The live fish writhed feebly. Marie-Josèphe opened her hand. The sea monster darted so close that her claws brushed Marie-Josèphe’s fingers. Marie-Josèphe gasped with delight. The creature snatched the fish and shoved it into her mouth.
“Good sea monster!” Enthralled, Marie-Josèphe captured another fish. “Fine sea monster!”
Frightened by her own boldness, the sea monster fled to Apollo to nestle beneath the hooves of the dawn horses.
Perhaps Apollo is driving the wrong way in order to retard time, Marie-Josèphe thought. Perhaps if he drives against the sun, time will go backwards, and we shall all live forever.
She glanced over her shoulder, toward the glow of the sun shining through the translucent tent wall.
She caught her breath. The sun was high, much higher than she expected. She flung the fish into the pond, ran up the stairs and out of the cage, slammed the door, and hurried outside.
When did Count Lucien ride away? she wondered. It was only a few minutes ago, was it not?
She tried to convince herself that she was not very late as she ran up the Green Carpet to the chateau.
She burst into Yves’ room, hoping his bed would be empty, hoping he had gone, hoping Odelette had awakened him. But he lay snoring softly in his dark room.
“Yves, dear brother, wake up, please, I’m so sorry—”
“What?” he mumbled. “What is it, what’s wrong?” He sat up, his curly dark hair sticking out at all angles. “Is it seven already?”
“It’s at least half past eight, I’m so sorry, I went to feed the sea monster, I forgot the time.”
Anger would have been easier to bear than his stricken expression, his silence.
“I’m so sorry,” she said again.
“It was important,” Yves said.
Marie-Josèphe hung her head. Her error made her feel like an errant child, not a grown woman, and she had no excuse, no defense.
“I know,” she whispered.
The silence weighed upon her.
“Where is Odelette?”
“I sent her to attend Mademoiselle in my place,” Marie-Josèphe said. “She had no way to know you should be awakened! This is all my fault, my responsibility.”
Yves put his arm around her shoulder.
“Never mind,” he said, his voice falsely cheerful. “I’d much rather sleep, than rise at dawn to watch an old man get out of bed and use his open chair.”
Marie-Josèphe tried to laugh, but bit her lip instead to hold back her tears.
“No one will even notice that I wasn’t there,” Yves said heartily. “Did the sea monster feed?”
“It ate a few fish,” Marie-Josèphe said miserably.
“That’s wonderful!” Yves exclaimed. “And much more important to the King’s approval. I knew you’d succeed.”
“You are so good to me,” Marie-Josèphe said. “To suffer my error without anger—to make it sound like an achievement!”
“Never think another thing about it,” he said. “Now, leave me to dress, in proper modesty.”
She kissed his cheek. As she passed through the dressing chamber that joined their bedrooms, he called out, “Sister, can you find bread and chocolate? I’m famished.”
5
Marie-Josèphe trudged back down the hill to the Fountain of Apollo and the sea monster. Beyond everything else, her error had caused her to miss going to Mass with His Majesty and his court in the chateau’s small chapel. She whispered a prayer, and promised God that she would go to evening Mass, even though no one else would attend.
She returned to the Fountain of Apollo and entered the tent. The sea monster’s song drew her, but she hesitated. Determined to put aside her worry and embarrassment, so as not to communicate her distress to the creature, she spent some minutes arranging Yves’ instruments for the dissection. The specimen lay beneath a layer of melting ice; water dripped down the legs of the dissection table to form a puddle speckled with bits of sawdust.
Marie-Josèphe settled a sheet of paper on her drawing box so she would be ready when Yves began his work. Thinking again about the fluttering leaves, she scribbled an equation of the calculus in Herr Leibniz’ notation. A moment told her that the solution was insufficient, and that the problem was worth pursuing.
The sea monster whispered, and softly cried. Marie-Josèphe rubbed out the equation so no one could read it. Once more in possession of her equanimity, she entered the sea monster’s cage. The creature peered at her from beneath the sculpture. Its long dark hair, with its odd light green tangle, swirled around its shoulders.
“Come to me, sea monster.” She scooped a fish from the jar—the poor things gasped at the surface; they would all soon expire—took it from the net, and dipped the slippery twitching animal into the pool.
The sea monster dove toward her, its sad song rising eerily. Marie-Josèphe agitated the water with the fish.
The sea monster lunged forward, snatched the fish—claws scraped lightly against Marie-Josèphe’s hand—and stuffed it into her mouth as she dove back and away. Droplets splashed Marie-Josèphe’s face and beaded on her riding habit. She flicked them off before they could stain the velvet. Encouraged if not satisfied, she caught another fish.
The sea monster grew bolder. Soon it dared to take its food delicately from Marie-Josèphe’s hand. The touch of its swimming webs was like silk. Instead of fleeing, it floated within her reach as it ate. Marie-Josèphe moved her hand closer, closer, hoping to accustom the creature to her touch.
Noise and motion startled them both. The tent sides fluttered as a rider galloped by and pulled up in a scatter of gravel. The sea monster snarled and spat, reared in a backward dive, and sped to its sanctuary beneath Apollo. Marie-Josèphe sighed with frustration.
Chartres flung aside the tent curtains, clanged open the cage door, and tramped over the rim of the fountain. The high heels of his shiny gold-buckled shoes struck the platform sharply. Marie-Josèphe curtsied to the duke. Chartres grinned and bowed over her hand.
“Good morning, Mlle de la Croix.”
Flustered and flattered, embarrassed by her water-wrinkled fingers, by the fish scales—and the fishy odor—on her hand, she extricated herself from his grasp, and curtsied.
“Good morning, sir.”
His light brown curls—his own hair, not a wig—gleamed against the collar of his dove-grey coat. He continued to wear his informal steinkirk tie; he kept his mustache. Lotte had confided, giggling, that he sometimes darkened its color with her kohl.
He peered out into the fountain, squinting. She felt sorry for him for being partly blind.
“Where is it? Oh—there—no…”
“Under the dawn horse’s hooves,” Marie-Josèphe said. “See? If you’re quiet and still, it might come out.”
She captured a fish, thrust it into the cold pond, and swished it back and forth. It gave a weak twitch.
“Let me feed the beast!” Chartres said.
I can risk my own hand to the monster’s teeth, she thought. I can’t risk the duke’s. If it bites him, Madame would never forgive me.
She offered him the fish, but let it slip from her hand as if by accident.
“Sir, I’m sorry—”
“I’ll get it!” To her astonishment, he fell to his knees and plunged his hand into the pool, soaking the lace at his wrist. The fish sank out of his reach. It recovered and swam forward. The sea monster appeared, swimming face-up. It snatched the fish from below and darted away. Chartres nearly fell from the platform in excitement. Marie-Josèphe grabbed his wet sleeve and pulled him back.
“It’s magnificent!” he exclaimed. “I do want to help Father de la Croix.” He knelt beside her, oblivious to the effect of splinters on his silken hose. “If you talk to your brother—he might let me hand him his instruments. Or hold the viewing mirror. Or—”
Marie-Josèphe laughed. “Sir, you may claim a seat in the first rank. You’ll see everything. You can concentrate on the dissection comple
tely.”
“I suppose so,” he said, reluctantly. “But your brother mustn’t hesitate to consult me—and of course he may use my observatory—You’ll tell him about my equipment?”
“Of course, sir. Thank you.” Chartres had the newest compound microscope, a telescope, and a slide rule that Marie-Josèphe coveted to the point of sin.
People whispered and gossiped about what Chartres did in his observatory, about poisons and magic and conjurings. They were so unfair, for he knew a great deal of chemistry and had not the least interest in poisons or in demons.
“Sir,” she said, offhand, hiding her anxiety, “have you seen my brother?” What if His Majesty had noticed Yves’ absence and grown angry? What if he had called him to task, what if the King had deprived her brother of his position, of his work?
“No—but look, perhaps that’s him now.”
The guard drew aside the white silk at the entryway.
Monseigneur the Grand Dauphin, heir to the throne, Chartres’ cousin, entered the tent. The Dauphine had died some years before; Monseigneur was said to keep a mistress, Mlle Choin, in private apartments; she never came to court.
His Majesty’s young grandsons, Monseigneur’s sons, the dukes of Bourgogne, Anjou, and Berri, marched along behind their father the Grand Dauphin, playing at dignity while elbowing each other and craning their necks for a glimpse of the sea monster.
Madame and Lotte entered; Maine strolled in. Madame froze him with politeness. His Majesty might legitimize Louis Auguste and his brother Louis Alexandre and his half-sisters all he liked; Madame would never consider any of them, even her daughter-in-law, anything but bastards.
If Madame’s opinion distressed them, which Marie-Josèphe doubted, they hid their concern. Maine was particularly handsome today, in a fine new red coat with gold embroidery and silver lace. His hat spilled out a snowdrift of egret plumes. The coat disguised his uneven shoulders. He walked carefully, so his limp hardly showed.
More courtiers poured into the tent, and visitors, too, His Majesty’s subjects from Paris and the countryside, far more people than Marie-Josèphe expected to come to the dissection. The courtiers milled about, seeking vantage points behind the royal family’s seats. The visitors stood behind the aristocrats, along the wall of the tent.
Several people strolled over to the cage and peered through the bars. One even lifted the latch, but a musketeer stopped him.
“You may not enter, sir,” the musketeer said. “Much too dangerous.”
“Too dangerous for me, not too dangerous for her?” The visitor pointed toward Marie-Josèphe, then laughed. “Or perhaps she’s the sacrifice to Poseidon’s sea monster?”
“Keep a respectful tongue in your head, if you please,” the musketeer said.
“His Majesty’s invitation—”
“—is for the public dissection.”
The townsman opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again. He bowed and took a step back.
“You are correct, officer,” he said. “His Majesty’s invitation is for the dissection. His Majesty will show us his living sea monster when he chooses.”
“Perhaps when it’s tamed,” the musketeer said.
Marie-Josèphe threw a fish into the pool. The sea monster plunged toward it, splashing and snarling. Its teeth snapped together. Marie-Josèphe felt a little sorry for the fish. Watching in vain for Yves, she climbed the stairs with Chartres and left the sea monster’s cage, locking it behind her.
She curtsied to the royal family, then kissed Madame’s hem and embraced Lotte, who stooped to kiss her lips and her cheek. Lotte moved carefully so as not to dislodge her fontanges. Its ruffles rose over her beautifully-dressed hair; its ribbons and lace spilled down her back.
“Good morning, my dear,” Madame said. “We missed you at Mass.”
“Perhaps she was with M. de Chrétien instead,” Lotte said with a delighted laugh.
“Hush, daughter,” Madame said.
“Please forgive me, Madame,” Marie-Josèphe said, wondering what Lotte found so amusing.
“Forgive you for missing that wretched priest’s most boring sermon in weeks? Child! I envy you.”
Madame’s complaints about the churchmen of Versailles always distressed Marie-Josèphe. She knew God would understand that Madame meant nothing blasphemous or heretical. Marie-Josèphe was not so sure the other members of court understood, especially Mme de Maintenon, especially since Madame used to be a Protestant. But, then, Mme de Maintenon used to be a Protestant, too.
“Do you like my hair? Your Odelette is a wonder!” Lotte said. “An octavon, is she? Why have we not seen her before?”
“I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle, she’s a Turk—she recently followed me to France, from Martinique.”
“She dressed my hair so beautifully—and with a touch of her hand she renewed this old fontanges.”
“I cannot afford to buy you a new one every time the fashion changes,” Madame said dryly. “Nor even every day.”
Monsieur and Lorraine joined them. Marie-Josèphe curtsied, her heart beating faster when Lorraine took her hand between his, raised it to his lips, kissed it, and restrained her hand for a moment before letting her go. When she drew away, startled and shocked and excited by his provocative touch, he smiled, his eyes half-closed. He had the most beautiful long dark eyelashes.
Monsieur bowed coolly to Marie-Josèphe. He led his family and Lorraine away to their places. Monsieur took his seat, carefully arranging his coat-skirts. Chartres threw himself onto a chair beside his sister.
“Mlle de la Croix,” he asked, “is it true that the sea monsters eat people?”
“Oh, yes,” Marie-Josèphe said in as serious a tone as she could find. “I’m sure it is true.”
“And people,” Lorraine said, “return the favor.”
The fountain machinery creaked to life, clanking and groaning. In the distance, water gushed and flowed.
“Ah,” Madame said. “His Majesty is coming.”
In a panic, Marie-Josèphe thought, Where is Yves? If His Majesty is here, the dissection must proceed… unless His Majesty is furious, and has come to banish me—
Stop it, she said to herself. Who are you to think the King himself would punish you? At most he would send Count Lucien. More likely he would send a footman.
“Pardon me, please, Madame, Mademoiselle.” She curtsied quickly. Holding up the velvet skirts of her riding habit, she ran across the tent to the entrance.
A horrible possibility occurred to her. What if Yves expected her to remind him of the time of the dissection? What if she had failed him again, twice in a single day? She should have gone back to the chateau an hour ago. If she left now, His Majesty would be kept waiting, which was inconceivable. She could not begin the dissection herself—she was capable of performing it, but she would be horribly outside her place to do so.
She thought, I’ll ask one of the musketeers—
She nearly ran into Count Lucien. She stopped long enough to curtsy to him.
“Take your place, please, Mlle de la Croix,” he said. He glanced around the tent, his casual gaze taking in everything, approving everything, seeking any sights improper for His Majesty to see.
“But I—my brother—”
Musicians followed Count Lucien into the tent; he gestured to a spot that would make His Majesty the focus of their music. The musicians took their places. Their notes sought the proper tone, found it, combined into melody.
“Father de la Croix will arrive in good time,” Count Lucien said.
The musketeers again drew aside the curtains. The trumpeter played a fanfare that swept across the tent.
His Majesty entered, riding in a three-wheeled chair pushed by two deaf-mutes. A cushion supported His Majesty’s gouty foot. Yves strolled at the King’s right hand. Mme de Maintenon’s sedan chair followed close behind.
The fanfare ended; the musicians struck up a cheerful tune. Yves gestured and spoke and laughed, as if he were spe
aking to a fellow Jesuit of his own age and rank.
Count Lucien stood aside, bowing. Marie-Josèphe slipped out of His Majesty’s path and curtsied deeply. All the members of the royal family rose. Silk and satin rustled, sword-belts clanked, egret plumes whispered. Nobility and commoners alike bowed low to their King.
His Majesty accepted the accolades as his due. Footmen ran ahead to remove his armchair, making way for his wheeled cart. The carriers lowered Mme de Maintenon’s sedan chair beside him. Though the side curtains remained drawn, the chair’s window opened a handsbreadth.
“The ship came about so quickly,” Yves said, “that the sailor tumbled over the railing to the main deck—and when he landed, flat on his—” Yves hesitated, then said in the direction of Mme de Maintenon’s open window, “—I beg your pardon, Your Grace, I’ve been too long among rough sailors, I mean to say he landed in a seated position—he never spilled a drop of his wine ration.”
The King chuckled. No response emanated from Mme de Maintenon’s chair.
The King graciously indicated to the women of the royal family that they might be seated; he smiled at his brother and granted Monsieur a chair.
“I missed you, Father de la Croix, this morning.” His Majesty returned his attention to Yves. “I’m disappointed, if I don’t see my friends when I arise.”
A flush of embarrassment crept up Marie-Josèphe’s neck and across her cheeks. She took a step forward, involuntarily, determined to draw the blame to herself. Count Lucien reached up and laid his hand on her arm.
“I must tell His Majesty—” she whispered.
“Now is not a proper time to speak to His Majesty.”
“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty,” Yves said. “I wished to prepare for the dissection, so it will go perfectly. I deprived myself of your awakening ceremony. It was inexcusable of me to overlook Your Majesty’s feelings in the matter.”
“Inexcusable, indeed,” His Majesty said, kindly, to Yves. “But I will excuse you, this one time. As long as I see you tomorrow when I wake.”
Yves bowed. The King smiled at him. Marie-Josèphe trembled with guilty relief.
The Moon and the Sun Page 7