The Châtelet Apprentice (25 page)

There followed another round of greetings. Even Monsieur Balbastre seemed charmed by the affability of this visitor, who gave Nicolas a piercing look at the mention of his position with the Lieutenant General of Police.

‘To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Monsieur?' asked the magistrate. ‘Your visits are so infrequent and we would like to see you more often. My friendship for your father now extends to his son. Consider this house your own.'

‘You are too kind, Monsieur. It so happens that I have the day off, which has given me the opportunity to call on you. The King has decided to go to Choisy with Madame de Pompadour. I am officially on duty, but he was kind enough to give me leave. When the King is away everyone deserts Versailles. And so here I am inviting myself to lunch.'

While the conversation was getting under way, Pigneau, who was far better informed about court etiquette than Nicolas ever suspected, whispered to him that the term ‘groom' should not be misinterpreted: Monsieur de La Borde was an important figure. As one of the four first grooms of the king's bedchamber, he was in complete charge of all domestic arrangements, and above all enjoyed the incomparable privilege of constant access to His Majesty. When on duty, he even slept at the foot of the royal bed. In addition he was considered to be the King's favourite, had the reputation of being wealthy and attended intimate suppers in the private apartments. He gave a final
touch to this portrait by adding that he was said to be a close friend of Marshal Richelieu, himself First Gentleman of the Bedchamber.

Nicolas felt in awe of someone so close to the King; he would have expected some special distinguishing feature to have marked out the beneficiary of such a privilege. But Monsieur de Noblecourt had extricated himself from his armchair and was inviting his guests to go through to eat.

Out of politeness each wanted to let the others go first. They entered a rectangular drawing room with windows looking on to the street. An oval table had been laid. The opposite wall was furnished with display cabinets, bookcases and a large dresser with a marble top on which the wine was kept cool.

‘Gentlemen, no formalities. We are among friends,' declared the magistrate. ‘Nicolas, as the youngest person present, will sit opposite me. Père,' he said to Grégoire, ‘on my right. Monsieur de La Borde on my left. Messieurs Balbastre and Pigneau on either side of Monsieur Le Floch.'

Père Grégoire said grace and everyone sat down. Marion entered, carrying an impressively large tureen that she put down in front of her master, who himself served his guests while Poitevin poured the wine, white or red according to preference. There was a momentary silence while each concentrated on savouring the first course, which Monsieur de Noblecourt described, with a glint in his eye, as a pigeon bisque. Then he resumed conversation with Monsieur de La Borde.

‘What is the news from Court?'

‘His Majesty is very concerned about the siege of Pondicherry. The Marquise is doing her best to divert him from his melancholy. She is also trying to restore his energy. You
presumably are not aware – Paris is so biased – to what lengths this lady goes. She is scoffed at and satirised, but no one takes any notice of all the good things she does. Let me tell you that she bought from her private purse thousands of shares in armaments for warships. She has a passionate interest in all sorts of projects. I can even tell you in confidence, we are all gentlemen of honour …'

He cast an eye around the assembled guests.

‘… that only yesterday evening she was saying to me how sorry she was to be a woman at such a time as this, and how concerned she was to see so many people whose main aim should be the public good and the service of the King, doing nothing but criticise …'

‘Dear friend,' de Noblecourt interrupted, ‘how is your friend the marshal?'

‘Extremely well, although in his old age he has started to seek out remedies from a whole host of doctors and quacks. He divides his time between Bordeaux, of which he is governor, and Paris, where he follows the sessions of the Academy just as closely as the latest news from the theatre. And when I say the theatre, I mean actresses …'

Marion and Poitevin appeared and cleared the table. For the next course they brought a ragout of batallia with truffles, cooked in the embers and served in a folded napkin, and a large plate of warm Hanover ham. After breathing in the delicious aroma gently steaming from the crust of the first dish, Monsieur de La Borde raised his glass.

‘Gentlemen, let us drink to the health of the procurator, who is entertaining us royally, as always. What is this delicacy?'

‘It's a ragout of specially chosen meats, capon-filled cocks'
combs, calf sweetbreads with cloves, rabbit kidneys and slices of calf's leg with morels.'

‘And this wine, well the red is as good as the white. Such refinement!'

‘It's a burgundy from Irancy, and the white is a still champagne that I have sent from Vertus.'

‘I was right to call your table royal,' exclaimed La Borde. ‘His Majesty questioned me recently about what his grandfather Louis the Great used to drink. I looked into it with the butler-
in-ordinary
. We examined old records. For a long time Louis XIV drank champagne, then Fagon, his doctor, convinced him that this wine was affecting his stomach because of its excessive acidity and recommended burgundy, which the stomach digests at a more leisurely rate and is less eager to get rid of. So he began to drink wine from Auxerre, Coulanges and Irancy.'

‘I like Irancy,' said Noblecourt, ‘because of its clear and rich colour, its fruity aroma and its cheeky sprightliness.'

‘We are rather close to Lent to be tickling our palates so much,' Père Grégoire commented.

‘But we're not quite there yet,' said Balbastre, ‘which enables our host as a defender and champion of our traditional cooking to show it in its true colours. There are so many new-fangled recipes these days.'

‘You speak as brilliantly as you play and compose,' said Noblecourt. ‘This is one of the great debates of our time, a crucial controversy. It angers me, gentlemen, when I read works that tell us what we should think about this or that. La Borde, do you know Marin?'

‘I know him very well. He's a true artist who began his career at the home of Madame de Gesvres, then was head cook for
Marshal Soubise, another inveterate gourmet. His Majesty likes him and Madame de Pompadour simply adores him. He enjoys cultivating the senses …'

‘Essences? Then I consider him a colleague,' exclaimed the Carmelite apothecary.

Everyone laughed at the good monk's mistake. He was lost in contemplation of the wonders on his plate.

‘Yes, that's the cook I mean,' said Noblecourt, ‘and I regret to say that I do not share His Majesty's opinion.'

He got to his feet as promptly as his portliness would allow, hurried across to one of the bookcases and took out a volume full of paper bookmarks.

‘Look, here is
Les Dons de Comus
by François Marin, Paris, 1739.'

He feverishly searched for the right page and began to read aloud:

‘“Cooking is a kind of chemistry, and the science of cooking consists of breaking down, digesting and quintessentialising different types of meat and deriving from them juices that are nutritious yet light, mixing them together and combining them in such a way that nothing is overpowering and everything can be tasted.” I won't go on with this twaddle. In my opinion what matters is that meat should be meat and taste like meat.'

He grabbed another book, which was also crammed with bookmarks.

‘This, gentlemen, is my bible:
Lettre d'un pâtissier anglois au nouveau cuisinier françois
, by Dessalleurs, Paris, 1740. Listen: “What can be the attraction for those with a real taste for food of a chemical composition made up of reasoned quintessences and from which all traces of terrestriality have been systematically
removed. The great achievement of the new school of cooking is to make meat taste like fish and fish taste like meat and to make vegetables taste like nothing at all.” That's exactly what I think of these damnable, nay heretical novelties.'

He went and sat down again, still brimming with indignation.

‘I enjoy seeing a love of cooking taken to this degree of intolerance,' said La Borde. ‘It reminds me of a small volume entitled
Le Cuisinier gascon
, published anonymously in 1747. I have reason to believe that its author was Monseigneur de Bourbon, Prince de Dombes, who often dabbled in cooking at the King's private suppers. Besides, the King, the Queen, the royal princesses and various dukes of the realm – Soubise, Guéménée, Gontaut, d'Ayen, Coigny and La Vallière – all tried their hand at some time. In this book the recipes of the new school of cooking were all saddled with ridiculous names: green monkey sauce, veal à la Neuteau in donkey droppings, chicken à la Caracatacat and other such inventions.'

‘Gentlemen, I'm a happy man,' Noblecourt went on. ‘The food is excellent and the guests sparkling. So, unlike Monsieur de Montmaur, I can say, “I have provided the meat and the wine and you have provided the Attic salt.”

But as all those present were not participating equally in the conversation, he changed the subject.

‘And what does Monsieur de Voltaire have in store for us?'

Balbastre jumped at the opportunity.

‘He continues to vent his spleen on the English, not only because they're our enemies but because they have claimed in writing that Shakespeare is infinitely superior to our Corneille. Our great man has put it eloquently: “Their Shakespeare is infinitely inferior to a street performer.”'

‘Sarcasm clouds judgement,' Nicolas ventured. ‘There is some very fine writing by this English author, and passages that stir the soul.'

‘Have you read Shakespeare?'

‘Yes, and in the original, at my godfather's, the Marquis de Ranreuil.'

‘So police underlings read literature these days!' exclaimed Balbastre.

Nicolas immediately regretted mentioning, if accidentally, the name of this respected man with whom he had broken off all contact. Pigneau's pained expression hurt him. What cruder way could he have found to push himself forward? He had deserved Balbastre's barb. Sensing the unease, Monsieur de Noblecourt once again diverted the conversation by giving a running commentary as he confidently and expertly carved the fowl. Monsieur de La Borde, who all the time had been looking at Nicolas with a kindly eye, gave the old magistrate his assistance.

‘Monsieur Procurator …'

‘Why such formality? You want something from me.'

‘Certainly I do. Would you be so kind as to show us your cabinet of curiosities?'

‘What? You've heard of it?'

‘The whole town and Court know of it and you yourself talk about it often enough.'

‘Touché! In fact it's not so much my cabinet as my father's, since he was the one who started it. I simply followed in his footsteps. During his travels he developed an obsession for collecting anything he thought was out of the ordinary. I did the same when it was my turn to travel.'

The meal continued with the promise of this visit. The guests began private conversations. Pigneau, knowing his friend's weaknesses and his fits of melancholy, managed to persuade him that Balbastre's comment was more light-hearted than offensive. There were desserts in plenty and the table was covered with fruit pies, marzipan cakes, jams and jellies. Liqueurs were served and after lunch a pleasant feeling of drowsiness came over everyone.

Monsieur de Noblecourt clapped his hands and invited his guests to return to the library. He headed towards a door which opened on to a private room and took a small key fastened to his watch chain to open it. To begin with the visitors could see nothing, as the room had no windows. He lit two candlesticks on a small table. Three of the walls were furnished with display cabinets containing a host of unusual and ill-assorted objects. They formed a collection of shells, dried plants, ancient weapons, exotic china, primitive fabrics, stones and crystals in strange shapes and colours. More disturbing were specimen jars that preserved, in a cloudy solution, spongy whitish blobs of shapeless matter. But what caught the visitors' attention more was a relief tableau with an elaborate wooden gilt frame. It showed a graveyard in the dead of night: half-open coffins revealing decomposing bodies and swarming masses of worms and crawling creatures were sculpted and chiselled in wax, and so realistically that the whole scene seemed to come to life before their eyes.

‘Dear God, what is that horrible thing?' asked Père Grégoire.

Monsieur de Noblecourt remained pensive for a moment, then replied:

‘My father used to travel a great deal in his youth, especially in Italy. I'm going to tell you a story. In 1656 a certain Zumbo was born in Palermo, Sicily. While a pupil of the Jesuits in Syracuse he was struck at an early age by the macabre decorations that adorned the sanctuaries of the Society, presumably a reminder of their motto
Perinde ac cadaver
.
5
After his ordination he soon became skilled in making scenes with anatomical wax figures. You have one of them here before you. These representations of the corruption of the flesh drew attention to the spectacle of death, in order to show the faithful scenes that in real life would have filled them with horror and disgust.'

‘But what was the purpose of all this?' Pigneau asked.

‘The aim was to encourage repentance and to convert people. Zumbo travelled around and worked in Florence, Genoa and Bologna. In Florence he produced several such scenes of human decay, in particular one of smallpox commissioned by Grand Duke Cosimo III, whose son-in-law, the Elector of Bavaria, suffered from this disease. In 1695 my father met him and purchased this work,
The Graveyard
. At the time he was working with Monsieur Des Noues on wax heads and on a woman who had died in childbirth, whom he had succeeded in preserving beneath the wax. He managed to render nature to perfection by using this coloured substance. He came to Paris and was received by the Academy of Medicine, to whose members he showed his work. After becoming involved in a legal dispute with Des Noues, who claimed to be the inventor of the procedure, he died in Paris in 1701.'