The Paris National Museum of Natural History
Paris
The Musée National d'Histoire Naturelle de Paris was not one but many museum facilities, each in its own building; each with its own character. Her appointment was in the Galerie de Minéraux et Géologie, home of the d’Dolomieu collection with its extensive samples of unique minerals, precious stones and volcanic rocks. The entrance was a grand combination of Neo-Classical and modern architecture. A Greek revival lintel was held up in the air by a quad of thick fluted columns, allowing the steps and foyer to be filled with light and air. Yet the building was dull in color, from the gray stone to the aged wood doors. Those doors were quite huge, as was the standard for such designs, and clearly were meant to display the seriousness of what lay inside.
The man who answered the door was a youngish man, thirty five or forty, with a little gray hair, a slender build, and superior taste in his attire. Superior, but by no means expensive or outlandish. He was an assistant professor, she guessed. Inquisitive eyes stared back at her. Ladies did not come to the museum during working hours. They came for shows, presentations, and social events.
“Bonjour. Je m'appelle Docteur Gantry. Je crois qu'on m'attend?” Lettie handed him the invitation and her card.
“Ah! Oui! Yes.” The fellow straightened up and found a broad, sweet smile to offer her. “Madame is here to see my master, the Professor. He is, with much apology, a …” He stopped to think of the correct English word, “ … a little tarty? Tardy? Oui. The Professor suggests that Madame peruse the collection until he arrives and thus has sent his servant should Madame have any questions.”
“And does the Professor’s assistant always speak in the third person?”
“Oui, Madame. A habit of years. I …” he struggled for a moment to move the conversation both into English and the first person. “… find that all things in their proper order are much clearer. A certain formality is essential. I am known to be a bit formal. I hope Madame is not put off by this?”
“Not at all,” she said as he showed her into the first hallway before the grand gallery.
“A good servant should never eclipse the master, no?”
“Even when he has better handwriting?” she asked coyly, rocking the invitation he’d just returned to her in her fingers.
He colored deeply but smiled again. “Madame took notice?”
“Madame knows when she sees a signature not of the same hand as the rest of the document, which I believe I have you to thank for?”
“No, no,” he quickly replied. “It is my master’s pleasure to meet you at last and his servant’s to make any necessary arrangements.”
“What may I call you?”
“Conseil.”
“Then, thank you, Monsieur Conseil. For the arrangments.”
He bowed at the waist and smiled. Folding his hands behind him, he strolled beside her as they moved in from the foyer to the anteroom. Near the doorway was an impressive painting: a volcano with a vertical column of ash bellowing out of its crater and spreading out at the upper altitudes, looking like a furious mushroom. The painting was quite beautiful but was also quite wrong. There was no ashfall, no pyroclastic events, and the column itself was too clean and precise.
“Ah, does Madame know this painting?”
“I must confess, no.”
“A recent donation from Monsieur George Julius Scrope. It is entitled ‘the Eruption of Vesuvius as Seen from Naples, October 1822.’ Perhaps Madame can tell me if this is an accurate des - dis - description?”
Lightning was shown shooting forth from the ash column. “To a degree, yes, though most ash eruptions are much bulkier and … well … fluffy, despite its actual density.” She gesticulated the shape of the cloud with several circulations of her hands. “And most assuredly such an amount of ash particles would indeed create friction.”
Conseil nodded gravely. “And from that, a static electric charge … lightning.”
“Indeed. You know the concept.”
“Despite what Madame may have heard or read, we are not without scientific basis here.” Conseil’s voice was suddenly sharp but not angry. “My master was so very happy you accepted his invitation. There was some concern.”
Lettie stopped in the door frame to the main gallery and looked up at the now unhappy assistant. “But of course I would. I am flattered beyond words.”
He shook his head. “No, Madame, not ‘of course.’ I fear my master’s reputation has suffered in the past years and now - But I will assure Madame that Professor Aronnax is an excellent scientist, a man of reason and logic.”
“You’re very good to him.”
“He is all these things I say.”
“Oui. I know. I read both his papers, the one written before and then - after - the incident. I was looking for references to marine volcanoes which, as it turned out, there were none. I enjoyed those papers all the same. His conclusions were superior. You needn’t worry; my opinion remains quite high. I know of no reason why I should feel otherwise. This is a great compliment to me that the professor will take the time to see me.”
Pierre Aronnax appeared at the far door and waved. He was not quite what she had expected. Tall, with curly graying hair, and a delightful countenance. In several great strides, he made his way through the main gallery and to her, hand outstretched. Very continental.
“Welcome, welcome Doctor Gantry. Bonjour! What a singular pleasure it is to meet you at last. Come in! Come in!” He was almost out of breath with excitement.
“This is a great pleasure for me, Professor. I cannot thank you enough for seeing me.”
Aronnax waved off the comment as though it were said between two old friends and quite unnecessary. He wrapped her arm in his and began chatting about this subject and that … all as though they’d simply not seen each other in a couple of months.
If Lettie had any reservations about her host, which she did not, they would have been quickly dismissed and replaced by the impressive array of skills and experiences that set Aronnax beyond comparison to other scientists. Every word he spoke doubled in importance simply because he was saying it. But for all the prestige she heaped on him, he was humble, witty, and exuberant.
Her heart was pounding and her head spinning with all the questions she wanted to ask him. The whole time, he did the one thing she hadn’t dared to hope for: he called her Doctor Gantry with a tone that indicated respect and equality.
Before her lay the collections of Professor di’Dolomieu, whose interesting history and extensive work had earned him the distinction of having Dolomite named for him. Conseil was quite capable of reciting the origin and classification of every stone. Aronnax would simply smile and offer some anecdote about where the stones came from and how they managed to get into his museum. For her part, she commented and questioned, always leading to an ever-increasing sense of enthusiasm in everyone.
The tour ended, much to Lettie’s disappointment, but she knew both men had important things to be doing. To her surprise, Aronnax sent his assistant away to fetch some coffee and escorted Lettie into his private office. It looked like Pierce’s home, cluttered yet creative, an intellectual nest of books, papers and chalk boards.
“Would you mind, Doctor Gantry, if I asked a question?” When she nodded affirmatively, he continued. “I suspect Conseil regaled you with some details about the incident?”
Lettie didn’t know how to reply.
Aronnax nodded. She must require a little more directness, clarity. “As you probably can imagine, I am referring to my misadventure with Captain Nemo and his submersible boat. Conseil still places great energies on the matter. For myself, I prefer to live in the present and not the past. Did he not mention it?”
She shook her head. “No details, only a general comment.”
Aronnax was visibly relieved. “He makes more of it than I do. As a scientist, you know too well how there is an ebb and flow to one’s status in the community. Because of the - falling out – is that the right phrase in English? No. Let me say it this way: my reputation has suffered somewhat from ‘the incident.’ I do not see this as a long term problem. This is but one time I must be patient and continue my work while moderately isolated from the scientific community as a whole.” He leaned back to sit on the edge of his desk, in front of where she was seated. “I believe you may have heard some of our tale; we went to find a sea monster and found far more. Nemo’s research and collections, which he kept in his salon but allowed me complete access to, were astonishing. I resolved that I must tell the world about everything, in solid, scientific terms. A thesis that could be discussed and considered. After our escape, we returned here, to my offices in Paris and I began to write - ma thése - my thesis. Of course, I had to report to the French and American governments, who initially funded our hunt for the sea monster. There were also journalists who asked many, many questions. Public and academic reaction was overwhelming. Next thing I knew, there was this book - our lives were instantly changed and I had not yet finished my thesis. I will admit I came to think of this place,” Aronnax waived his hand at the walls of the office, “as my refuge. Even Ned Land is still with us in our refuge. He hates the attention the book brought him as it showed him in an unfavorable light. He is much more clever than he is portrayed in - what did they call it?”
“20,000 Leagues under the Seas.”
“Oui. A silly name. But, my thesis, once completed, was not so well named or publicized, or timed. The book came out first, then my often contradictory thesis, and the rest is history. My history. I became for a while a fictitious person. Me? A real man, and my life was reduced to an adventure biography. And not even my biography. So, I let go of my anger and rededicated my self to my work.”
“A wise decision, if I may say so.”
“Thus speaking of Mr. Land, I had hoped he would be here. It is not like him to be so very late.”
“I’m sure he has good reason. Professor Aronnax, you told me your story for a reason … I should hope you aren’t concerned that I am one of those academics who has isolated you. I will freely admit that I am deeply flattered to have been invited here and was very nervous about meeting a scholar whose work I greatly admire.”
He blushed a little and tried to find, in English, some way of dismissing her compliment. He was unused to such things. “Forgive me if I gave you the impression that I was seeking your kind words. This is in fact a reason I am telling you this: you must not be afraid of what others may think or say. You must strive onwards,” Aronnax said earnestly. “Your work … and I say this having read your monograph on ash content … is quite important. If it is not … ah, peu approprié … inappropriate of me to say, I suspect as a lady in the scientific world, you have encountered much of the ebb and flow of opinion. Do not allow it to cause you grief or doubt. I have offered other scholars this advice and it has fallen on deaf ears.”
It took her a moment to draw up the courage. “May I ask you a question? What was ‘he’ really like? You are clearly not the same man that was called Pierre Aronnax in the Nemo Chronicles. Was he? Was he the same man or different, as shown in the book?”
“Captain Nemo? Not such a blind villain as that biography purports. But he was a harsh man, cut off from the world for his own purpose. There is a price to be paid when one abandons all that it is to be a social human being. The first cost is one’s humanity. His … singularity of purpose combined with his passion … his hate … it was at times overwhelming. Now I hear rumor that Monsieur Verne is finishing the last book of his Chronicles. It tells us that Nemo has … passed.”
“Dead?”
“Oui. He was one of the deaf ears I begged to enlighten the world around him. He could have made such a difference. There was another brilliant mind, a long time ago. He was more inclined toward engineering. An orphan who I thought would make his way in the world.”
“What happened to him?”
“He too died. But a long time ago. In the Pacific. Chased away by evil relatives, the likes of which you and I would not know. He confided in me, which I believe to be a remarkable thing, as he did so with no one else in this world. But that was a long time ago. Neither Anish nor Nemo will change the course of humanity, as they should have. As you will,” he said, changing the tone of his speech.
“Is that why you want to encourage me?”
“Oui. But not all my reasons. I see myself in young scientists and I wish that someone had been persuaded to offer me the wisdom of never giving up. Such life lessons … we ask ourselves when we’re older, why did no one tell me this or that?
“I have long since given up my search for the guidebook to life - real life - day to day life. I never found it.”
“Some find it religiously.”
“And I did not. Perhaps I will yet.”
He allowed his whole face to brighten up. It was clearly a new pleasure for him, as Conseil brought in the coffee, to speak frankly and earnestly with a woman scientist. Who would have thought it ever possible?