She therefore hastened to respond to the bow bestowed on her by the king of cooks and schooled herself to listen with due attention to the speech which he addressed to her once safely arrived in the middle of the room. From it, she learned that Monsieur de Talleyrand, deeply concerned for the health of Her Serene Highness and discovering to his great distress that she was refusing all sustenance, had taken long counsel with himself, Carême, and that the two of them had concluded that Her Serene Highness must be offered such choice selection of delicacies as would most speedily restore her to health and strength, and that these must be presented to her in such a way as to make refusal an impossibility.
'I informed His Highness that I should personally attend Your Highness's bedside and prepare for you with my own hands an infallible restorative of such powerful recuperative properties that it has revived even the most failing spirits… I trust I may prevail upon Your Highness to accept what it is my privilege to offer.'
The implication was clear that, short of provoking some unimaginable cataclysm, refusal was out of the question. Amused by all this polysyllabic eloquence, Marianne indicated graciously, in language very nearly as florid as his own, her delight in the prospect of tasting another of Monsieur Carême's matchless creations. Only then did she inquire politely what it was she was required to consume.
'A chocolate, Madame, a simple chocolate, the recipe for which is in fact an invention of Monsieur Brillat-Savarin, although I have had the honour of perfecting it. I do not hesitate to prophesy that, after a single cup of this magic beverage, Your Highness will feel another woman.'
To feel herself another woman was in fact the very thing that Marianne longed for above all. Especially if by some miracle that other woman could possess a heart wholly free from any attachment. But Carême had interrupted his flow of speech for a moment and, with his rich coat of plum-coloured velvet covered by a huge, stiff, white apron carefully draped about his person by one of his assistants, had commenced his office. The small saucepan was placed upon the stove and the lid solemnly removed, allowing a fragrant steam to escape into the room. Then, with the aid of a golden spoon, Carême embarked on an exploration of the various jars which his acolytes held deferentially open for his inspection, at the same time resuming his discourse:
'I may say that this chocolate, the result of many earnest cogitations by the most distinguished minds, is, in itself, a veritable work of art. The actual chocolate, at present contained in this receptacle, was cooked yesterday, in accordance with the recommendations of that expert judge, Madame d'Austerel, Superior of the Convent of the Visitation at Belley, so that by allowing it to stand for twenty-four hours the required smoothness might be imparted to the texture. It was concocted initially from three varieties of cocoa: Caraque, Sainte-Madeleine and Berbice, but in order to create what Monsieur Brillat-Savarin has so aptly called 'invalid chocolate' we must have recourse to the subtle skills of the Chinese, adding to it vanilla, cinnamon, a trifle of mace, pulverized cane sugar and, above all, a few grains of ambergris, which constitute the prime element in the almost magical virtues which this beverage may be said to possess. My own personal contribution is expressed in a little honey of Narbonne, some roasted almonds, finely ground, fresh cream and a few drops of fine Cognac. Now, if Your Highness will oblige me…'
As he spoke, Carême had been adding the various ingredients to his chocolate. Then, after letting it simmer for a few moments, he filled a delicate porcelain cup and, still with the most elaborate care, placed it upon a small tray which he bore majestically to Marianne's bedside. The tented canopy of sea-green silk became filled with the fragrant odour of chocolate.
Conscious of taking part in a kind of ritual, and of Carême's stern eye upon her, daring her to find fault with it, Marianne carried the cup to her lips and sipped at the boiling liquid. The taste, in so far as it was possible to taste anything so very hot, was very sweet and not unpleasant, although, in her opinion, the scent of ambergris did nothing to improve it.
'It's very good,' she ventured, after two or three painful sips.
'You must drink it all,' Carême commanded her imperiously. 'It is necessary to imbibe a certain amount before the effects are felt.'
Marianne took her courage in both hands, swallowed heroically and succeeded in getting down the whole scorching cupful. A rush of warmth invaded her body and she felt as if a river of fire were running down inside her. Scarlet as a boiled lobster and beaded with perspiration, yet curiously invigorated, she fell back on her pillows and favoured Carême with what she hoped was a grateful smile:
'I feel better already. You are a wizard, Monsieur Carême.'
'I, no, Princess, but the cooking, yes indeed! I have prepared enough for three cups and I trust Your Highness will drink them all. I shall return tomorrow at the same time and make you some more. No, no, it is no trouble. A pleasure, I assure you.'
Regal as ever, Carême removed his apron, tossed it magnificently to one of his assistants and, with a bow that would not have disgraced a courtier, departed from the room, followed by his escort in the same order as before.
'Well?' Fortunée demanded, laughing, as soon as she was once more alone with her friend. 'How do you feel?'
'Boiling! But a good deal stronger. All the same, I do feel rather sick.'
Without answering, Fortunée poured a little of Monsieur Carême's chocolate into a cup and drank it with evident enjoyment, closing her eyes, like a cat with a saucer of milk.
'Do you really like it?' Marianne asked. 'Don't you find it a bit too sweet?'
Madame Hamelin laughed. 'Like all Creoles, I love sugar,' she said. 'Besides, I'd drink it if it were as bitter as chicory. Do you know why Brillat-Savarin called it 'invalid chocolate'? Because the amber it contains, my dear, has aphrodisiac properties – and I dine tonight with the most magnificent Russian.'
'Aphrodisiac!' Marianne cried, horrified. 'But I don't need those!'
'Don't you?'
Fortunée strolled over to her friend's dressing-table and, carelessly, from among the litter of jars, bottles and gold and silver toilet articles scattered upon it, picked up a large jewel case and opened it. The emeralds Marianne had worn at the ambassador's ball, and which Chernychev had returned on the following day, gleamed in the last rays of the setting sun. Madame Hamelin took out the necklace, dangling it thoughtfully from her fingers and watching the play of light glinting in flashes of brilliant green fire:
'Talleyrand is an old rogue, Marianne… and he knows quite well that the best way to restore your zest for life is to revive your appetite for love.'
'My appetite for love! Well, you have just seen where love has got me…'
'Precisely. Weren't you telling me that your handsome sea rover remains with us for another fortnight?'
'That's not very long! What can I do?'
Fortunée did not answer directly but went on playing idly with the necklace, at the same time pursuing her earlier train of thought:
'It's not very difficult, perhaps, to renounce a woman dawdling invalidishly in bed. To turn one's back on a dazzling beauty who can lead one of the most notorious rakes in Europe by the nose, is a very different matter. Why don't you let Sasha Chernychev take you out driving, or to the theatre one of these days? If half of what I hear is true, he has amply deserved it… if only for not putting these beauties into his pocket! I'm sure I could never have resisted the temptation! But then, when a man's interest in a woman leads him to incur a sword thrust and a knife wound, all in the space of seven days…'
She let the gems slide heavily through her fingers and drop back into their nest of black velvet. Then, as though losing interest in the subject, she sat down at the mirror and began rearranging her dark curls, patting a little powder into her already flawless complexion, touching up the cupid's bow of her lips and finally amusing herself by opening every bottle of scent and sniffing it critically. With her vivacious expression, and the opulent figure so attractively belied by her virginal print gown, Fortunée was such a perfect picture of womanhood at its most glorious that Marianne could not help but be aware of it. Unconsciously, or perhaps not altogether unconsciously, Fortunée was showing her where her real weapons lay, weapons against which the noblest and most determined of men's plans were powerless.
Raising herself on her elbow, Marianne stared for a moment at her friend, watching her dab perfume delicately in the warm hollow of her breasts.
'Fortunée!'
'Yes, darling?'
'I… I think I feel like finishing that chocolate.'
CHAPTER THREE
Britannicus
Four days later, dressed in a robe of flame-coloured muslin with a head-dress of feathers dyed to match, Marianne made her appearance in a first-floor box at the Comêdie Française and caused a sensation. Count Chernychev was at her side.
The second act of Racine's Britannicus had already begun but the couple strolled to the front of the box and, without a glance for the actors on the stage, stood scanning the audience (which, to be fair, was amply returning their interest) with cool insolence. Without other ornament than a fantastic Chinese lacquered fan, trimmed with feathers the same colour as those in her hair, the unrelieved red bringing out all the golden glow of her skin and the brilliance of her great eyes, Marianne was a superb and altogether arresting sight, like some exotic, tropical flower. Her whole appearance was provocative, from the boldness of her deep décolletage to the forbidden fabric of her dress, a silky, smooth-flowing muslin which Leroy had acquired through his own mysterious channels at extravagant cost and which, contrasting strongly with the satins and brocades of the other women present, rendered full justice to every line of the Princess Sant'Anna's magnificent body.
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