Marie-Josèphe’s charcoal wavered as the live sea monster’s shrieks rose.
Her vision blurred.
It can’t still be hungry, Marie-Josèphe thought. What’s wrong, sea monster? You sound so sad. I cannot come to you. I must stay in my place and document my brother’s work.
She finished the sketch of the face. The servant at her side took it away to pin it to the frame behind her, so all the court could see. She lifted her hand to stop him, but it was too late.
She had sketched the creature with open eyes: large dark eyes, almost no whites, large pupils. She had sketched it alive, with an expression of grief and fear.
Marie-Josèphe shivered, then threw off her disquiet.
What nonsense! she thought. Animals’ faces have no expressions. As for the eyes —
I drew the living sea monster’s eyes.
Yves peeled back the skin.
The female sea monster moaned and cried. Creatures from His Majesty’s menagerie answered, roaring and trumpeting, gibbering and snorting in the distance. His Majesty turned his head toward the Fountain of Apollo; the simple movement informed his court that the clamor distressed and annoyed him. The musicians played more loudly.
No one knew what to do, Marie-Josèphe least of all.
“We see a layer of subcutaneous fat — blubber, as it is known in whales and sea cows.” Yves projected his voice above the cacophony. “The sea monsters carry a relatively small amount of blubber, indicating that they do not dive to great depths or accomplish great sea journeys. We may be sure that they reach their midsummer gathering by riding the great warm current. My conjecture is that they conceal themselves in shallow water, and seldom venture far from their birth islands.”
Marie-Josèphe sketched the male sea monster’s torso. The layer of fat softened the lines of its body, but could not conceal its well-developed muscles and powerful bones.
“Mlle de la Croix.”
Marie-Josèphe jumped, startled. Count Lucien stood at her shoulder, speaking softly. With all the racket, he could have spoken in a normal voice without distracting Yves any more than he was distracted already. As for His Majesty and the courtiers, they assiduously ignored Marie-Josèphe and Count Lucien’s conversation.
“The creature must be silenced,” Count Lucien said. “For His Majesty’s sake —”
“I fed it,” Marie-Josèphe whispered. “That isn’t the cry it made when it was hungry.
I don’t know — maybe it doesn’t like the music.”
“Don’t be impudent.”
She blushed. “I wasn’t —”
But he was right to chastise her. If the din drove His Majesty away, his regard for Yves would fall. Yves’ position, and his work, would suffer.
“It sings like a bird,” she said. “If the cage were covered, the sea monster might fall silent like a bird.”
Count Lucien’s disgusted glance at the cage said more than if he had cursed her for a fool. The cage enclosed the Fountain and rose nearly to the tent peak. To cover it completely would require a second tent.
Count Lucien limped toward the sea monster’s cage, gesturing to several footmen to attend him.
“Bring that net.”
The stout ropes of the net clattered against planking.
The sea monster’s wailing never faltered. Marie-Josèphe wanted to wail, herself, for if they wrapped the sea monster in the net, if they silenced it, gagged it, all Marie-Josèphe’s taming would go to waste.
Marie-Josèphe sketched frantically to keep up with Yves’ lecture. Derma, sub-derma, subcutaneous fat, fascia. She would draw the skin in detail — perhaps Chartres would allow her to use his microscope until she could buy a new one — in large scale, before it lost its integrity.
Beyond the Fountain, footmen took down the silken tent sides and carried them to the cage. Count Lucien pointed; they fastened the white silk to the bars, hanging it first between the sea monster and His Majesty. The thin curtain hardly baffled the sound, nor would it cut off enough
Her vision blurred.
It can’t still be hungry, Marie-Josèphe thought. What’s wrong, sea monster? You sound so sad. I cannot come to you. I must stay in my place and document my brother’s work.
She finished the sketch of the face. The servant at her side took it away to pin it to the frame behind her, so all the court could see. She lifted her hand to stop him, but it was too late.
She had sketched the creature with open eyes: large dark eyes, almost no whites, large pupils. She had sketched it alive, with an expression of grief and fear.
Marie-Josèphe shivered, then threw off her disquiet.
What nonsense! she thought. Animals’ faces have no expressions. As for the eyes —
I drew the living sea monster’s eyes.
Yves peeled back the skin.
The female sea monster moaned and cried. Creatures from His Majesty’s menagerie answered, roaring and trumpeting, gibbering and snorting in the distance. His Majesty turned his head toward the Fountain of Apollo; the simple movement informed his court that the clamor distressed and annoyed him. The musicians played more loudly.
No one knew what to do, Marie-Josèphe least of all.
“We see a layer of subcutaneous fat — blubber, as it is known in whales and sea cows.” Yves projected his voice above the cacophony. “The sea monsters carry a relatively small amount of blubber, indicating that they do not dive to great depths or accomplish great sea journeys. We may be sure that they reach their midsummer gathering by riding the great warm current. My conjecture is that they conceal themselves in shallow water, and seldom venture far from their birth islands.”
Marie-Josèphe sketched the male sea monster’s torso. The layer of fat softened the lines of its body, but could not conceal its well-developed muscles and powerful bones.
“Mlle de la Croix.”
Marie-Josèphe jumped, startled. Count Lucien stood at her shoulder, speaking softly. With all the racket, he could have spoken in a normal voice without distracting Yves any more than he was distracted already. As for His Majesty and the courtiers, they assiduously ignored Marie-Josèphe and Count Lucien’s conversation.
“The creature must be silenced,” Count Lucien said. “For His Majesty’s sake —”
“I fed it,” Marie-Josèphe whispered. “That isn’t the cry it made when it was hungry.
I don’t know — maybe it doesn’t like the music.”
“Don’t be impudent.”
She blushed. “I wasn’t —”
But he was right to chastise her. If the din drove His Majesty away, his regard for Yves would fall. Yves’ position, and his work, would suffer.
“It sings like a bird,” she said. “If the cage were covered, the sea monster might fall silent like a bird.”
Count Lucien’s disgusted glance at the cage said more than if he had cursed her for a fool. The cage enclosed the Fountain and rose nearly to the tent peak. To cover it completely would require a second tent.
Count Lucien limped toward the sea monster’s cage, gesturing to several footmen to attend him.
“Bring that net.”
The stout ropes of the net clattered against planking.
The sea monster’s wailing never faltered. Marie-Josèphe wanted to wail, herself, for if they wrapped the sea monster in the net, if they silenced it, gagged it, all Marie-Josèphe’s taming would go to waste.
Marie-Josèphe sketched frantically to keep up with Yves’ lecture. Derma, sub-derma, subcutaneous fat, fascia. She would draw the skin in detail — perhaps Chartres would allow her to use his microscope until she could buy a new one — in large scale, before it lost its integrity.
Beyond the Fountain, footmen took down the silken tent sides and carried them to the cage. Count Lucien pointed; they fastened the white silk to the bars, hanging it first between the sea monster and His Majesty. The thin curtain hardly baffled the sound, nor would it cut off enough
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