Her curiosity thwarted, Marie-Josèphe returned to Yves’ specimen. She wanted to open its shroud, but thought better of revealing the creature to the tired, frightened workmen.
“You two, cover the bundle with ice, then cover the ice with sawdust. The rest of you, fetch Father de la Croix’s equipment from the wagons.”
They obeyed, moving the specimen gingerly, for it reeked of preserving spirits and corruption.
Yves will have to carry out his dissection quickly, Marie-Josèphe said to herself. Or he’ll have nothing left to dissect but rotten meat on a skeleton.
Marie-Josèphe had grown used to the smell during years of helping her brother with his explorations and experiments. It bothered her not at all. But the workers breathed in short unhappy gasps, occasionally glancing, frightened, toward Yves and the groaning sea monster.
The workers covered the laboratory table with insulating sawdust.
“Bring more ice every day,” Marie-Josèphe said. “You understand—it’s very important.”
One of the workers bowed. “Yes, mamselle, M. de Chrétien has ordered it.”
“You may retire.”
They fled the tent, repelled by the dead smell and by the live sea monster’s crying. The melancholy song drew Marie-Josèphe closer. Yves’ workers tilted the basin off the platform. Water trickled into it.
Marie-Josèphe hurried to the Fountain.
“Yves, let me see—”
As Yves loosened the canvas restraints, the grinding and creaking of the water pumps shook the night. The fountain nozzles gurgled, groaned, and gushed water. Apollo’s fountain spouted water in the shape of a fleur-de-lys. At its zenith, the central stream splashed the tent peak. Droplets rained down on Apollo’s chariot, dimpled the pool’s surface, and spattered the sea monster. The creature screamed and thrashed and slapped Yves with its tails. Yves staggered backward.
“Turn off the fountain!” Yves shouted.
Snarling, the creature struggled free of the basin. Yves jumped away, evading the sea monster’s teeth and claws and tails. The workers ran to do Yves’ bidding.
The creature lurched away and tumbled into the water, escaping into its prison in the Fountain of Apollo.
Marie-Josèphe caught Yves’ arm. A ripple broke against his foot and flowed around the soles of his boots, as if he walked on water. Water soaked the hem of his cassock.
My brother walks on water, Marie-Josèphe thought with a smile. He ought to be able to keep his clothing dry!
The fountains spurted high, then gushed half as high, then bubbled in their nozzles. The fleur-de-lys wilted. The creaking of the pumps abruptly ceased. No ripple, not even bubbles, marked the surface of the pool.
Yves wiped his sleeve across his face. Marie-Josèphe, standing two steps above him, almost reached his height. She laid her hand on her brother’s shoulder.
“You’ve succeeded,” she said.
“I hope so.”
Marie-Josèphe leaned forward and peered into the water. A dark shape lay beneath the surface, obscured by the reflections of candlelight.
“It’s alive now,” Yves said. “How long it will survive…” His worried voice trailed off.
“It need not live long,” Marie-Josèphe said. “I want to see it—Call it to you!”
“It won’t come to me. It’s a beast, it doesn’t understand me.”
“My cat understands,” Marie-Josèphe said. “Didn’t you train it, all those weeks at sea?”
“I had no time to train it.” Yves scowled. “It wouldn’t eat—I had to force-feed it.” He folded his arms, glaring at the bright water. The sea monster drifted, silent and still. “But I fulfilled His Majesty’s wishes. I’ve done what no one has done in four hundred years. I’ve brought a living sea monster to land.”
Marie-Josèphe leaned closer to the water, straining to see. The creature was long, and sleek, longer and more slender than the dolphins that cavorted off the beach in Martinique. Its tangled hair swirled around its head.
“Whoever heard of a fish with hair?” she exclaimed.
“It’s no fish,” Yves said. “It breathes air. If it doesn’t breathe soon—”
He crossed the rim of the fountain and stepped to the ground. Marie-Josèphe stayed where she was, gazing at the monster.
It gazed back at her, its eyes eerily reflecting the light. It extended its arms, its webbed hands.
Yves’ shadow fell across the sea monster. The creature retreated, closing its golden eyes. Yves clenched his fingers around a goad.
“I won’t let it drown.”
He poked the goad at the sea monster, trying to chivvy the creature into motion.
“Swim, damn you! Surface!”
Its hair drifted about its face. Its tail flukes quivered. The creature trembled.
“Stop, you’re scaring it, you’ll hurt it!” Marie-Josèphe knelt on the platform and plunged her hands into the water. “Come to me, you’re safe here.”
The creature’s webbed fingers clutched her wrists and pressed heat against her skin. The sea monster’s claws touched her like the tips of knives, but never cut.
The sea monster dragged her into the pool.
Yves shouted and jabbed with the goad. The monster floated, just out of reach. Marie-Josèphe struggled to her feet, coughing, soaked. The cold water lifted her full petticoats like the petals of a water lily. She pushed them down. Her underskirt collapsed against her legs, scratchy and ungainly.
“Hurry, take my hand—”
“No, wait,” she said. The creature slipped past her, fleeing, then turning back, its voice touching her through the water. “Don’t frighten it again.” She stretched one hand toward the sea monster. “Come here, come here…”
“Be careful. It’s strong, it’s cruel—”
“It’s terrified!”
The creature’s voice brushed against her fingertips. Its song spun from the surface like mist. Barely moving, creeping, floating, the sea monster neared Marie-Josèphe.
“Good sea monster. Fine sea monster.”
“His Majesty approaches,” Count Lucien said.
Startled, Marie-Josèphe glanced over her shoulder. Count Lucien stood on the fountain’s rim. He had come into the tent, crossed the laboratory floor, and entered the sea monster’s cage without her noticing him. Yves remained down on the platform at water level, and Count Lucien up on the fountain’s rim; the two men stood face to face.
On the other side of the tent, the musketeers held the tent curtains aside. A procession of torches marched along the Green Carpet toward Apollo.
“I’m not ready,” Yves said.
Marie-Josèphe returned her attention to the sea monster. It hesitated, just out of her reach. If she snatched at it, it would leap away like a green colt.
“If the King is ready,” Count Lucien said, “you are ready.”
“Yes,” Yves said. “Of course.”
The sea monster stretched its arms forward. Its claws brushed Marie-Josèphe’s fingertips.
“Mlle de la Croix,” Count Lucien said, “His Majesty must not see you in this state of disarray.”
Marie-Josèphe caught her breath, frightened to realize she might insult His Majesty. She waded toward the platform, clumsy in her soaked skirts, unsteady in her heeled shoes on the uneven bottom of the pond.
The sea monster swam around her, cut her off, and lunged upward before her. It gasped a great gulp of air. Marie-Josèphe stared at it, horrified and fascinated. It splashed down and lay still, gazing at her.
Though its arms and hands mimicked a human’s, it was more grotesque than any monkey. Its two tails writhed and kicked. Webs connected its long fingers, which bore heavy, sharp claws. Its long lank hair tangled around its head and over its shoulders and across its chest—its breasts, for it did have flat, wide breasts and small dark nipples. Water beaded on its mahogany skin, gleaming in candlelight.
The monster gazed at Marie-Josèphe with intense gold eyes, the only thing of beau
ty about it. Grotesque and magnificent, like a gargoyle on a medieval church, its face bore ridged swirls on forehead and cheeks. Its nose was flat and low, its nostrils narrow. The creature’s canine teeth projected over its lower lip.
“Splendid. Splendid and horrible.” His Majesty spoke, his voice powerful and beautiful. Count Lucien and Yves bowed to their sovereign. The King, in fresh clothes, fresh lace, and a new wig, studied his sea monster. His gaze avoided Marie-Josèphe. His court, from Monsieur and Madame to Mme de Maintenon to the grandchildren of France, stared into the fountain. Some gazed at the sea monster; Marie-Josèphe caused others even more amazement.
Frightened, the creature snarled and dove.
If Marie-Josèphe climbed out of the fountain, she would face the King squarely; he could not overlook her. Such a breach of etiquette might force Lotte to dismiss her. She might have to leave court. Trapped, about to burst into tears of embarrassment, seeking shadows, she backed away. Her petticoats nearly tripped her.
Count Lucien flung down his hat, took off his cloak, and held it open between Marie-Josèphe and the King.
Safely concealed, Marie-Josèphe stood still in the cold water. The sea monster, a dark shape, swam away. It grabbed the bars of its cage, rattled them, turned with an angry flick of its tail, and swam to the platform again. The sea monster peered from the water, revealing only its eyes and its tangled deep-green hair.
Most of the other members of court could see Marie-Josèphe perfectly well. But that did not matter. All that mattered was that His Majesty should not be offended.
Madame caught Marie-Josèphe’s glance and shook her head with disapproval, but her lips twitched with heroically contained laughter. Monsieur, in a gentlemanly fashion, avoided looking, but Lorraine gazed straight at her. He smiled. She wrapped her arms around herself, embarrassed to be seen in such a state by such an elegant courtier.
I suppose I’d laugh, too, Marie-Josèphe thought. If I weren’t so cold.
“You gratify our faith in you, Father de la Croix.” His Majesty joined Yves on the platform within the fountain’s rim. “A live sea monster!”
“Your sea monster, Your Majesty,” Yves said.
“Monsieur Boursin, what is your judgment?” Louis said. “Will it be suitable for our celebration?”
M. Boursin, drab in the plain clothes suited to his place in the King’s household, hurried forward. He bowed, rubbing his hands together, tall and thin and cadaverous as the angel of death.
“Is it stout? Does it feed?”
Boursin peered into the pool. The sea monster swam around the sculpture of Apollo, singing a sorrowful song.
“It accepts only a little sustenance,” Yves said.
“Then you must fatten it.”
“You’re a Jesuit,” Louis said heartily. “You’re clever enough to make it eat.”
The sea monster attacked the cage again, splashing, rattling the iron bars.
“Make it stop thrashing!” M. Boursin said. “It mustn’t bruise its flesh.”
Marie-Josèphe wished she could speak to the sea monster to calm it, but she dared not raise her voice.
“I cannot,” Yves said. “It’s a wild animal. No man can control it.”
“It will calm,” Louis said, “when it has become accustomed to its cage.”
His Majesty stepped to the ground, the high heels of his shoes loud on the wooden stairs. Yves and M. Boursin followed.
“M. de Chrétien,” His Majesty said courteously to Count Lucien.
“Your Majesty.”
“Mlle de la Croix,” Louis said, when he had left the cage, when his back was still turned.
Marie-Josèphe caught her breath. “Y-yes, Your Majesty?”.
“Are you hoping for a visit from Apollo?”
The courtiers laughed, and Marie-Josèphe blushed at the reference. The laughter died away.
“N-no, Your Majesty.”
“Come out at once, before you catch your death.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
She struggled onto the platform. Count Lucien continued to conceal her with his cape, using his walking stick to raise it as she climbed the steps. The water was cold, the air on her wet skin colder. Shivering, dripping pond water, she stepped over the fountain’s rim, slipped past the courtiers, and hid in the shadows among the laboratory equipment.
Keeping his back turned, the King joined Mme de Maintenon.
“How do you like my sea monster, my dear?”
The chevalier de Lorraine strode past Count Lucien to Marie-Josèphe, sweeping his long dark cloak from his shoulders. Beneath it he wore a blue coat, the same shade as Count Lucien’s, though with less gold lace. The blue coat marked him as a member of Louis’ inner circle. Monsieur followed Lorraine with quick glances, trying but failing to keep his attention on the King.
“The creature’s horribly ugly, Sire,” Mme de Maintenon said.
“No uglier than a wild boar, madame.”
Lorraine swung his cloak around Marie-Josèphe’s shoulders. The fur-lined velvet, the warmth of his body, and the scent of his perfume enclosed her.
“Thank you, sir.” Her teeth chattered.
Lorraine bowed to her and rejoined Monsieur. Monsieur touched his arm. Diamond rings flashed in the candlelight.
“I think it’s a demon, Sire,” Mme de Maintenon said.
“Your grace, it’s a natural creature,” Yves said. “Holy Mother Church has examined its kind, and judged it merely an animal. Like His Majesty’s elephant, or His Majesty’s crocodile.”
“Nevertheless, Father de la Croix,” His Majesty said, “you might have captured a beautiful one.”
Yves strode to the dissection table, forcing Marie-Josèphe to retreat farther into the shadows. Count Lucien continued to hide her from His Majesty. Lorraine’s cloak concealed her soaked dress, but her hair hung in snarls around her face. Her headdress tilted at a ridiculous angle, stabbed her with its wires, and pulled her hair as it fell to the ground.
Yves unfolded the canvas shroud from his dead specimen. Ice scattered across the planks.
“The sea monsters are all ugly, Your Majesty,” Yves said. “Females and males alike.”
The courtiers clustered around him, anxious to see the dead creature. On the wall of the tent, shadows jostled for position near the shadow of Marie-Josèphe’s brother. Yves was the moon to His Majesty’s sun, and the other courtiers hoped to capture some of the reflected light.
“It reeks of foul humours.”
Marie-Josèphe peeked over the edge of Count Lucien’s cloak. Monsieur covered his nose with his handkerchief. Marie-Josèphe could hardly blame anyone not used to dissections, for wishing he had brought along his pomander.
“Stay out of sight, Mlle de la Croix,” Count Lucien said, with strained patience. He would prefer, of course, to be in his proper place beside the King. Louis, ever the gentleman, overlooked his absence.
Marie-Josèphe shrank back behind the concealing cloak, where she could see only the shadows of her brother, the King, and the courtiers.
“The preserving spirits do have a strong odor, Monsieur,” Yves said.
“I confess—if my confessor will excuse a moment’s infidelity to him—”
The shadow of Louis nodded toward Father de la Chaise, his confessor, and his voice bore only the faintest hint of mockery. Father de la Chaise bowed low.
“I confess that I doubted your claims, Father de la Croix,” the King said. “And yet you found the creatures, in the wild sea of the new world. Your predictions were correct.”
“All the evidence pointed to a single place and a single time of their gathering,” Yves said modestly. “I was merely the first to collect the reports. The monsters converge in the shelter of Exuma Island, where the midsummer sun crosses over a great ocean trench. There they mate, in animal depravity.”
An expectant silence fell.
“We need hear no more of that,” the Marquise de Maintenon said severely.
“E
very subject’s fit for a natural philosopher to study!” The duke de Chartres broke in with the obsessive enthusiasm that earned him annoyance from the court and suspicion from the lower classes. “How else will we ever understand the truth of the world?”
“What is fit for a natural philosopher may trouble the minds of others,” His Majesty said. “Or lead us astray.”
“But the truth—”
“Be quiet, boy!” Madame’s tone was soft but urgent.
Marie-Josèphe felt sorry for Chartres. His position warred with his desire for knowledge. He would be happier if he was, like Marie-Josèphe, no one.
Happier, Marie-Josèphe thought—but he would not have all the best scientific instruments.
“Since the time of St. Louis,” His Majesty said, “no one has brought a live sea monster to France. I commend you, Father de la Croix.”
His Majesty’s deft change of subject eased the tension.
“Your Majesty’s encouragement guaranteed my success,” Yves said.
“I shall commend you to my holy cousin Pope Innocent.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“And I shall observe your study of the dead monster.”
“I—I—”
Marie-Josèphe silently begged Yves to reply with adequate grace and appreciation.
“Your Majesty’s interest honors my work beyond imagination,” Yves said.
His Majesty turned to Count Lucien. They conferred for a moment; the King nodded.
“Tomorrow. You may begin your study after Mass.”
“Tomorrow, Your Majesty? But it’s essential—the carcass already decomposes.”
“Tomorrow,” His Majesty said calmly, as if Yves had not spoken. “After Mass.”
Marie-Josèphe wanted to appear from behind Count Lucien’s cloak and add her pleas to her brother’s, so His Majesty would understand that Yves must waste no time. But she could not add to her breach of etiquette. She could not show herself to the King; she should not even speak to him unless he spoke first.
Yves’ shadow bowed low against the silken tent wall.
“I beg Your Majesty’s pardon for my excess of enthusiasm. Thank you, Sire. Tomorrow.”
The Moon and the Sun Page 4
