He probably wouldn’t have remembered her either, but I’d like to have heard her story also. If she had known Boni de Castellane well enough to weep at his funeral, her life could not have been wholly drab.
I tried to start the other old men off on her during one of our afternoon meetings. Usually they would rise to something like that and pursue it to the end, but here I ran into complete disinterest. They loved small talk and gossip, particularly if it touched on the bar sinister of someone’s escutcheon, or romantic dallying, but they did not want to see any story in this, it seemed.
They would talk for hours about how Escoffier, the king of chefs, worked to carve a swan out of a block of ice and fill it with ice cream topped with sliced peaches for Madame Melba, then called it pêche Melba, because he knew she loved peaches. They would go to great lengths to unearth the menu of some long-dead dinner, or discuss the effect of an August rain on a particular vintage. The way their eyes sparkled and drew into crow’s-feet at the corners when they talked of beauties long since wrinkled and balls and bons mots under ceilings that dripped chandeliers attested to the truth of the old Persian’s saying, “Somewhere in space such spells survive, for their delight is deathless.” But when it came to surmising about the private affairs of the strange woman at the funeral, they became reticent, as though they were afraid of ghosts. Maybe some mutually understood and shunned memory among themselves was involved, or a clause in the code of a gentleman.
I’ll always wonder. Probably so will Maggy.
September 1949
THE CHRISTENNING
Lillian Langseth-Christensen
There is no celebration of any kind in Paris without food and wine, and the greater the occasion, the larger and more elaborate the menu. In a city in which two friends who meet on the street instinctively turn into the nearest restaurant to do honor to the happy occurrence, the mind naturally turns to veritable dream castles of food when the occasion is a christening. Expectations are especially great when the devil is about to be dispelled from a dimpled boy who is not only the first child of well-situated parents, the de la Chesnayes, but the first grandchild of a substantial banker and a professor, and the greatgrandchild of une veuve de général, a general’s widow.
The christening feast always has the added advantage of finally putting to rest all the whisperings and excited speculations that run riot among friends and relations whenever a lady is enceinte. Some of the de la Chesnaye guests, with true French acumen, had been looking forward to their invitations to the christening dinner for several months. Others, with a stronger sense of fateful consequence, had been counting on it ever since the wedding. Everyone hoped for a boy, since boys had a way of producing more Champagne and older brandies than girls. Considering the magnitude of the de la Chesnaye celebration, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the birth of their son was an event calling for the very best wine, for the heirloom recipes, in sum, for the effort suprême.
Even if superstition and custom did not forbid detailed advance preparations, the last month before the birth of the infant (as all mothers will testify) is hardly the time for her to plan a suitably splendid menu for the christening party, and very few Parisian ladies retire to their labors with this work behind them. Madame de la Chesnaye, for one, took her party lists and her little instruction manual to bed with her. Soon after the accouchement she fished the manual out from under her pillow and began to plan the dinner that would do full honor to her new son and heir. She read its advice on the reception of the first sacrament. It clearly stated that the christening should take place “as soon as possible after the birth of the infant.” However, there should be time for the infant to gain a little poise and maturity, not to say a regular and dependable feeding schedule; there must be no malheurs, calamities. Even the newest infant requires a certain savoir-vivre in order to survive the event. This waiting period also permits recovery of the mother, whose presence, the manual went on to explain, “is desirable but not necessary.” Actually, most of the allowed time was spent in preparations for the feast and in the attempts of Maman to get back into her best little dinner dress, by Chanel, of course, the one with the demure décolletage.
There was no question in the minds of Monsieur and Madame in regard to the grandeur of the celebration. Some of the best families of France might be leaning toward afternoon christenings followed by coffee and cake and a reading of suitable Scriptures (and a great departure of guests immediately after the first reading), but not the de la Chesnayes. They were determined to recapture all the splendor of traditional christenings, complete with lace-covered pillow and rivers of Champagne, even though their son’s great-grandmother was only the veuve of a general and not, regrettably, the Veuve of Monsieur Clicquot.
Madame lay in her bed and received her son every four hours, and between feedings she directed the christening plans. She had several interviews with Monseigneur, who came to instruct her liturgically but ended by advising her on vintages and dropping a few hints regarding his own preferences among the birds and fishes which the bountiful Dieu had placed upon the earth for the special enjoyment of the French clergy. Between them, and with the occasional assistance of Monsieur, they settled the menus for the adults, for the children’s table, and for the infants’ table, where the nurses expected the best even though the infants could count on only a slightly richer formula than usual.
AVANT LA CÉRÉMONIE
Les Apéritifs
Les Sandwiches Mélangés
APRèS LA CéRéMONIE
Consommé Zibeline
Homard à l’Archiduc
Filet de Boeuf Fervaal
Soufflé d’Asperges
Poularde Rose Marie
Salade de Champignons et Cresson
Fromages
Coupe Rêve de Bébé
Gâteau de Baptême
Fruits
Dragées
POUR LES ENFANTS
Consommé Christiana
Poulet en Cocotte Bonne Femme
Purée de Céleri
Salade d’Épinards
Mousse aux Fraises
Dragées
POUR LES NOURICES
Potage Pierre-le-Grand
Filet de Sole Casanova
Noix de Veau Prince Orlov
Salade Mimosa
Bombe Don Juan
Petits Fours
Fruits
Dragées
(No menu would be complete without dragées, the traditional confections which all the guests take home from French christenings as Americans carry away little boxes of wedding cake. The dragées—Jordan almonds in the United States—are usually almonds coated with enamel-like, liqueur-flavored sugar. They are supplied by confectioners, since it is quite impossible to achieve the smooth sugar coating at home. The coating is white for christenings; for other occasions the almonds are usually tinted in pale pastel shades.)
The de la Chesnayes enlisted two friends to act as marraine and parrain, godmother and godfather. The manual didn’t seem to care whether this pater spiritualis or, in fact, the real father was present at the ceremony. But it did say the godfather should be over fourteen years of age and that under no circumstances should he marry his godchild if it happened to be a girl. The godparents had to be of opposite sexes, but not married to each other, and they could not be the parents of the infant. Aside from these stipulations, the parents were to feel free to choose anyone. Despite the restrictions, Madame Villard and Monsieur Courtois accepted the honor, which each of them secretly had been counting on. The christening was set for Sunday, after Mass, and the manual suggested scheduling the event after the second feeding when the infant was tranquille (“a screaming infant is disturbing during the ceremony …”).
The parents also settled on a series of names for their son. Tradition demands that a boy be named for his godfather and his father, and for the saint who will watch over him and whose saint’s day he will celebrate as others do their own birthdays. A boy
must also be named for anyone else where diplomacy and honor require it. He must be given a call name; by the Latin version of this name he will be called into the church at his christening, and by the French version he will be called for the rest of his days. The result of all this was: Auguste Alphonse Émile Jude Thaddeus Rudolphe Jérôme Georges Maria de la Chesnaye. Madame wrote it out for Monseigneur, who had been forgetting infants’ names at the moment of baptism for twenty years. The call name was going to be Georges.
The de la Chesnaye guests assembled for an apéritif at their hosts’ home and departed for the church en caravane. Young Georges was handed to his marraine on his lacy pillow, and they were met at the portals of the church by Monseigneur, who said, “Peace be with you, how shall this child be named?” Madame Villard, who had a good memory, recited the names smoothly, the ceremony was under way, and the christening party followed young Georges to the baptistery.
For some reason it is always taken for granted that if a man aims at a target he will hit it with a certain amount of accuracy. Although skilled marksmanship may be an accomplishment of sportsmen, it is usually sadly lacking in the clergy, and the facility seems to diminish as age and rank increase. If a priest is young and of a sporting turn of mind, the best that can be expected is a hit in the eye or on the nose. In addition to these regrettable shortcomings, the baptismal waters are always cold and inevitably chill the infant as they run down the back of his neck. Needless to say, if the infant has been quiet up to this point, he now starts to yell and usually continues at the top of his lungs until he gets home. The christening guests know that the sacrament of baptism exorcises the devil and so they smile tolerantly, although the yowls and yelps echoing through the church sound more as if the devil had just entered.
Madame Villard had been a marraine at Monseigneur’s baptisms so often that this time, to keep the infant warm and dry, she devised a safeguard which she thought of as l’invention Villard. It consisted of a little rubber collar to be worn inside the christening robe in order to catch the cold water as it came trickling down the nape of the infant’s neck. It strongly resembled those little rubber rings that are placed around red-wine bottles to catch the drops and save the tablecloths in the type of Parisian home that boasts a clock set into the navel of a gilded Venus de Milo. In more recherché homes—where the clock is surmounted by Leda and the Swan—the red wine is allowed to drip, and the most any good hostess does is to sprinkle salt on each spot.
Although Madame Villard came from a home of the first order and would not have been caught dead with a rubber-ringed red-wine bottle, she felt so strongly for her little filleul that she slipped the rubber collar to his nounou on the way to church. A realist, Madame Villard had also considered a slight sedative for Georges—nothing dangerous, just a little cachet to ensure his dreamless sleep. But after looking at his rosy innocence she was reluctant to administer his first barbiturate.
When the guests were assembled around the font, young Georges was still blessedly asleep. The rubber collar gave him a slightly hunchbacked appearance, which perplexed his parents during the entire ceremony. But the fact remained that l’invention Villard worked. After administering the salt and oil without mishap, Monseigneur poured, and the cold water ran down over Georges’s eyes and, with the unerring pull of gravity, toward the small of his back. However, the collar deflected it, and even Monseigneur was surprised to find that the ceremony was concluded without sounds from the sujet. Satan had been renounced with all his works, and the christening was a vast success. Monseigneur was so charmed by the peaceful silence of Georges that he sent him forth into life with an affectionate pat and a final benediction: “Auguste Alphonse Aemili Judas Thaddee Rudolphe Hieronyme Georgi Maria, vade in pace.”
Georges never woke up until he reached home. His long lace dress, symbol of his purity, was dry and immaculate. There was no question now of whether Georges possessed savoir-vivre.
The florist had installed a sort of bower under which Monsieur, Madame, Georges, and his nounou would receive and hold court. They stationed themselves correctly and prepared to receive their guests, who had lingered between church and home just long enough to allow for the changes that even an exorcised infant requires.
A christening fête in Paris has no age limits—everyone is included from the oldest relatives to the infant’s contemporaries. The doctor who brought him into the world ranks next to the monseigneur who brought him into the church, and the parents’ wedding party and the neighbors are always included as well. Infants coo at each other from adjacent laps while children play games and adults conjecture about the repast. When Georges emerged from his bower his matchmaking aunts noted that he showed a marked partiality for a rosy infant who had been christened Félicité the previous week. She was a splendid parti since her father manufactured pneus while Georges’s father produced bicyclettes on which the tires could be used. The well-planned match was toasted, a little prematurely, while Georges showed his joie de vivre with an energetic rattle and Félicité responded with squeaks that she produced by squeezing a rubber dog.
Madame’s manual said that a “room cart” should be brought in and that the infant should remain near the guests, “who are supposed to cast a glance at him at intervals. Later guests can make a little visit to the infant, who is supposed to be asleep, and gifts are presented to him.” Christening gifts, according to the manual, are supposed to be of a continuing nature so that the anniversary of the christening can bring another installment. For a girl, this charming custom usually leaves her with many half-completed strings of pearls and not a full necklace to her name, while boys are likely to end up with more sets of coffee spoons than they know what to do with. The ever-wise manual suggested that the donor start with two classics, in leather of course, and add one each year. Next they suggested a geography of France for the christening, and geographies of lesser nations to be given in ensuing years. The next suggestion was a bankbook: “This beautiful gift bears interest each year.” Perpetual calendars and a few good securities were also recommended. The parents do not give christening gifts, only the fête. The manual warned, finally, that “the christening gift must be a gift to give pleasure for a lifetime, as immediate enjoyment is impossible.” (Rattles, toys, and teething rings are a faux pas.) With this in mind, Georges’s grandfather gave him a golden key to what would someday be his wine cellar.
The christening guests had stood at the font, they had brought gifts, they had admired and complimented—now they were ready to reap their reward. Monseigneur sat between the mère and the marraine and enjoyed himself enormously. After having long since abandoned all hope for a dry and quiet baptism, he smugly regarded his great success with Georges as the reward for some special virtues, little knowing the part played by the lady on his right.
The guests sat at tables with their proper age groups: The infants with their nounous drank their formula, the children ate their spinach salad, and the adults did what they had come to do—they ate and drank all that was set before them. Having made all necessary conversation in the receiving line, they now relaxed and enjoyed the food and wine as only Parisians can. Madame eyed each new course with complacency. She had planned, she had produced, and voilà, she would partake. The christening feast was a repas formidable, but fortunately the vast number of infants and children among the guests ensured an early departure. The guests carried off cornucopias of dragées, and Georges was awakened so that his hand could be waved at each of them.
It was quite clear that the benefits of baptism and Monseigneur’s final blessing had affected Georges profoundly. He had, for this one day at least, gone in peace. So had his guests.
CONSOMMÉ ZIBELINE
Beat 1 egg and 2 egg yolks until they are light. Stir in ¾ cup light cream, ? cup very thick chestnut purée, a pinch of sugar, and salt and pepper to taste. Bake the custard in a buttered shallow dish, set in a pan of warm water, in a very slow oven (250°F) for about 20 minutes, or until a knife inserted n
ear the center comes out clean. Cool the custard and cut it into tiny diamond shapes.
Heat 5 cups clear chicken consommé with 1 cup white wine and season with salt and pepper to taste. Garnish each cup of consommé with the custard diamonds and finely shredded orange peel.
HOMARD à L’ARCHIDUC
(Lobster Archduke)
Place 6 pounds live lobsters in cold salted water and bring it to the boiling point. Drain the lobsters, split lengthwise, and crack the claws. Lay the halves shell side down in a wide shallow pan and surround them with the claws. Add 2 carrots, 8 sprigs of parsley, 2 bay leaves, a little salt and pepper, and enough liquid, half white wine and half water, to reach to the top of the shells. Place the lobsters in a moderate oven (350°F) and cook for 20 minutes, or until the meat is tender and opaque. Remove and discard the veins and sacs. Slice and reserve the claw and tail meat and reserve the tomalley and the coral, if any. Sauté 5 shallots, finely chopped, in a little butter. Add the lobster pan juices, strained, and reduce the liquid by one half. Add 1 cup heavy cream and the reserved tomalley and coral. Warm the sliced lobster meat in butter, flame it with ½ cup heated brandy, and use it to fill the half-shells. Pour part of the sauce over the filled shells and pass the rest separately.
FILET DE BOEUF FERVAAL
(Fillet of Beef Fervaal)
Have the butcher trim a large fillet of beef. Tie the thin end back toward the center to make a shorter and thicker roast, and lard the meat at ¾-inch intervals with strips of larding pork. Lay the fillet in a deep earthenware dish and cover it with 2 carrots, 1 large onion, and 1 peeled lemon, all thinly sliced. Add 3 sprigs of parsley, 1 crumbled bay leaf, ½ teaspoon dried thyme, a dash of white pepper, and ½ cup oil. Cover the dish with a cloth and marinate the fillet for 3 hours, turning it six times.
Remembrance of Things Paris Page 27