starvation introduced every time it weakens. Nansen was used to fine

fare, but when his meals were restricted to bear-meat months at a time

he suffered no damage and no not discomfort, because his appetite was

kept at par through the difficulty of getting his bear-meat regularly."

"But doctors arrange carefully considered and delicate

diets for invalids."

"They can't help it. The invalid is full of inherited

superstitions and won't starve himself. He believes it would certainly

kill him."

"It would weaken him, wouldn't it?"

"Nothing to hurt. Look at the invalids in our

shipwreck. They lived fifteen days on pinches of raw ham, a suck at

sailor-boots, and general starvation. It weakened them, but it didn't

hurt them. It put them in fine shape to eat heartily of hearty food and

build themselves up to a condition of robust health. But they did not

perceive that; they lost their opportunity; they remained invalids; it

served them right. Do you know the tricks that the health-resort

doctors play?"

"What is it?"

"My system disguised - covert starvation. Grapecure,

bath-cure, mud-cure - it is all the same. The grape and the bath and

the mud make a show and do a trifle of the work - the real work is done

by the surreptitious starvation. The patient accustomed to four meals

and late hours - at both ends of the day - now consider what he has to

do at a health resort. He gets up at six in the morning. Eats one egg.

Tramps up and down a promenade two hours with the other fools. Eats a

butterfly. Slowly drinks a glass of filtered sewage that smells like a

buzzard's breath. Promenades another two hours, but alone; if you speak

to him he says anxiously, 'My water! - I am walking off my water! -

please don't interrupt,' and goes stumping along again. Eats a candied

rose-leaf. Lies at rest in the silence and solitude of his room for

hours; mustn't speak, mustn't read, mustn't smoke. The doctor comes and

feels of his heart, now, and his pulse, and thumps his breast and his

back and his stomach, and listens for results through a penny

flageolet; then orders the man's bath - half a degree, Reaumur, cooler

than yesterday. After the bath, another egg. A glass of sewage at three

or four in the afternoon, and promenade solemnly with the other freaks.

Dinner at six - half a doughnut and a cup of tea. Walk again. Half past

eight, supper - more butterfly; at nine, to bed. Six weeks of this

regime - think of it. It starves a man out and puts him in splendid

condition. It would have the same effect in London, New York, Jericho -

anywhere."

"How long does it take to put a person in condition

here?"

"It ought to take but a day or two; but in fact it

takes from one to six weeks, according to the character and mentality

of the patient."

"How is that?"

"Do you see that crowd of women playing football, and

boxing, and jumping fences yonder? They have been here six or seven

weeks. They were spectral poor weaklings when they came. They were

accustomed to nibbling at dainties and delicacies at set hours four

times a day, and they had no appetite for anything. I questioned them,

and then locked them into their rooms, the frailest ones to starve nine

or ten hours, the others twelve or fifteen. Before long they began to

beg; and indeed they suffered a good deal. They complained of nausea,

headache, and so on. It was good to see them eat when the time was up.

They could not remember when the devouring of a meal had afforded them

such rapture - that was their word. Now, then, that ought to have ended

their cure, but it didn't. They were free to go to any meals in the

house, and they chose their accustomed four. Within a day or two I had

to interfere. Their appetites were weakening. I made them knock out a

meal. That set them up again. Then they resumed the four. I begged them

to learn to knock out a meal themselves, without waiting for me. Up to

a fortnight ago they couldn't; they really hadn't manhood enough; but

they were gaining it, and now I think they are safe. They drop out a

meal every now and then of their own accord. They are in fine condition

now, and they might safely go home, I think, but their confidence is

not quite perfect yet, so they are waiting awhile."

"Other cases are different?"

"Oh, yes. Sometimes a man learns the whole trick in a

week. Learns to regulate his appetite and keep it in perfect order.

Learns to drop out a meal with frequency and not mind it."

"But why drop the entire meal out? Why not a part of

it?"

"It's a poor device, and inadequate. If the stomach

doesn't call vigorously - with a shout, as you may say - it is better

not to pester it, but just give it a real rest. Some people can eat

more meals than others, and still thrive. There are all sorts of

people, and all sorts of appetites. I will show you a man presently who

was accustomed to nibble at eight meals a day. It was beyond the proper

gait of his appetite by two. I have got him down to six a day, now, and

he is all right, and enjoys life. How many meals do you effect per day?"

"Formerly - for twenty-two years - a meal and a half;

during the past two years, two and a half: coffee and a roll at nine,

luncheon at one, dinner at seven-thirty or eight."

"Formerly a meal and a half - that is, coffee and a

roll at nine, dinner in the evening, nothing between - is that it?"

"Yes."

"Why did you add a meal?"

"It was the family's idea. They were uneasy. They

thought I was killing myself."

"You found a meal and a half per day enough, all

through the twenty-two years?"

"Plenty."

"Your present poor condition is due to the extra meal.

Drop it out. You are trying to eat oftener than your stomach demands.

You don't gain, you lose. You eat less food now, in a day, on two and a

half meals, than you formerly ate on one and a half."

"True - a good deal less; for in those old days my

dinner was a very sizable thing."

"Put yourself on a single meal a day, now - dinner - for a few days,

till you secure a good, sound, regular, trustworthy appetite, then take

to your one and a half permanently, and don't listen to the family any

more. When you have any ordinary ailment, particularly of a feverish

sort, eat nothing at all during twenty-four hours. That will cure it.

It will cure the stubbornest cold in the head, too. No cold in the head

can survive twenty-four hours on modified starvation."

-- Peace be with you,

Don "Quai" Eitner

"Spirit sleeps in the mineral, breathes in the vegetable, dreams in the animal and wakes in man."

Nearly all men die of their remedies, and not of their illnesses. ~Baptiste Molière, Le Malade Imaginaire

The obstacle is the path. ~Zen Proverb

[Guest guest]

This was a great article Don. This is truly something I appreciated

and have been trying to do myself. I am working my way away from

eating emotionally and just trying to listen to my body and give it a

chance to actually get hungry...and working around it that way. At

this point I am finding that one meal late morning...or around

noonish...and something small in the evening is more than enough food for

me each day. Luckily though, I have never been a person who eats

meals at any particular time or feels the need to have three meals or

more a day. My son is the same...and I keep impressing upon him how

important it is not to eat if we are not hungry. This really

just reinforces my thinking. I passed it along to a group of ladies

I have known for years and hopefully they will see what I've been

preaching about (or so it feels like sometimes! lol) for years!!

Caroline

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