The Gentleman in Black Velvet, introduction

by William Porquet

Date: Wed, 5 Jun 1996 16:58:56 -0600 (MDT)

Gentle reader, allow me to introduce myself. I am the abbe' Pierre-Charles Francois Porquet, almoner to the King of Poland at his court in Nancy. Do not let my title and occupation mislead you - I am neither a monk nor a courtier. When I was a young boy, back in the 1730s, an ecclesiastical friend of the family in Vire took a liking to me and encouraged me to letters. This led me to the Seminaire de Saint-Sulpice in Paris, since my family could not afford tuition at a secular college for the family cadet. Having graduated, but not being called to the lonely life of village priest, I was granted the title of "commendatory abbot" or abbe' and left to fend for myself. But being a son of the Mother Church in this century is not so bad - the Pope is not infallible, and with discretion celibacy need not be chastity. And my discretion won me the friendship and patronage of a noble lady of letters, the voluptuous and charming Marquise de Boufflers. I met her at Madame de Geoffrin's Salon in Paris, and she admired my poetry and eccentric humour, so much so that on the spot she hired me to be a tutor to her son, the young Chevalier de Boufflers. When King Stanislas of Poland found leisurely exile in Lorraine, thanks to his son-in-law Louis XV, Madame de Boufflers found a social climate more suited to her tastes than the hierarchical frenzy of Versailles. She also found a new lover in his royal highness. When she moved into Stanislas' chateau in Nancy, she naturally took her son and her son's tutor. Madame de Boufflers, bless her, would not have me living there as a mere servant, and pressed his highnesses' largesse to have a title for me. Because of my seminary training and generous nature, his highness appointed me almoner, the official in a monastery or royal palace in charge of distrubuting alms for the poor. But because of my patronesses' influence, I need not play the courtier's ingratiating art. And because of my patron's generosity and good humour, it is a pleasure to play my role of alms-giver and court libertine-ecclesiastic. So far, the only fly in this sweet balm of courtly life is a bitter old Jesuit, Pere Menou. The first evening I supped at court, it was he who made the ostensibly innocent suggestion to his royal highness that I should say he benedicte, the Latin blessing, knowing full well I could quote all the pagan classics before I could remember a prayer I had only heard but not recited. But his half-cocked plan backfired: even the King noted the glare of Pere Menou across the table as I tried in vain to recite what I half-remembered. Seeing one of her allies in distress, Madame de Boufflers offered an apology for me, for my shyness in the presence of his royal highness, and reminding the assembled that I was not a priest, but a cleric. She need not have defended me, for every stumble and stutter was as a stone thrown upon a poor martyr. After Pere Menou had finished saying he benedicte himself, I noted that no one spoke to him save to ask to pass the sauce. But he was too full of pride and zeal to have any shame for his bold affront.