The Saint-Florentin Murders (3 page)

He tried fervently to make Nicolas forget his gloom. After all, he had been granted leisure. By God, he should make use of it and devote himself to his son! A man who had studied the world knew when to wait and when to take advantage of opportunities. He had to adapt his means and make his thoughts serve his loyalties. His counsel could be summed up in the Italian phrase
Volto sciolto e pensieri stretti
: Open face and secret thoughts. Dissimulation and secrecy were to be cultivated: the commissioner should stand aside for a while in favour of the Marquis de Ranreuil. He should use the disadvantages of an apparent fall from favour, don them like a suit of armour in a society where the slightest weakness was noticed and provided ammunition to those who wished to mock or crush you. He should be seen in all the right places and make sure that the King, who already knew him, noted his regular attendance and expertise on hunts and at shooting parties, to which he had free access thanks to the favour of Louis XV. That would give others nothing to seize on as evidence that Monsieur Lenoir was keeping him on the sidelines. Nothing would be gained by arguing. La Borde noted sadly that times had indeed changed: a witty remark by Monsieur de Maurepas was
considered of greater import in royal circles than protecting a good servant.

Nicolas was inspired by his friends’ good counsel. He judged that salvation lay in the deliberate ambiguity of his conduct, which would lead commentary in different directions and, in the long run, drain it of all meaning. Despite the rumours, the cold hearts and false minds of the city and the Court would struggle in vain to spread gossip about him. Everyone might well have his own opinion about the case of ‘young Ranneuil’, but it wouldn’t matter. All that remained to complete the picture were a few touches intended for the chroniclers, who were always on the lookout for things that might convince the less credulous: a gratifying flirtation with an indiscreet lady, a touch of
condescension
in his courtesy, and, most important of all, being noticed by the King. He had the opportunity to note, with some amusement, how he excelled in the career of courtier. In August, when the Court was at Compiègne, he had several times found himself in at the kill just after the King, and had benefited from his master’s simple good humour. Subsequently, they had conversed merrily about the qualities of the animal or the episodes of the hunt. At shooting, he deliberately missed, much to the satisfaction of Louis XVI, who, as a mark of his esteem, resolved to present him with the rifles which the late King had lent to Nicolas on one of his last excursions, just before his illness.

All this caused much comment at Court, his supposedly fallen star suddenly shone again as brightly as ever, and the very people who, a few days earlier, had looked at him without seeing him now came running to compliment him. He had no doubt that news of his renewed success would reach the ears of Monsieur
Lenoir, who was informed by his spies of the smallest details of life at Court. When all was said and done, he realised, the last few months had passed quickly, with a great deal of agitation and a flood of impressions and feelings. A great cry drew him from his reflections.

‘
Gigot farci à la royale
accompanied by mushroom rissoles!’ roared La Borde, who was carrying a silver tray from which fragrant wreaths of steam were rising.

‘Doesn’t he look like the herald of arms?’ exclaimed Noblecourt, his eyes already gleaming greedily. ‘All he needs is the tabard.’
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‘What do you think this is, then?’ asked La Borde, indicating the white apron with which he was draped.

Now it was Louis’s turn to appear, his face red from the heat of the ovens, carrying a porcelain dish filled with a pyramid of rissoles arranged on a cloth.

Nicolas decided to join in the mounting gaiety. ‘And what are we going to drink with all that?’

Bourdeau produced two bottles from under the table. ‘A
plum-coloured
Saint Nicolas de Bourgueil!’

‘Gentlemen, gentlemen,’ said Noblecourt, ‘while Poitevin carves, I propose that Monsieur de La Borde gives us the usual descriptive and appetite-whetting speech.’

‘May I enquire, Monsieur,’ said Louis, ‘as to the reason for this custom?’

‘Young man, ever since your father brought joy back to this house, a joy made all the greater today by your presence among us, it has been a tradition which I would not dream of not respecting on this feast day. The delicious dishes concocted under this roof should be tasted not only by the palate but also by the ear.’

And the eyes!’ exclaimed Semacgus. ‘In any case, that is the one sense I allow myself to indulge.’

‘Well,’ retorted Noblecourt, ‘I’m going to disobey my doctor this evening. I shall satisfy those three senses to the full!’

‘Gentlemen,’ said La Borde, ‘may I first point out to you that I had the honour to make this dish for the late King, and that Madame de Pompadour was very fond of it in spite of a weak stomach?’

‘The good lady was quite lenient,’ said Semacgus.

‘On the contrary, she asked for more.’

‘Gentlemen, stop this foolery,’ begged Noblecourt. ‘It’s going to get cold.’

‘Imagine a fine leg of lamb,’ continued La Borde emphatically, ‘kept cool for several days until it’s nicely tender. First you must break the knuckle to get inside and take out the meat while keeping the outside intact. To do this, I called on the skills of a master!’

‘A meat roaster from Rue Saint-Honoré?’ Nicolas asked.

‘Not at all. A naval surgeon, adept at cutting and digging.’

‘It’s true,’ said Semacgus, closing his eyes with a show of solemnity. ‘My knives proved very useful.’

‘Good heavens!’ cried Nicolas. ‘Do you mean to say you used the instruments that are normally for—’

‘I’d like to have you believe it, just to take away your appetite!’

‘I’ll never finish if you keep interrupting me,’ moaned La Borde. ‘The meat that’s been taken out has to be chopped up very small with a little bacon, marrow, fine calf’s-kidney fat, mushrooms, eggs, salt, pepper and spices. Keep kneading it all, making sure that each part absorbs the taste and seasoning of the others. Then fill the
skin with it so that the leg reappears in its natural form and tie it all the way round with string, in order to maintain its consistency. Let it get nicely golden, then cook it in a pot with a good thick stock and a thin piece of beef, half roasted, which will fill it with its juices and give it more taste. Add onions stuck with cloves and herbs. A good hour later, turn it in the pot until it’s baked. Check it with your fingertips, to make sure the flesh is soft. As the sauce is now reduced, add some sweetbread, and, once you’ve carved the leg, pour this succulence over it.’

Cheers punctuated Monsieur de La Borde’s recitation. Everyone proceeded to savour a dish that required a spoon rather than a knife and fork. Nicolas watched his son out of the corner of his eye, happy to see that he was eating with that nimble elegance which, once again, recalled not only the bearing of the Marquis de Ranreuil, but also his mother’s innate grace.

‘Now there’s a dish,’ said Noblecourt, ‘that’s well suited to my old teeth.’

‘The crustiness of the wrapping and the softness of the filling go together perfectly,’ said Semacgus. ‘And how well this purple beverage matches the lamb!’

‘Doesn’t it?’ said Bourdeau, delighted. ‘I find that the mushrooms in this fine mixture retain their softness and all the flavours of the forest.’

Noblecourt turned to Louis. ‘This is a dinner you’ll remember when you’re at school, one with which you’ll be able to enliven your dreams.’

‘I shall think of it with gratitude, Monsieur,’ the boy replied, ‘when I’m eating hard-boiled meat and worm-eaten herring. It will strengthen my resolve.’

They all laughed. Catherine placed a dish of crystallised quince fritters sprinkled with sugar on the table. Noblecourt smiled and made a sign to Poitevin, who went out and immediately returned with two small packages.

‘Young man,’ said the former procurator, opening the more voluminous of the two, ‘I was a schoolboy once, and had to suffer, like you, both harsh discipline and hunger. My mother took pity on me and made sure I had a supply of quince jelly, which I sucked every evening to calm my hunger pangs.’

He took from the packet a series of small round, flat deal boxes.

‘These objects, which are called
friponnes
, contain quince jelly with a little added white wine. Not only will they assuage your hunger, but they are an excellent remedy for stomach aches. They will also help to combat whatever harmful effects the school food has on your health. You will just have to conceal them carefully, as theft is all too common in schools. You have enough here to last you until Christmas.’

The conversation then turned to more general matters.

‘Are they still wearing mourning for our king at Versailles?’ La Borde asked with that feigned indifference that ill concealed his sadness at being separated from the centre of the world.

‘The recommended attire,’ said Nicolas, ‘is a cloth or silk coat, depending on the weather, black silk stockings, swords and silver buckles, with a single diamond ring. Last but not least, braided cuffs on the shirt. That’s all until 1 November; after that everything will be simpler as Christmas approaches.’

‘For someone who is out of favour at Court,’ observed La Borde, ‘you seem to be well informed!’

‘I still have my place there, having followed my friends’ counsel.’

‘I am assured,’ said Noblecourt, ‘that the King has ordered Monsieur de Maurepas to put right certain abuses. Have we seen the first fruits yet?’

‘A hundred and thirty horses and thirty-five grooms have already been removed from the royal hunt.’

‘Can you imagine?’ said Bourdeau, sardonically. ‘Horses are done away with, while at the same time the King yields to the Queen’s whims by increasing her already well-stocked household. Why did she need a grand chaplain on top of everything else, not to mention an official to heat the sealing wax?’

‘Clearly, Bourdeau is equally well informed of matters at Court,’ said Semacgus.

‘Not at all!’ the inspector replied. ‘But I keep a close eye on how the people’s money is dissipated.’

‘It’s been quite a while,’ said Semacgus, ‘since we last heard your caustic criticisms.’

‘In my opinion,’ said Bourdeau, becoming heated, ‘the creation of Court positions is putting a strain on a budget that’s already increased thanks to the military operations on the island of Corsica. Just imagine, the natives don’t know how lucky they are to be French! Rebels and bandits are ravaging the countryside and extorting money by menaces.’

‘As a matter of fact,’ said La Borde, ‘that’s becoming a bigger problem. Our commander in the field, Monsieur de Marbeuf, has just pacified Niolo. Rebels have been put on the wheel outside churches in the presence of the populace. Six hundred rifles were
found in a tomb at the monastery, and there was a terrible reprisal: two monks were hanged on the spot. It’s to be expected that this business will continue. God knows when we shall see its end!’

‘Enough of sad matters,’ said Noblecourt. ‘La Borde, I have no doubt you attended the first performance of Monsieur Gluck’s
Orpheus and Eurydice
. Tell us what you thought. Such things hold no secrets for you.’

‘In truth,’ replied La Borde, impervious to the hint of irony in the procurator’s tone, ‘the audience were enraptured by that tragic opera, and its success surpassed that of
Iphigenia in Aulis
last April.’

‘That indeed is what I observed for myself,’ said Noblecourt, savouring the surprised reaction of his friends, who all knew that the former procurator almost never left his house. ‘Oh yes! In the absence of Nicolas, away chasing both lovely ladies and the beasts of the field, I called for my horse and carriage. Poitevin donned his newest livery, and off we set!’

He looked at Nicolas out of the corner of his eye.

‘On my arrival at the Opéra, Monsieur Balbastre,
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who was all smiles, helped me to my seat. He was very friendly … if a trifle unctuous.’

Nicolas shrugged.

‘Anyway, I attended the performance and can confirm its success. But what kind of success? And with whom? Apart from you, who are able to judge, even though in this case I do not share your taste. What did I see? An auditorium three-quarters full of old would-be gallants and young fops, the kind who spend their time making paper cut-outs in fashionable salons. This pack goes wild every time something new appears, provided it stands out
more or less from the ruck. As for what I heard, it was nothing but a stew of very diverse ingredients. A disastrous mixture of sounds and impressions that bombards and paralyses the understanding to cover the lack of fecundity of an author who ought to prostrate himself before Saint Greluchon.
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Oh yes, I’d prefer to go and hear the Tenebrae sung by the nuns of Sainte Claire at Longchamp. In my opinion, gentlemen, Gluck is beyond the pale.’

Taking advantage of the astonishment into which his energetic outburst had plunged his audience, he grabbed a slice of lamb with one hand while nimbly emptying his glass with the other.

‘My dear Noblecourt,’ said La Borde, ‘please allow me to contradict you. For my part, I consider that even the finest brush would not have been able to render the details of that unforgettable performance. Yes, Monsieur, at last we have something new. Enough of Italian-style vocalising! Enough of the traditional machinery of the genre and all that monotonous recitative!’

‘To be replaced by what? Wrong notes and high-pitched twittering? That’s all I heard from the
haute-contre
who sang the role of Orpheus.’

‘Monsieur,’ said Louis timidly, ‘may I be so bold as to ask what an
haute-contre
is?’

‘I commend you for asking the question. One should never conceal gaps in one’s knowledge. It does you honour, and we will always be happy to instruct you, dear boy. It is knowledge rather than brilliant but empty wit that makes the honest man. Whoever is master of his subject will be attended to and esteemed everywhere. Monsieur de La Borde, who himself writes operas,
will answer you: it will permit me to catch my breath.’