The Moon and the Sun (31 page)

“My Roman legions!” His Majesty exclaimed. “I am most pleased.”

Berri brandished his Roman sword.

“Our fencing lesson, M. de Chrétien, if you please!”

Lucien bowed. “Certainly, Your Highness.”

“You may have M. de Chrétien later,” His Majesty said. “Now he is advising me.”

He dismissed his heirs. “What was I saying?”

“Your Majesty wished me to reserve a medal — for Mlle de la Croix, perhaps?”

“For my sister-in-law, for her collection. You suggest that Mlle de la Croix should have one as well?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. For her, and her brother, too, of course.”

“Have they a medal collection?”

“I doubt it sincerely, Your Majesty. The family is penniless.”

“That will change.”

“In that case,” Lucien said, understanding His Majesty’s intentions, “a medal from Your Majesty, commemorating the brother’s capture of the monster and the sister’s depiction of it — a mark of Your Majesty’s favor — will begin the repair of their fortunes.”

Louis looked again at his own likeness.

“Unlike Bernini, Mlle de la Croix understands how a rider sits a horse. Does she wish to join the hunt?”

“She is pleased to accept, Your Majesty.”

“And does she flatter you, as she flatters me?”

“Why, Your Majesty — she flatters neither of us.”

“Chrétien, you fancy her, I do believe!” He laughed. “But what of Mme de la Fère?”

“Mme de la Fère tired of widowhood. She has accepted an offer of marriage.”

“Without your counter-offer?”

“I don’t intend to marry, as Mme de la Fère understands.”

“You tell your lovers, but I wonder how many of them hope to change your mind?”

“They cannot, Sire, but I hope that’s the only way in which I might disappoint them.

I honor Mme de la Fère. We part as friends.”

“And Mlle de la Croix?” His Majesty said, ignoring Lucien’s diversion.

“She is devoted to your service, Your Majesty, and to advancing her brother’s work.

She wishes for scientific instruments.”

“Scientific instruments? I suppose she must occupy her time somehow, until she’s married — she needs a husband. She’s a devout young woman. She prays in church, instead of sleeping or ogling fashions. She is well-regarded by Mme de Maintenon as well as by Madame my brother’s wife.”

“Then she is remarkable, Sire.”

“Who shall she marry, Chrétien? I must pick someone worthy of my love for her father and mother. Some might object to her lack of connections, but I will make up for them. Perhaps I should desire you to change your mind.”

“I hope you will not, Sire.” Lucien spoke lightly, despite his alarm.

His Majesty sighed. “My court is sadly lacking in other suitable candidates. She would prefer someone with passion, I feel sure, and who else fits that description? It was different in my youth.”

His Majesty might prefer someone with passion, but what Mlle de la Croix desired in a husband, if indeed she desired a husband at all, Lucien did not know. How much of her character had the convent formed? How much of her natural desire had been frightened out of her?

Lucien kept his own counsel.

oOo

Fountains played and whispered on every pool; flowers in all shades of gold and yellow burst from silver pots along the edges of the pathways. The gardens were filled with visitors. People had already gathered at the sea monster’s open tent; they stood around the cage, pointing and laughing.

Marie-Josèphe hoped no one important would appear at today’s dissection. No member of court had any reason to attend, in His Majesty’s absence. For that, Marie-Josèphe was grateful. She looked so plain and ordinary today. Odelette, in full health again, attended Lotte in Marie-Josèphe’s place, so Marie-Josèphe’s hair remained appallingly undressed. She wore not a bit of lace or ribbon; she did not dare put on another beauty-patch.

As if in compensation, her monthlies had slowed to a fraction of their usual flux.

The change worried her, but it was such a relief and she feared physicians so, she put it out of her mind.

Humming the refrain of the sea monster’s cantata, she entered the tent, made her way through the crowd of visitors, entered the cage, and locked the door behind her.

The sea monster lurched up against the fountain’s rim, reaching toward the barrel of live fish. The spectators shouted with amazement.

“Wait, be patient.” Marie-Josèphe scooped the net through the sea water and carried her wriggling prey over the edge of the fountain and down the wooden steps.

What shall I train it to do? she wondered. The creature was remarkably quick to understand her commands.

“Sea monster! Fishhhh! Ask for a fishhhh!”

The sea monster swam back and forth before the steps, diving and flicking her tail, plunging up from the bottom and leaping halfway out of the water, splashing Marie-Josèphe with drops of brackish water.

The sea monster sang the cantata’s refrain.

“What a clever sea monster! I know you can sing, but now you must speak. Say fishhhh.”

“Fishhhh!” the sea monster cried, snarling.

“Oh, excellent sea monster.”

Marie-Josèphe flung a fish. The sea monster snatched it from the air and crunched it neatly with sharp snaps of her teeth. The visitors applauded.

“Now you must come closer, you must take the fish from my hand.”

The sea monster swam to her and took the fish. She held the fish captive between the translucent webs of her long-fingered hand. The sea monster stared straight at Marie-Josèphe, her eyes deep gold.

Deliberately, slowly, she opened her hand and let the live fish free.

“Aren’t you hungry, sea monster?”

One fish remained in the net. Marie-Josèphe dipped the net into the pool.

The sea monster moaned. Her hand crept forward, past the net, and touched Marie-Josèphe’s fingers. Marie-Josèphe stayed still as the sharp claws dimpled her skin, though the sea monster’s strength frightened her.

The sea monster released Marie-Josèphe’s hand. Though the marks of her claws remained, she had not broken Marie-Josèphe’s skin, or even scratched her.

The fish wriggled and splashed. The sea monster snorted and plucked the fish from the net, as Marie-Josèphe had shown her only once.

“Can you leap, will you play?” Marie-Josèphe said, speaking to herself more than to the creature. “If you entertained the King, he might spare you.” She gave the sea monster another fish.

“Fishhh!”

“You are very clever, but His Majesty already has parrots.”

The sea monster splashed away, arched her back, and sank slowly head-first into the water. She waved her webbed toes in the air. Marie-Josèphe laughed along with the visitors. Then the sea monster parted her double tail, exposing her female parts, opening the pink skin like a flower.

Spectators tittered and whispered.

Marie-Josèphe slapped the water.

“No!” she said severely as the sea monster splashed down and surfaced. You’re only a beast, she thought, but even a beast might offend Pope Innocent — or Mme de Maintenon. She remembered, blushing, the time at Saint-Cyr when an adolescent puppy, confused by its animal urges, had mistaken Mme de Maintenon’s ankle for a bitch. Mme de Maintenon had shaken her foot so hard that the poor silly dog, its tongue hanging out, its eyes glazed with its cravings, spun across the room and fetched up against the doorpost.

The sea monster swam to her, singing and snarling, splashing her hand on the water as Marie-Josèphe had done.

“Never mind,” Marie-Josèphe whispered. “I know you don’t understand. I know you don’t mean anything by it.”

Back in Martinique, an old man who lived on the beach used to play with the dolphins. He threw them an inflated pig-bladder and they returned it to him, passing it from one to another as if they were playing tennis.

“Could you play tennis, sea monster?”

The sea monster spat and dived.

The cage door clanged; Yves descended the stairs in one long stride. The sea monster vanished beneath the water, leaving barely a ripple.

“Good morning,” Yves said.

“Isn’t it a glorious day?”

“It is glorious. Your sea monster looks much healthier. Practically sleek.” He smiled at her. “I knew that if anyone could persuade it to feed, you could.”

“She begins to obey me. And to speak.”

“Yes, like a parrot, I know.” Yves glanced away, troubled. “Don’t become too fond of the beast.” He sat on the edge of the fountain. “Don’t make it your pet. I can’t bear to think of your heart broken out of fondness for it.”

“Such a waste!” Marie-Josèphe exclaimed. “Her kind is so rare... Can’t you —”

“My net caught the sea monster’s destiny. There’s no appeal.”

The sea monster, swimming slowly closer, flicked droplets at Marie-Josèphe’s skirt.

Yves offered Marie-Josèphe his hand; she took it. The sea monster hissed and flung a handful of water at them both. It splashed across Marie-Josèphe’s neck and shoulder, soaking her cravat.

“Oh — !” She brushed at the water, managing to sweep away the droplets before they stained her riding habit.

“Fishhhh!” the sea monster snarled.

Marie-Josèphe scooped a whole netful of fish from the barrel and freed them into the fountain. The sea monster chased them, diving with a great splash of her tails.

oOo

Marie-Josèphe’s hand cramped and her pen flew from her fingers, spattering ink across her sketch. The pageboy lunged to catch the quill, but it fluttered to the laboratory floor and stained the planking with a black blob. The boy snatched it up.

“Yves, a moment, please.”

Stiff and pale, her brother straightened from sectioning the sea monster’s brain.

“What’s the matter?”

The page brought a fresh quill. Marie-Josèphe massaged her palm. The spasm eased.

“Nothing. Please continue.”

Yves looked around. Long shadows dimmed to dusk as the sun set. Servants moved through the tent, lighting candles and lanterns, lowering the sides of the tent against the evening breeze. The duke de Chartres sat beside the portrait of the King; the rest of the audience, all visitors, remained standing.

Yves stretched, arching his back. He squeezed shut his eyes, bloodshot from the reek of preserving spirits.

“By your leave, M. de Chartres, I’ll continue tomorrow,” Yves said, “when my sister has light enough to draw.” He placed the brain in a jar and shrouded the sea monster’s carcass. Servants brought ice and sawdust.

The page-boy pinned Marie-Josèphe’s final sketch to the display frame. The sequence of drawings led from a full view of the sea monster’s grotesque face, through skin, layers of muscle, odd facial cavities, to its skull and its heavily convoluted brain.

Chartres jumped up and peered closely at the sketches with his good eye, holding a candle so close that Marie-Josèphe feared he would set the paper on fire.

“Remarkable,” he said. “A remarkable day. Remarkable sights. Father de la Croix, observing your work is a privilege.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“How strange,” Marie-Josèphe said, looking at her sketches as a progression, from the intact face with its swollen resonance cavities, through skin and muscle, to bone, each layer less grotesque, more familiar.

“What’s strange?” Yves said.

“The skull. It looks human. The face muscles —”

“Nonsense. When have you ever seen a human skull? I never dissected a cadaver till I was at university.”

“At the convent. The relic. They brought out the saint’s bones on her feast day.”

“It’s the skull of a beast,” Yves said. “Look at the teeth.” He pointed to the prominent canines.

“I grant you the teeth.”

“It’s like a monkey skull,” Chartres said. “An example of God’s humor, no doubt, like the form of many orchids —” He bowed to Marie-Josèphe. “If you’ll forgive me for mentioning the similarity to —”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” Yves said. “My sister’s natural delicacy...”

Chartres grinned.

“The creature’s very little like a monkey,” Marie-Josèphe said quickly. “I have dissected a monkey.”

“Don’t you think teeth are trivial, Father?” Chartres said. “After all, we lose them so easily. When we look at the female monster’s skull, no doubt her teeth will be much smaller.”

“Her teeth are equally large and sharp, sir,” Marie-Josèphe said.

“Your imagination is overwrought,” Yves said.

“Now that she mentions it,” Chartres said, “this does look rather like a human skull.”

“Have you had much occasion to study the human skull, M. de Chartres?” Yves asked.

“I have, Father. On the battlefield, in the rain and the mud, the horses’ hooves dig up old graves, from old battles. I found a skull, I kept it in my tent the whole of the summer. Not only did I study it, I spoke to it. I asked if it had fought with Charlemagne, or St. Louis.”

“Did it answer?” Yves asked.

“A dead skull, answer?” Chartres asked quizzically. He tapped his fingernail on the edge of the paper. “But it looked very like this.”

“I shall mention your observation in my notes,” Yves said. “Which I must hurry along and write.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Chartres said. “You’ll see my point before we reach the chateau.”

Chartres paused to salute the portrait of his uncle; Yves followed suit. The two men departed together, deep in philosophical discussion. Marie-Josèphe curtsied to the painting and set about straightening Yves’ equipment, under His Majesty’s eye. When the servants came to take His Majesty’s picture reverently away, Marie-Josèphe felt obscurely comforted.

15

The Venetian boat glided along the Grand Canal, poled by a gondolier singing an incomprehensible Italian folk song. In the bow of the gondola, Marie-Josèphe trailed her hand in the water. Silver water lilies bearing lighted candles spun past, swirling.

Lorraine had claimed the next seat in the gondola. Madame and Lotte occupied the central bench, while Monsieur sat aft at the gondolier’s feet.

Ahead of the gondola, His Majesty’s miniature galleon raced his galley. The gondolier had resigned himself to last place as soon as they left the bank. His passengers were entirely content with his singing.