Vonda McIntyre - The Moon and the Sun

At Yves’ side, Marie-Josèphe waited in the Marble Courtyard, standing in her place behind Mademoiselle. Courtiers and clerics packed the square, covering its bold concentric black-and-white pattern of newly-polished marble tiles.

The chateau glowed, its columns and vases polished, the gilt on the doors and windows and balconies renewed, the marble busts cleaned and repaired. Huge pots of flowers lined the courtyards that opened out, each one successively larger, to the Gate of Honor and the Place d’Armes. Thousands of spectators filled the courtyards.

A double line of flowering orange trees in silver pots flanked His Holiness’ route, along the Avenue de Paris, across the Place d’Armes, up to the gilded gate. Larger orange trees marked a path across the cobblestones of the Ministers’ Place, through the Forecourt, and between the wings of the chateau to the edge of the Marble Courtyard. The visitors stood respectfully behind the orange trees, leaving the pathway clear.

Marie-Josèphe had never seen so many people. They all wore finery, even if the finery were cobbled together. The men wore swords, as decent dress required: massive medieval family heirlooms, battered souvenirs of past wars, gilt or potmetal blades rented from the stands along the road from the town of Versailles.

Marie-Josèphe’s feet hurt. The sun dipped behind the roof of the chateau, plunging the courtyard into cool shadow. Marie-Josèphe shivered despite the press of bodies and the clear late-summer day. With her handkerchief, she patted the perspiration from Mademoiselle’s brow.

A cheer gathered in the distance. Marie-Josèphe forgot her pinched feet and her shivers.

Noise struck her as the voices of thousands of people rose, rejoicing in the reconciliation between Louis and the Church of Rome. The courtyard, set between the wings of the chateau, concentrated and focused the cheers, as if the busts of philosophers and heroes were shouting their acclaim, as if Mars and Hercules on their pediment cried out to celebrate Christianity’s ascendance.

Magnificent in their bright uniforms, a troop of Swiss Guards dismounted at the Gate of Honor and marched between the trees. His Holiness’ coach followed. Though His Majesty had given His Holiness dispensation to drive a carriage to the entrance of the chateau, the guards must walk.

Louis could have commanded Innocent to approach him on foot; he had, after all, forced one of Innocent’s holy predecessors to abase himself and apologize for the loutish actions of his guards. This King of France had forced Rome’s representatives to yield precedence to his own. But he was a great diplomat; he would not require an old and pious and humble man to walk. He would not risk his treaty.

The coach proceeded between the orange trees, keeping a stately pace. As Innocent passed, nodding to the crowd, a tide of cheers followed him. The crowd closed in after the carriage, filling the space between the orange trees. Green leaves and white blossoms quivered violently.

The great doors of the chateau swung open, and the King appeared.

Louis crossed the Marble Courtyard at a leisurely pace, magnificent in brown velvet studded with tigers-eyes and trimmed with gold lace, a green satin waistcoat heavily embroidered with gold, and diamond garters and shoe buckles. For this very particular occasion, he wore the Order of the Holy Ghost outside his coat. Dazzling diamonds covered the long blue sash. Rubies and sapphires decorated the gold scabbard of His Majesty’s ceremonial sword. Spanish point lace edged his hat, and the most wonderful white plumes swept over his shoulder.

Marie-Josèphe curtsied deeply. All around her, silk rustled and velvet whispered as the other courtiers bowed. Marie-Josèphe risked a peek.

Below, in the forecourt, the Swiss Guards formed a double line to flank His Holiness’ carriage. The horses, stepping high, trotted to the low course of stairs at the edge of the Marble Courtyard.

His Majesty reached the top of the steps.

His Majesty allowed the cheering to crescendo. He stood in grandeur, flanked by two generations of his heirs, by the deposed King James and Queen Mary of England, by his ministers and his advisers. Mme de Maintenon, drab and serene, stood at the very back of the King’s party.

Marie-Josèphe caught her breath. His Holiness’ white robes shone from the dimness of the coach.

His Holiness descended. His Majesty stood straight, gazing at the old man who held a key to winning the war against the League of Augsburg. The crowd fell silent.

The two most powerful men in the western world faced each other.

Cardinals and bishops followed Innocent out of the carriage. They bowed to His Majesty. When they rose, so did Marie-Josèphe and the other courtiers.

“Welcome, Cousin. Our estrangement has caused great sorrow.” His Majesty honored the Pope with his courtesy.

“Cousin, I rejoice at the reconciliation of France with Rome. I rejoice at our alliance.”

“Together, we will crush the Protestants. We will eradicate their heresy from France. From Europe. From the world. For the glory of God.”

The enormous crowd erupted in a spontaneous cheer of devotion to God and King.

Transfixed, Mme de Maintenon clasped her hands before her lips. Her dark eyes shone with tears. Marie-Josèphe felt a little sorry for her, despite her position: married—everyone said—to the King, but secretly, never acknowledged, and therefore open to the charge of adultery and fornication. Her persuasion was the cause of this unprecedented meeting. And yet she must stand behind the bastard princes, silent, nearly overcome with emotion.

As the cheering continued, one of the bishops brought forward a container of gold encrusted with pearls and diamonds. He handed the reliquary to His Holiness, who accepted it reverently. Pope Innocent raised the tall domed receptacle to his lips, then handed it to His Majesty.

Louis accepted the magnificent offering. His Holiness had brought a bone, or a bit of flesh, from the preserved body of a saint, to reside forever in France. Perhaps His Majesty would keep it in the chapel at Versailles, where the courtiers could see it, touch the reliquary, acquire goodness and piety by its influence.

His Majesty handed the reliquary to Count Lucien, who accepted it and gave it to Father de la Chaise. His Holiness frowned at Count Lucien, then made his expression benign again. And indeed Marie-Josèphe thought Count Lucien had handled the saint’s relic rather offhandedly. Innocent’s gift merited a golden altar, or at least a velvet pillow.

Count Lucien signalled. A half-dozen footmen staggered forward, bent beneath the weight of a magnificent ebony prayer bench of the most fashionable style. Inlays of exotic woods and mother-of-pearl, outlined with gold, illustrated scenes from the Parables.

His Majesty’s artisans have outdone themselves, Marie-Josèphe thought.

The King and the Pope saluted each other, Innocent bowing with genuine humility, His Majesty deigning to incline his head to his fellow prince. The courtiers with His Majesty, the churchmen with Innocent, bowed deeply each to the other side. When they rose, Mme de Maintenon’s expression shone like the sun, with unutterable joy. In public she kept her own council; she raised her black lace fan before her face, but it betrayed her by trembling.

His Majesty could give his hand only to the Emperor, the only man in Europe whose rank equaled his own. He did not breach etiquette for the sake of Pope Innocent, as he had for his deposed ally James of England.

Though Innocent forbore to offer his ring to Louis to be kissed, he searched His Majesty’s escort, and stretched his hand toward Mme de Maintenon.

Mme de Maintenon hurried forward, her black silk skirt and petticoats rustling against the black and white marble. A powerful unacknowledged queen on a distorted chessboard, she knelt—gracefully, despite her age—before Innocent and pressed his hand, his ring, to her lips.