Emilie's Voice (32 page)

Charpentier broke the silence. “Why?”

The question hung in the air, unanswerable.

The widow Scarron walked forward to join the couple, who, although not even close enough to touch if their arms were outstretched, were held within each other’s orbit. “Sister Marcelline—as she is now called—has made her choice.”

Émilie glared at her with an expression that made her back away slowly and turn to face out of one of the long windows.

“But why? There must be a reason! I must know!” Charpentier’s voice was shrill with desperation.

Émilie spoke. “Please don’t ask why. You must trust me. It was the only way.”

Charpentier could not take his eyes from Émilie’s face, searching there for something—anything—that would help him understand what had happened.

“If I had come back,” she continued, “I would not have been—never-” Émilie’s voice grew smaller as she spoke. She took a deep breath and tried again. “I have chosen to dedicate my life, and my voice, to God. It was you who showed me what it was to sing. I would be—am—nothing without you.” There was the suggestion of tears in the tone of her voice, and she paused and took a deep breath before continuing. “But without my voice, I would be less than nothing.” Émilie stopped. She could say no more. The muscles in her jaw tightened with the struggle to suppress her emotions.

“Émilie!” cried Charpentier. He lunged forward and took hold of his wife’s left wrist, collapsing to his knees at her feet. The guards, who had to this point been nothing but ornamental to the room, quickly left their posts and approached him. Madame de Maintenon motioned them to stay back. She herself drew closer again, ready to intervene between the couple if necessary.

Émilie forced her arm to hang by her side. She could feel her husband’s sweating, shaking hand, feel his rapid pulse through the serge sleeves of her habit. She backed away from him, pulling herself out of his grip. Just as he released her, she felt Madame de Maintenon’s small, steely grasp on her shoulders. Slowly, the widow Scarron turned her around so that she faced the door. But Émilie kept her eyes locked with Charpentier’s as long as she could, craning her neck as she walked away.

“Who are you to take my wife from me?” Charpentier cried, reaching out for Émilie, too exhausted to move.

“I am Madame de Maintenon,” she said, not pausing, pushing Émilie through the door, which shut behind them.

Charpentier sat back on his heels and stared at the space where Émilie had been. He raised his hand to his chest and clutched it, pressing hard as if to stop some invisible bleeding. He began to tremble. Slowly he pulled himself to his feet and walked to the door.

He hardly remembered finding his way back to the Cour Royale. When at last he climbed into the waiting fiacre, Charpentier felt near to passing out. Everything seemed very far away and very close at the same time. The exuberant colors of the scenery were almost painfully vivid, and he heard every sound as if it were uttered just inches from his ear. The boisterous, mating birds seemed to sing with a single, insistent voice. The revolving coach wheels created a rhythm that tormented him.

“Émilie, Émilie, Émilie.” The music of her name, the rhythm of it, a perfect triplet if it was pronounced correctly. And with a shift of the accent, it was in two, an insistent beat, a pulse. Of course, he thought. It had been there all the time. Why had he not seen it? Or, rather, why had he not heard it? Madame de Maintenon thought she could separate them, but she was wrong. The sentence was pronounced, on both of them. He accepted his own punishment with joy.

Epilogue

It was Easter Sunday. The king and Madame de Maintenon walked arm in arm down the aisle of the splendid new chapel he had built just for her. All the courtiers were already in their places. A new oratorio was to be performed. It had been written by the distinguished composer of sacred music, the chapel master Monsieur Marc-Antoine Charpentier, who had already taken his position at the front of the ensemble and the choir. Most of the performers were seated in the choir stalls, but there was one, a soloist, whose order made it necessary for her to remain behind a rood screen. The beauty of her voice was legendary. It was this that drew so many from far and wide to share the king’s devotions in the chapel at Versailles.

The orchestra began to play. The first sections were sung by the choir and a tenor soloist. It was the story of the Resurrection, clothed in magnificent music. Even those who only pretended to be devout could not help being moved by its beauty. But everyone waited, tensed, for the moment when the artist they had come to hear would begin to sing.

At long last the time arrived. After some introductory measures, a treble voice floated a high note above the accompaniment. To the congregation, it seemed as if an angel had chosen that moment to visit the earth.

The hush that descended on everyone present continued as the music wove its spell. A shared ecstasy hung just above the congregants’ heads. Madame de Montespan, grown fat and no longer on an intimate footing with the king, closed her eyes and gave herself to the music. The courtiers all looked down at their clasped hands or up at the magnificent ceiling. In the back, the lady’s maids and valets knelt, feeling keenly the privilege of sharing this hour.

But the most exquisite moment of all, the instant of sublimation, was yet to come. When the soprano finished her air, and the orchestra began the next movement, Monsieur Charpentier stepped away from his spot in front of the ensemble. He began to sing, and after a few measures, the voice of the hidden soprano joined his, following it, weaving through it, dancing around the same notes, holding dissonances together so long they were almost unbearable, and then melting into resolutions both anticipated and unexpected. Their voices blended so perfectly that they seemed to be one. The king placed his hand over his heart and looked heavenward. The chapel warmed to the sounds, absorbing and reflecting in perfect proportion the harmony created by the voices joined in song.

Monsieur Charpentier kept his eyes closed while he sang. He faced away from the nave, toward the altar. The voice that blended with his came from behind him, and washed over him, finding its way into his body, awakening his deepest memories. Time seemed to disappear. The union was perfect.

When the service was over two hours later, a priest gave the benediction and the devout listeners filed out of the chapel, led by the king and the widow Scarron. Charpentier kept his eyes on Madame de Maintenon. She walked with undisguised pride at her monarch’s side, still clad all in black. Now, though, in addition to her pearl rosary, she wore at her neck a magnificent diamond brooch in the shape of a singing bird.

When the worshippers were all gone, he looked over to the rood screen. There, indistinctly, he could see the shape of a nun. She raised her hand and touched the screen, then turned away, following the other members of her order back to the convent.

The chapel was empty. Charpentier gathered up the music from the stands and returned to Paris.

Acknowledgments

My heartfelt thanks to Adam Chromy, my agent, who believed in me; to Amanda Patten, my editor, who worked with me; to Peg Haller, my copy editor, who saved me from a few embarrassing mistakes; but most of all to Charles Jackson, my best friend and partner in life, who put up with me.

É
MILIE’S
V
OICE

1. Émilie’s mother, Madeleine, is reluctant to let her take singing lessons. In fact, for most of the story she has only negative things to say about Émilie’s good fortune. Why do you suppose she is so gruff with her daughter? Do you blame her for what happens to Émilie?
   
2. Émilie is consistently portrayed as being very innocent and naïve. Do you think this is a positive character trait? Why or why not?
   
3. What is it about Émilie that Charpentier falls in love with? Or is he just enamored of her voice and beauty?
   
4. Why do you think François agrees to help Émilie write to Charpentier, when it could get him in serious trouble?
   
5. Madame de Maintenon purports to be a pious woman who wants nothing more than to save the king’s soul. Do you think her scheming is truly for religious purposes? What other motives might she have?
   
6. When the Marquise de Montespan tells Émilie that she is obviously in love with Charpentier, how does Émilie react? Do you think she finally realizes the nature of her feelings for him, or is the marquise correct in assuming that Émilie is only in love with the
   idea
   of love?
   
7. Émilie’s Voice
   portrays the royal court of King Louis XIV as a hotbed of scandal, scheming, and sexual mischief. How does this contrast with the concept of staid nobility, reverence, and religion? Does the royal court have a modern counterpart?
   
8. Imagine yourself living at court in Versailles, where “invisibility is worse than death.” Do you think you would enjoy it? Could you survive in such a treacherous environment?
   
9. Émilie feels that she cannot tell Charpentier that she loves him, even when he says he loves her. Given her decision at the end of the book, do you think Émilie ever truly loved Charpentier? Do you think she loves her voice more?
   
10. Émilie makes very few decisions for herself in this story. How is she used by those around her? Do you think that, in his own way, even Charpentier uses her? Why do you think Émilie refuses, or is unable, to take charge of her own life?
    
11. The author has cleverly tied several subplots to create a slowly building sense of anxiety about Émilie’s fate. What are some of the threads that threaten to entangle and ensnare Émilie? Do you think she ultimately triumphs or succumbs?
    
12. How did you expect the novel to end? Were you satisfied with the ending?
    
13. Music is at the heart of this novel. How does the author convey its importance and demonstrate its effect on the characters? Do you have an image of what Émilie’s voice must have been like? Does the author succeed in making you “hear” the novel?
    
14. Could what happened to Émilie in the seventeenth century happen to someone today? Why or why not? What about Émilie is very old-fashioned, and what is not? Are there any characters that bring to mind modern-day counterparts?
    

An Interview with Susanne Dunlap

1.
Émilie’s Voice
is a song as much as a story. What involvement do you have in the world of music?

I began studying music at the age of five, when I started piano lessons. I was a music major at Smith College, and eventually went to graduate school at Yale to study music history. Opera was my area of specialization, in particular early opera, because I have always been fascinated by the relationship of words and music. Beyond that, I have been working for the last four years at Connecticut Opera, a regional opera company, where I have come to know many singers and other artists and production professionals, as well as hear a lot of great performances.

2. What made you decide to become a novelist?

Ever since I was a child, reading has been one of my greatest joys, on a par with music. I have been a “writer” all my working life, first writing advertising copy, then scholarly papers and a dissertation. But my imagination was sparked by the music history I studied, and I felt a burning need to bring the stories and themes of that history to a wider public. The challenge of writing a novel was both inspiring and energizing, and I feel very fortunate to have several mentors who have helped me develop as a writer.

3. What gave you the inspiration for
Émilie’s Voice?

Actually, it was the study of an entirely different seventeenth-century work that brought to my mind the idea of an innocent young singer unaware of the power of her own voice. That work was an oratorio by the seventeenth-century Italian composer, Alessandro Stradella, called
La Susanna.
Susanna is a character from the Apocrypha who is virtuous and beautiful. But Stradella’s music is seductive and powerful. I wanted to explore how music can transform the singer and the listeners, and not always in the way intended by the performer or the character.

4. Your descriptions of seventeenth-century Paris and Versailles make these locations (and their inhabitants) come alive. Did you spend time in France to research your setting?

It was my great pleasure to take two trips to Paris, during which I also went to Versailles. On the first trip, I hadn’t even started the book. By the time of the second, I was polishing up a late draft, and I really walked around and thought about where Émilie and her father would go, what it would be like to live in Paris during the seventeenth century, and what life at Versailles must have been like. Apart from that, I read a great deal about Paris and Versailles and the period, including works by people who were alive at that time.

5.
Émilie’s Voice
is a historical novel that blends fact with fiction. Can you point out some of the real persons and historical events that give
Émilie’s Voice
its flavor?

The composers Lully and Charpentier are both real figures, and there really was an outdoor performance of Lully’s
Alceste
at Versailles in the Cour de Marbre. Both Madame de Maintenon and Madame de Montespan are historical figures too, and the things they actually did are in some ways more shocking and devious than the fictional events of
Émilie’s Voice.
Mademoiselle de Guise was also real, as are the singers in Lully’s troupe, whose names are recorded in history. Very little is known about the details of Charpentier’s life, but Lully really was a rather unsavory character with a preference for men and young boys, and a voracious appetite for power and influence. And, yes, he did make the king pass those ordinances. (King Louis XIV is, of course, historical too, as are the other members of the royal family and the illegitimate children of Madame de Montespan.)

6. First novels are often said to be very autobiographical. Are there elements of your own personality in Émilie? Do you identify with any of the other main characters?

Aside from the fact that my middle name is Emily, I don’t really think I’m much like my heroine at all! I can’t sing, and I’m rather ornery and outspoken. I suppose I might identify more with Sophie, who is a tough, hardworking survivor. I think the only part of Émilie that I really relate to is her dreaminess. I used to drive my parents mad with my ability to sit for hours and just daydream.

7. The ending of the novel is not what one might expect. Why did you choose such a bittersweet twist, as opposed to a more traditional happy ending?

I think that Émilie came to understand that, to everyone around her, she was truly just an embodied voice. She needed to do something dramatic to reclaim herself from the life she had been forced to lead. And yet, I wanted an ending that was true to the time: women really didn’t have many choices then. Her voice, her expression, was the most powerful thing she had, and ultimately it’s what kept her involved with Charpentier. Besides, there’s no historical evidence that Charpentier ever had a wife, and while I have freely bent the historical facts when necessary, I always try to resist obvious falsehoods.