“Other than the fact that it exists and was published with my name on the title page? And that nobody else has stepped forward to claim credit—or a share in the royalties? Which, I should add, are not inconsiderable.”
“People love a scandal,” he sniffed.
“Oh yes,” Lucy said with relish, “they very much do.”
Mr. Hawley rose from his seat just then, and as he took the podium, the patchwork of arguments gave way to a single taut and very pregnant silence. “Gentlemen, Society Fellows, and honored guests,” Mr. Hawley began. “I had prepared some few remarks with which to open tonight’s discussion, but...” He glanced at the papers in his hand, and then uneasily at the marquise. He coughed slightly and allowed himself another gulp of wine. “Upon reflection, I think the most direct way is simply to begin. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Gervaise Marie Oléron, Marquise de Lantier.”
Applause started up automatically, then scattered, and mixed with increasing murmurs of surprise as the marquise rose, thanked Mr. Hawley, and glided over to stand at the podium.
She cast her eye over the muttering assemblage of gentlemen like a general surveying the field. “So,” she began, her voice ringing out to the very edges of the room.
Silence fell, almost in spite of itself. A few gentlemen who’d lurched to their feet slowly sat down again.
Lucy hid a smile. The marquise had grown up in the shadow of Voltaire, and survived both the Revolution and Napoleon’s empire. Of course she would refuse to be quelled by a roomful of fractious academics.
She began again as soon as she had the room’s attention. “My mother, Gabrièle Louise de Castagnère, Comtesse de Semur, was the first to translate Isaac Newton’s great works into French for our astronomers, philosophers, and mathematicians. Her translations are still the primary editions used in my country to this day, nearly a century after she published her translation of thePrincipia. I grew up with Monsieur Newton’sOpticksinstead of bedtime stories, and my life’s work has been to build upon the truths he discovered and the calculations his work made possible. He claimed he had only seen further because he stood on the shoulders of his predecessors. So, too, does our age seek to look ever farther—and higher—the better to comprehend our place in the universe.
“It is a jostling business, this climb. We must take care that what we set our feet upon is sound, and that it can support us as we move higher. We have to trust one another, that we don’t end up pulling one another down in the scramble to succeed. And all of us, even the most brilliant, even Newton himself, must yield pride of place to the generations who come after us.” She paused, and her eye pinned every member of the audience in place. “Your English astronomers now can begin to evaluate how sturdy my own conclusions are. You have invited me into your Society as an honor—but also to test the one who has framed my words in English, and added explanations of her own. It is of the utmost importance that we understand one another clearly. So I would like to ask her to stand, while I put a few questions to her.”
The crowd hummed like a hive of bees ready to swarm.
Lucy gulped and rose to her feet. The wood of the podium was old and well polished by a hundred years of sweaty hands. She clutched it as she’d clutch a ship’s wheel in the midst of rising wind and waves.
Two hundred faces bent an avid light upon her—but if she looked at the crowd, she would lose all her nerve. Instead she looked steadily at Gervaise Oléron, whose slight nod of approval gave Lucy some relief.
“Miss Muchelney,” the marquise began, “please tell these assembled gentlemen why you chose to expand myMéchanique celeste, rather than translate it plain.”
Lucy’s mouth went slack with surprise, before she caught it. Judging by the murmurs in the crowd, this was just as unexpected a tack for them as it was for her.
She cleared her throat and managed not to let her voice shake as she answered. “I admired the work extremely—but one of the reasons I admired it was that it synthesized so many ideas from so many other places. Newton, obviously, but also Lavoisier, Euler, Lagrange. Probably others I have not yet read. There are not many of us—especially among English astronomers—who have read all these authors either in the original or in a reliable translation. In your book it was... it was as if you’d built a ship and were sailing somewhere new. And important. I didn’t want anyone to be left behind.”
Lucy turned her head, and her gaze found Catherine out there in the crowd, haloed in candlelight, her eyes tender as morning stars.
Lucy smiled, unable to help herself. “I didn’t wantanyoneto be left behind,” she repeated, “whether or not they’d had the chance to study astronomy before picking up your book. It seemed natural to add explanations, to make it more clear what the text was putting into practice. The section on Saturn, for instance, makes good use of several recent advances, and is particularly worth being widely disseminated. The more minds we have working on a problem, the faster it will surely be solved.”
“And has the reception been what you hoped?” the marquise asked. “Do you feel you have claimed more minds for science?”
Lucy’s eyes found Catherine again. “I would not compel anyone to choose the subject if they were not of themselves inclined to pursue it. Science is not the only noble endeavor in this world.” She raised her voice to cover the affronted murmur that bubbled up at this. “But anyone who yearns to discover more truths about the nature and order of our world—they ought to be encouraged, and not forced to rediscover what other people with better luck or more experience have already found out. Our energies are better spent if we work together than if we struggle separately—men and women of every nation and of every race.”
“Hear hear!” This from Mr. Edwards, as the audience broke out again into restless murmurs.
The marquise raised her hand, and silence reigned again. The whole hall seemed to be holding its breath. “One final question, Miss Muchelney.”
Lucy braced herself.
“What if I told you that in reading your translation, I discovered an error? A rather glaring one, in fact—fundamental to the section in which it appears.”
Someone gasped. The marquise remained unruffled, her eyes stern, the slight curve of her lips warning Lucy to think carefully.
Lucy took a breath, as the silence lengthened. Denials rose up inside her—it was only natural to defend oneself against such a charge—but another moment’s thought had her setting those instinctual denials aside. There were larger stakes here.
She faced the sea of avid scholars arrayed before her, and took a breath. “First, I would have to count myself in very good company: many of our greatest thinkers through history have been as famous for their mistakes as for their insights. Didn’t Copernicus believe the sun revolved around the earth? And Newton’s own work, though brilliant, has also been proven wrong in a dozen different ways.” A few heads were nodding.
Lucy warmed to her theme. “Second, it would be vital to find out how the mistake came about. Was it an error in my assumptions, or in my data? Was it a mistake of imagination, or of deduction, or of hypothesis? Because unless we fix the way we think, we’ll only be making the same kind of errors every time we try to solve the next problem.”
“Would you publish an updated version of your translation?” the marquise asked, “or just let the mistake stand and move on to other work?”
“I would like to update my translation—but I should have to ask the publisher about that. There may be considerations I couldn’t anticipate, as someone new to the trade. Can you...” she paused, then screwed her courage up. “Can you tell me what the error was?”
