Cerise: A Tale of the Last Century

by G. J. Whyte-Melville

Altogether it was generally admitted that the Count’s strong point must be sought rather in his heels than his head. He sat directly opposite the Musketeer, and next to Abbé Malletort, who was between him and Madame de Sabran. The latter was thus placed opposite the Regent, at whose right hand Madame de Parabére had taken up her usual post. Captain George found himself accordingly with a lady on either side, and as he was distinguished, manly, quiet in manner, and above all, supposed to be impenetrable of heart, he became an object of interest to both.

These hated each other, of course, but in a treacherous, well-bred manner, and not so rancorously as to spoil their appreciation of an excellent repast, served in pleasant company, under all the most promising conditions for success. They were therefore, outwardly, wondrous affectionate, and under protest as it were, with the buttons on their foils, could be good companions enough.

The Duke prided himself on his suppers. Working at state affairs during the day, and with a digestion considerably impaired by habitual excess, dinner was a mere matter of form, often restricted indeed to a morsel of bread and a cup of chocolate, served in the cabinet where he wrote. But when the hours of business were past, and his system, too much gorged over-night, had recovered from the fumes of wine and the torpor of repletion, it was his delight to rush once more into those excesses of appetite which unfitted his mornings for exertion, which robbed him of half his existence while he lived, and killed him in the prime of manhood at last.

But he understood well how the sacrifice should be offered. The supper-room, we have said, was oval, panelled in a light cheerful wood, highly-varnished, and decorated only by short pithy sentences, inlaid in gaudy colours, of which the purport was to crop the flower while it bloomed, to empty the cup while it sparkled, practically, to eat the cutlet while it was hot, and consume as eagerly as possible the good things provided for the senses. No pictures, no vases, no works of art were suffered upon the walls to distract the attention of the guests from their main object. The intellect, as seated at the farthest distance from the stomach, might indeed be gently stimulated with wit, but the imagination, the feelings, above all, the emotions that affect the heart, were on no account to be disturbed during the ecstacies of the palate or the pleasing languor and subsequent comfort of digestion. Not a lackey nor servant of any kind entered the room. When one course had been consumed, deliberately, methodically, and with much practical comment on its merits, the table sank slowly through the floor, to be replaced by another, bearing fresh dishes, fresh flowers, fresh napkins, everything fresh prepared, to the very bills of fare, beautifully emblazoned, that lay beside the cover of each guest. A strong light from above was shaded to throw its rays directly on the board; but as plenty of this enlivener is conducive to festivity, numerous lamps with bright reflectors flashed at short distances from the walls. No pealing band deafened the ears of the sitters, or drowned their conversation in its overpowering strains; only ever and anon a faint long-drawn note, like the tone of a far-distant organ, rose and fell and wavered, ere it died sweetly and calmly away.

On these occasions, Point d’Appui never failed to pause, even with a tempting morsel on his fork, and intimate to his neighbours that “he was passionately given to music, and it reminded him of heaven!”

The Regent seemed much impressed with the visit he had made to the cavern before supper, and it was not till he had emptied several goblets of champagne that he regained his usual spirits. With the influence of wine, however, his nerves recovered their tone, his eye brightened, his hand steadied, and he joined in conversation as heretofore.

By this time a favourite dish had made its appearance, which went by the name of the pâté d’Orleans. It consisted of the wings of pheasants and other white game, boned, stuffed, and so manipulated as to resemble the limbs of children; a similarity that gave rise to the most hideous rumours amongst the lower classes. Many a worthy gossip in Paris believed firmly that two or three infants were consumed nightly at the Regent’s table, and none seemed to relish the report more than himself. He ate vigorously of the pâté, emptied another goblet, and began to talk. Madame de Parabére watched him closely. Something was going on she had not fathomed, but she resolved to be at the bottom of it.

“Abbé!” shouted the Duke, “what are you about? Do you think I would suffer little heathens on my table, that you baptize them with water? They are the best of Christians, I tell you, my friend, and should be well soused, like all good Christians, in wine.” Malletort, who had been pouring stealthily out of a carafe at his elbow, accepted his host’s challenge, and filled up from a flask.

“To your health, Highness! and confusion to your enemies—White and Red,” said he, pointing to two measures of those Burgundies that happened to stand before the ladies.

The Duke started. Malletort’s observation, simple as it seemed, brought the diabolical prophecy to his mind, and again he sought courage from his glass.