270 THE BOOK OF BIRDS 



was too well-bred to decline it, but one and all were 

 secretly very much afraid of the tough morsel. 



No one did more than make a pretence of eating : 

 " Tito dispersed his slice in small particles over his plate ; 

 Bernardo Rucellai made a learned observation about the 

 ancient price of Peacocks' eggs, but did not pretend to eat 

 his slice ; and Niccolo Ridolfi held a mouthful on his fork 

 while he told a story about a man of Siena, who, wanting 

 to give a splendid entertainment at moderate expense, 

 bought a wild goose, cut off its beak and webbed feet, and 

 boiled it in its feathers, to pass for a pea-hen. 



" In fact," says the author, who, of course, is laughing 

 all the time at this fine company, " very little Peacock was 

 eaten ; but there was the satisfaction of sitting at a table 

 where Peacock was served up in a remarkable manner, and 

 of knowing that such things were not within reach of any 

 but those who supped with the very wealthiest men." 



We must suppose that our English forefathers had 

 stronger digestions than these dainty eaters of fifteenth- 

 century Florence. For Peacock seems to have been no 

 uncommon dish — of course without its accompaniment of 

 fine feathers — and great numbers were reared for the table. 



A clever and curious device is mentioned by that old 

 traveller. Sir John Mandeville, as seen by him in the Far 

 East, nearly six hundred years ago. He says that in the 

 great palace of the Khan of Tartary, "there are many 

 Peacocks of gold ; and when any Tartar maketh a banquet 

 unto his lord, if the guests chance to clap their hands for 

 joy and mirth, the said golden Peacocks also will spread 

 abroad their wings, and lift up their trains, seeming as if 

 they danced ; and this I suppose to be done by art magic 

 or by some secret engine under the ground." 



The superstition that Peacock feathers are 'unlucky,' 



