The Baker's Blood

by Jean-FranCois Parot

  ‘And the claque!’

  ‘To be fair, the play’s a good one, especially after the changes the author made. Reduced to four acts, not as long as before, and to some people, of whom I am not one, not as boring.’

  ‘You speak as if you were there!’

  ‘I was! On Monsieur de La Borde’s arm, in a box that was extremely well placed to ogle the beauties on stage and in the auditorium.’

  ‘I see,’ said Nicolas with a laugh. ‘Our friend has kept a few contacts in the theatre!’

  ‘The marriage has been announced,’ La Borde went on, ‘between Madame Clotilde, the King’s sister, and the Prince of Piedmont. You’ve met her, you know how fat she is. This song has been doing the rounds in Paris:

  ‘The good prince wants his just reward

  He wants it pressed into his hand.

  What he gets is Madame Clotilde

  Now he’s living off the fat of the land.’

  They were interrupted by Catherine, who brought in, with all the gravity befitting the task, a long silver dish containing what she proudly proclaimed was a ‘turbot à la Sainte-Menehould’. It was presented to the master of the house, who breathed in the aroma and eyed the dish longingly. Much to everyone’s surprise, he served his guests but not himself.

  ‘Oh, yes, gentlemen!’ he said, with a martyred air. ‘I abstain, I deprive myself, torture myself. Please note that I do so of my own free will, in the absence of Dr Semacgus. I want this gesture to be reported back to him. I hope it will make him a little more lenient towards me: a few days without sage or prunes …’

  ‘There’s no point pretending to behave yourself,’ said Catherine with a knowing air. ‘You know perfectly well that you have a special dish. A pigeon with new peas. And it’s still much too delicious for you, if you want my opinion!’

  ‘A dish fit for a king!’ cried Nicolas. ‘In the present situation, the kind to cause panic in the central market. Madame Catherine, you seem quite spendthrift and little concerned with the interests of this noble house.’

  ‘Mock away, Monsieur. You’re quite wrong. It was brought by Monsieur de La Borde here.’

  ‘Yes,’ admitted La Borde modestly, ‘I’ve also kept a few contacts at the King’s kitchen garden at Versailles. They offer me the first fruits of everything that grows. They wanted to give me asparagus, but in my opinion it’s quite harmful and likely to bring on attacks of gout. I preferred, for the sake of our friend’s health, to make him a tribute of peas.’

  ‘So light, though!’ said Noblecourt, much to everyone’s approval.

  Catherine uncovered the sautéd pigeon, surrounded by tender green vegetables, and carefully removed the golden-brown rasher of bacon, much to Noblecourt’s regret.

  ‘This turbot has such delicate flesh!’ remarked Nicolas. ‘Firm and yet tender at the same time.’

  ‘We must, as always,’ said La Borde, ‘double the pleasure of the meal. So tell us how you made it, Catherine.’

  ‘Keep mocking and I’ll take it away faster than you can breathe! The main thing is to cook it half in milk half in water. For the flesh to stay white, the stock has to simmer separately for a good quarter of an hour. The back of the fish is then rubbed with lemon and cooked to a turn, but above all without boiling. You remove the fillets once the whole thing has got cold again. Heat a fairly thick bechamel sauce, put the pieces of fish in it, and slip it in a slow oven for a short time to brown.’

  ‘That reminds me,’ said Noblecourt, applauding, ‘of a story I heard when I was young. The old Duc d’Escars was always complaining about the fact that he had served slices of chicken breast in cream for more than twenty years before young Béchameil was even born and yet he’d never been fortunate enough to give his name to a sauce!’

  He was tackling a little wing, sucking it so voluptuously that it was a pleasure just to watch him. Their feast was washed down with the usual Irancy.

  ‘On 10 March,’ La Borde resumed, ‘the Queen attended an English-style horse race on the Sablons plain, organised by the Comte d’Artois. The horses, all very frisky, were ridden by the princes’ grooms. The Duc de Lauzun won the day.’

  ‘Was he competing as a horse?’ asked Nicolas casually.

  His question was greeted with roars of laughter.

  ‘No, as an owner. It’s said that the King was not greatly pleased with the event, the royal family having been somewhat jostled by the crowd.’

  ‘Does he follow his mentor’s advice?’ asked Noblecourt. ‘It appears – you know how well informed I am – that at one of the last balls at Versailles before Lent, the King was also jostled and left without a seat. Maurepas did not hesitate to point out that the monarch should never forget his dignity and never appear without being announced and without his captain of the guards. “We are not accustomed in France,” he’s said to have added, “to have our King so little regarded in public.”’

  Bourdeau now also entered the lists. ‘On 29 March, the new marshals of France were announced. The beneficiaries have been compared to the seven deadly sins.’

  ‘How so?’ asked Nicolas.

  ‘Harcourt, sloth. Noailles, avarice. Nicolaï, gluttony. Fitz-James, envy. The other Noailles, the comte, pride. De Muy, wrath, and Duras lust.’

  ‘On 30 April,’ La Borde resumed, ‘the King, who was clearly in a bad mood, ordered the pavilion on the Sablons plain to be demolished. At the same time, a pamphlet full of historical and anecdotal remarks concerning the Bastille was distributed in Paris, the intention being to warn “patriotic” citizens that their zeal could land them there. It was immediately seized, although it is still not clear which clandestine printing press produced it.’

  ‘Now there’s a useful treatise,’ said Bourdeau, ‘which ought to give pause for thought to the supporters of an outmoded despotism.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Noblecourt. ‘Do you wish to undermine the order you serve?’

  ‘No … But I maintain that this order should correspond to natural law and enlightened modern ideas. For example, lettres de cachet without trial have no foundation.’

  ‘We are all evolving,’ Nicolas intervened, anxious to moderate the argument before it started. ‘The Emperor’s brother told me that torture is soon to be abolished in Austria.’

  Catherine came in to clear the table. La Borde once again filled the glasses. A second dish, roulades of ox tongue, appeared, announced by Marion, who had created it. As they were serving, she told them her recipe in her shrill little voice. The meat had to be left to soak, then cooked with a tasty piece of beef, to ensure its flavour and avoid the stock taking it all away. When it was soft enough, the tongue was taken from the pot to be skinned and allowed to cool. Only then was it cut up into thin slices, each of which was garnished with a little stuffing.

  ‘What kind of stuffing?’ asked La Borde.

  ‘That’s a secret, Monsieur, which I’m happy to reveal if it entices you even more. I take a pound of cushion of veal or, better still, calf’s leg, from which I remove the nerves and gristle. I coat this meat in ox fat, a pound too, plus parsley, salt and pepper, and spices according to taste. At the same time, I add eggs one by one until the mixture is smooth. I used to soften the whole thing with a little water, but Catherine recommended schnapps, which gives it a delicious flavour. In fact, you shouldn’t use eggs for stuffing, unless you’re using it as a garnish in a stew. Without them, the stuffing would completely melt. But tongue is fragile and the egg helps to hold it all together.’

  ‘This is a real Arabian Nights tale,’ said La Borde. ‘No sooner do we finish one episode than another begins. Continue, lovely Scheherazade!’

  Marion resumed her account. Every slice of tongue was filled with stuffing over which she passed a knife dipped in the egg to bind it all. She rolled the slices one by one, wrapped them in rashers of bacon and put them on skewers. Then she threw a few dried breadcrumbs on the roulades to give them a good colour, cooked them for a short time, and served them with a piquan
t sauce.

  ‘I’m going to anticipate your question and give you the recipe for my sauce, too. I fry a carrot, two onions and a sliced parsnip in butter until they’re brown. Then I add a good pinch of flour, some stock, half a glass of vinegar and, of course, seasoning: mixed herbs, spices, garlic, pepper and grated nutmeg. The whole thing has to simmer slowly until it’s the right consistency, not too liquid, not too solid. And with that, gentlemen, if my master allows, I’m going to rest my old legs.’

  Nicolas rose and kissed Marion, who was moved to tears by this. Cyrus barked happily while Mouchette rolled on her back and gave little moaning sounds.

  ‘What a delight,’ said Bourdeau, ‘this dish is as good as a géline from my part of the world!’ He proceeded carefully to cut a slice of the roulade, revealing the layers of tongue and stuffing and releasing a fragrant odour. ‘This crusty bread in this sauce!’

  ‘Talking of bread,’ said Nicolas, ‘have you noticed that crowd of people just opposite the house?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Noblecourt, ‘I’ve been watching them from my armchair. What can we do? The price of bread is rising and people are angry. It isn’t the first time this century that such a thing has happened and it won’t be the last. When I was still in the first flush of youth, on 14 July 1725, there was a riot and all the bakeries in Faubourg Saint-Antoine were looted.’

  ‘I hear there’ve been some violent gatherings on the outskirts of Paris,’ Nicolas went on, ‘mainly directed against rich millers.’

  ‘… Thieving miller,

  Stealing the corn,

  Stealing the flour,

  That’s why he was born …’

  sang Bourdeau.

  ‘They sing a different song in Brittany, but the meaning’s the same:

  ‘Na pa rafe ar vilin nemet eun dro krenn

  Ar miliner’zo sur d’oc’h le grampoez enn.

  ‘Which means:

  ‘The miller’s wheel turned only once

  But the miller’s certain he’ll get his crust.’

  Everyone laughed, except La Borde, who shook his head gravely. ‘We’re up against petty crooks driven by Lord knows what, but clearly with the worst intentions. The comptroller general has forgotten that it’s unwise to interfere with our age-old machine, however creaky it may be. Suddenly imposing a free trade in grain leads to fear and disorder and gives rise to excesses and the activities of monopolists.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Noblecourt, ‘what Turgot is attempting, Abbé Terray achieved by abolishing the tax on wheat and replacing it with State control. How better to obtain the equal distribution of grain than by guaranteeing the surplus from the richer regions to the struggling provinces. It was an excellent method for establishing an equitable balance in the price of bread throughout the kingdom.’ As he spoke, he ate his peas one by one and eyed the roulades.

  ‘It so happens, my friends,’ said La Borde, with an air of mystery, ‘that I have a particular knowledge of all this. You all know how fascinated I am by China, its traditions, its curios …’

  ‘What do Confucius and monkeys have to do with these millers’ tales?’

  ‘Listen and find out. Sharing the same passion, I became very friendly with Monsieur Bertin, whose department of State deals with agriculture. The late King, my master, had entrusted him with the task of corresponding with the French Jesuits in Peking. This passion launched the vogue for all things Chinese. He began collecting art objects, fabrics, prints and drawings.2 That was what brought us together.’

  ‘The Marquise de Pompadour greatly appreciated him, especially when he was Lieutenant General of Police. It was through him that she knew everything about everyone!’

  ‘He was also comptroller general and tried to find new ways of financing war. But the Parlement opposed them, and Choiseul said it was impossible to deal any longer with Bertin. A few days ago, I invited him to dinner. He opened his heart to me, with great honesty. He’s really bitter at the state of the reforms and the ideas behind them.’

  ‘But isn’t Monsieur Turgot considered to have been successful when he was Intendant of the Limousin?’

  ‘Our host is right, at least that’s what those in his sect say, those economists who are so convinced that their doctrine is the right one. They sing his praises, whereas in fact what the great man did in the Limousin was a matter of trial and error.’

  ‘He abolished statute labour, which meant a lot to the people concerned! It’s a measure that should be extended to the whole of the kingdom.’

  ‘That may be so, Bourdeau, but the man wasn’t at all happy, given the poverty of the region. He stood up to the monopolists. He tried to replace wheat with potatoes and to thwart their speculating by selling abroad. What’s more, he sacrificed part of his own fortune to relieve the neediest. His promotion to comptroller general delighted his followers. Up until now, they expressed themselves as philosophers, orators and moralists, now they can make decisions as legislators and have the ear of the King. They bring out a host of pamphlets, especially against the financiers. And what is the result? These powerful people, whose support is vital to Monsieur Turgot, conspire against him and try to block his reforms.’

  ‘So,’ asked Noblecourt, ‘what does Bertin say? Above all, what’s his opinion of the man who’s governing us, of his character? That’s the basis of everything. Any act is merely a reflection of the person performing it. A legislator is never so powerless as when his temperament isn’t compatible with his ambitions. Those with the most logical minds aren’t always the fairest.’

  ‘Bertin’s first observation is that the comptroller is insanely proud, even claiming to be descended from a king of Denmark, Thor, which would make him related to the god Thor! Next, that we should never forget that he was educated at the seminary of Saint-Sulpice and that he was the Abbé de Brucourt. That although he was influenced by the new ideas when he entered the Parlement, his original education has left him with a taste for controversy, made worse by a ponderous way of speaking, which quickly turns tiresome and full of digressions.’

  ‘My usual informant3 says that he suffers from poor health, and is prone to bouts of hereditary gout. Early deaths are common in his family: his brother died at the age of forty-nine and he himself is already forty-eight …’

  ‘I believe, in fact,’ La Borde went on, ‘that this fear has a major influence on his actions. He’s frequently confined to his bed, and is often slow and sluggish in his daily work. As if to make up for this, he’s all too inclined to rush things through without due care and attention. He has done nothing to prepare public opinion, which, while calling for reform, is not always willing to suffer the consequences.’

  ‘It should never be forgotten,’ said Noblecourt sententiously, ‘that time is the best ally of a politician and that, without it, there is no decisive or lasting victory.’

  ‘Bertin is extremely worried. There is opposition to Turgot within the council itself. With his lack of shrewdness and dexterity, the comptroller’s qualities and virtues are often turned against him. For example, when Madame de Brionne presented him with a fairly insignificant petition, the best answer he could find was that she should understand that the reign of women had passed.’

  ‘And did the good lady accept that?’

  ‘Not at all; she retorted, as if returning a tennis ball: “Yes, I see that, but not the reign of the impertinent.”’

  Turning suddenly serious, La Borde took a piece of paper from his pocket.

  ‘Bertin showed me a letter from Abbé Galiani,4 to Madame d’Épinay, dated 17 September 1774. I was so struck by its contents that he allowed me to make a copy. Listen to this: “There will be too little time to carry out his system. He will punish a few rogues, he will get angry and curse, will try to do the right thing, and will encounter difficulties and opposition everywhere. There will be less credit, he will be hated, they will say that he is not up to the task, and enthusiasm will fade and die. We will recover, once and for all, from the error of g
iving a position like that, in a monarchy like ours, to such a virtuous and philosophical man. The free export of wheat will break him. We are seeing the first signs.”’

  ‘Didn’t that antiquarian5 abbé unearth the Roman ruins in Naples? It seems that he’s started interpreting omens, like an ancient augur! But there’s a real danger that what he’s saying is true.’

  ‘Gentlemen,’ said La Borde, ‘I bow down – and I use the words advisedly – before our host’s Mirandolesque knowledge. Galiani is one of the first to have discovered the ruins of Herculanium, buried since the eruption of Vesuvius as recounted by Pliny the Younger.’

  ‘Not only is he lacking in respect for my white hair, or what remains of it, but in addition takes me for an idiot, by expressing amazement at my meagre knowledge. That’s surely worth a glass of Irancy.’

  He nimbly seized the bottle, filled his glass and emptied it in a single gulp.

  ‘It makes a change from sage! To get back to my … correspondent, he tells me that, in this difficult period, the King spends his time looking through his telescope, proclaiming and declaiming, idling away his days in weakness and indecision …’

  ‘He’s very young,’ Nicolas cut in, remembering that Louis XVI was only a few years older than Louis, five at the most. ‘He still has to prove himself.’

  ‘Of course! We shall see, as his great-grandfather said, in whose reign, my young dandies, I had the honour of coming into this thankless world.’

  Catherine brought in a plate of sugar cakes.

  ‘Fritters made with fresh cheese,’ she announced, anticipating their questions, ‘like those sold at the Saint-Denis fair.’

  The dinner came to an end in great gaiety, everyone making an effort to distract Nicolas, who, in return, put on a brave face. He walked La Borde to his carriage. The latter, determined to use the savoir-faire he had acquired as a servant of the late King, offered his services. As he returned to his room, Nicolas found Monsieur de Noblecourt waiting for him at the foot of the stairs.