The Cake
We will call her Madame Anserre though it was not her real name.
She was one of those Parisian comets who leave a sort of trail of fire behind them. She wrote poetry and short stories, was sentimental and ravishingly beautiful. Her circle was small and consisted only of exceptional people—those generally known as the kings of this, that, or the other. To be invited to her receptions stamped one as a person of intelligence; let us say that her invitations were appreciated for this reason. Her husband played the part of an obscure satellite: to be married to a star is no easy role. This husband had, however, a brilliant idea, that of creating a State within a State, of possessing some value in himself although only of secondary importance: he received on the same day as his wife did and had his special set who listened to him and appreciated his qualities, paying much more attention to him than they did to his brilliant companion.
He had devoted himself to agriculture, “armchair” agriculture, just as we have “armchair” generals—all those who are born, live, and die in the comfortable surroundings of the War Office—or “armchair” sailors—look at the Admiralty—or “armchair” colonisers, etc., etc. So he had studied agriculture seriously in its relation to the other sciences, with political economy and with the fine arts; we call everything art, even the horrible railway bridges are “works of art.” He had finally reached the stage when he was known as a clever man, he was quoted in the technical reviews, and his wife had succeeded in getting him appointed a member of a Commission at the Ministry of Agriculture.
He was satisfied with this modest glory. On the pretext of economy he invited his friends the same day his wife received hers, so that they all met each other, or rather they did not—they formed two groups. Madame’s group of artists, academicians and Ministers gathered together in a kind of gallery which was furnished and decorated in Empire style. Monsieur generally retired with his “labourers” into a small room used as a smoking-room which Madame Anserre ironically described as the Salon of Agriculture.
The two camps were quite distinct. Monsieur, without any feeling of jealousy, sometimes ventured into the Academy, when cordial greetings were exchanged; but the Academy disdained intercourse with the Salon of Agriculture; it was indeed rare that one of the kings of science, of philosophy, of this, that, or the other mingled with the “labourers.”
These receptions were quite simple: nothing but tea and brioches were handed round. At first Monsieur had asked for two brioches, one for the Academy and one for the “labourers,” but, Madame having quite rightly suggested that that would be a recognition of two different camps, two receptions, two groups, Monsieur did not press the matter, so there was only one brioche, which Madame Anserre distributed first to the Academy, after which it passed into the Salon of Agriculture.
Now the brioche became a subject of strange and unexpected proceedings in the Academy. Madame Anserre never cut it herself. That task always fell to the lot of one or other of the illustrious guests. This particular function, much sought after and considered a special honour, was a privilege that might last for some time or might soon be over: it might last three months, for instance, but scarcely every longer, and it was noticed that the privilege of “cutting the brioche” carried with it other marks of superiority; it was a form of royalty, or, rather, very accentuated viceroyalty. The officiating cutter spoke with no uncertain voice, with a tone of marked command; and all the hostess’s favours were bestowed upon him, all.
These happy beings were described in intimate circles as “the favourites of the brioche,” and every change of favourite caused a sort of revolution in the Academy. The knife was a sceptre, the cake an emblem, and the elect received the congratulations of other members. The brioche was never cut by the “labourers,” Monsieur himself being always excluded, although he ate his share.
The cake was cut in succession by poets, by painters, and by novelists. A great musician measured out the portions for some time, and was succeeded by an Ambassador. Occasionally a guest of minor importance but distinguished and much sought after, one of those who are called, in different epochs, “real gentleman,” “perfect knight,” or “dandy,” and so forth, took his turn to cut the symbolic cake. Each one, during his short reign, showed the greatest consideration towards the lady’s husband, then when came the hour of his dismissal he passed the knife on to another and mingled again with the crowd of followers and admirers of the “beautiful Madame Anserre.”
This lasted a
