Vonda McIntyre - The Moon and the Sun

“I’ve not composed in many years,” His Majesty said. “Ah—how staid age has made me! But that will soon change!” The King laughed.

Pope Innocent’s pale and ascetic face colored, as if Louis had laughed at him.

“The story reeked of heathen indecency,” Innocent said. “The music spelled out intrigue and debauchery!”

“Your Holiness,” Yves said, “Your Holiness, I beg your pardon, but my sister is an innocent.”

She blessed her brother for his defense, but Pope Innocent looked Marie-Josèphe up and down: her headdress, her dress, her decolletage. He shocked Marie-Josèphe when he noticed what any ordinary man would see.

“Is she, Father de la Croix? You should take more care with her moral instruction.”

Marie-Josèphe thought, in despair, I only meant to please my brother, and instead I’ve exposed him to censure.

“The piece is unfit for ladies,” Innocent said. “Or for righteous men.”

“Cousin,” Louis said, “the ladies of France are wise in the ways of the world.”

“They are too wise,” Innocent replied. “And too worldly. They have been too long estranged from our influence.”

“As you are estranged from theirs,” Count Lucien said. “Your Holiness.”

Innocent glared down at Count Lucien, but he spoke to Louis.

“I had no idea jesters still attended the Kings of France. You are magnanimous, cousin, to continue to employ your late queen’s pets.”

If the courtiers were entertained by the struggle of two powerful wills over the newest and most powerless members of court, the direct insult to one of their own froze them into silence and left even His Majesty astounded.

Innocent stretched his hand toward Count Lucien, offering him his ring to kiss.

Count Lucien regarded the ring with distaste.

“Will you dance us a jig, Signor Jester?”

“Will you play accompaniment, Signor Pope, on your celestial harp?” His tone perfectly pleasant, Count Lucien stood at his ease with his ebony walking stick in the crook of his arm.

“Monsieur de Chrétien governs Brittany—a difficult province—in my name,” His Majesty said. “He is my valued adviser, and my trusted friend—and he does not dance.”

“Brittany. Difficult indeed.” Innocent’s expression clouded. “A province rife with pagan heresies.” When he glanced again at Count Lucien, his disapproval solidified, like rain turning to hail.

Count Lucien never flinched.

“Mlle de la Croix!” His Majesty said, indifferent to the uneasy silence. “In honor of—in memory of—your father, you shall compose a cantata for my anniversary.”

“Oh—Your Majesty!” Marie-Josèphe was overwhelmed with apprehension, then with determination. His Majesty’s approval outweighed His Holiness’ irritation.

“Your subject,” Louis said, “shall be the capture of the sea monster. Who better to write it than the sister of the hunter?”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” She dropped into a deep curtsy. Her legs trembled. She knelt on the satiny parquet with her skirt spread around her and her head bowed.

“Hunting is not a suitable occupation for a Jesuit priest,” Innocent said. “And composing is not a suitable occupation for his sister.”

“Indulge me, cousin. I am an old man, and I desire a sea monster, a banquet, and a cantata for my celebration. Come. Supper will calm us, and settle our discord.”

I must rise, Marie-Josèphe thought, staring at the polished floor, unable even to lift her head.

“Mlle de la Croix,” Count Lucien said coolly. “You must rise.” She wondered if he could read her thoughts the way he read His Majesty’s. He took her hand in his long, slender fingers.

“Allow me to help you,” Lorraine said from her other side. He took her other hand and raised her easily.

His Majesty led the way toward the Salon of Abundance and the midnight collation. His Holiness accompanied him, after a single glance that singled Yves out and excluded Marie-Josèphe as well as Count Lucien. Marie-Josèphe looked down at Count Lucien and up at Lorraine.

“Thank you, sirs,” she whispered.

Count Lucien bowed over her hand. Limping a little, his walking stick only tapping the floor, he left her leaning on Lorraine’s arm.

“Chrétien is a worse stickler for etiquette even than the King,” Lorraine said.

Monsieur appeared at his side and took his arm.

“Come, Phillippe. We must join my brother.”

Lorraine bowed, gave Marie-Josèphe to Yves, and strolled away with Monsieur. Ravenous, Marie-Josèphe tried to follow, but Yves held her back. All the courtiers streamed after His Majesty. Beyond them, M. Coupillet stared at Marie-Josèphe with an expression of poisonous jealousy. He turned his back and set the chamber orchestra to playing one of his own cantatas, a pretty piece without a single daring note.

“What were you thinking of?” Yves demanded.

Shocked by M. Coupillet’s behavior, distressed by His Holiness’ disapproval, Marie-Josèphe replied defensively to Yves. “Of pleasing you. Of pleasing His Majesty.”

“You should have known—”

“What should I know? How could I know? It was just a little song, little Domenico heard me play it and played it for his papa, M. Coupillet heard it, he admired it—” He surely does not admire it anymore, she said to herself.

“Before, you wanted to help me,” Yves said. “You said you wanted to help me with my work—nothing else was more important to you!—now you’ve succumbed to frivolity—”

“I haven’t! I do want to help you. How could I refuse the King?”

“He should not have asked you. When His Holiness objected, he should have submitted himself—”

“He’s the King! He has a right to anything he wants. He’s offered our family another honor—it doesn’t compare to yours, but allow me something of my own. In honor of Papa!”

“Father de la Croix. Mlle de la Croix.”

Count Lucien stood in the doorway.

“I am concerned,” he said, “that His Majesty may be disturbed by your argument. Father de la Croix, one of his… observers… may report your comments to him.”

“A—a family disagreement, no more,” Marie-Josèphe said.

He must have heard what Yves said, Marie-Josèphe thought. Is it treason, to say the King must submit himself to the Pope? Or would it only anger His Majesty, which amounts to the same thing?

“Resolve your disagreement elsewhere, if you please.”

“Thank you for your advice, Count Lucien.” With relief, Marie-Josèphe thought, he’s not warning us that he will report our indiscreet words to the King. He’s warning us of the others who report to the King in secret.

He bowed sharply and disappeared. Marie-Josèphe, faint with hunger, wanted only to abandon the argument with Yves and join the other courtiers at midnight supper. But her brother led her deeper into the State Apartments. The Salon of Mercury was only dimly-lit, and deserted. Marie-Josèphe wondered if they should be here, all alone except for Mercury. The messenger of the gods raced across the ceiling; wavering candlelight ruffled the feathers of the roosters drawing his chariot.

“The Academy must have the sea monster drawings,” Yves said. “As soon as I finish the dissection. How will you do both?”

“It’s only a little song. A few minutes of music.”

“The drawings are more important.”

“They’ll be ready,” Marie-Josèphe said. “I won’t fail you. You trusted me when we were children. Can’t you forgive me a single error? Don’t you trust me anymore?”

“You’ve changed,” he said.

“So have you.”

“His Holiness disapproves.”

“But His Majesty commands.”