Carlyle frowned. “Meaning?”
“Oh, just the sorts of philosophical debates that were scandalous once upon a time: equality, human rights, rational government, cultural relativism, freedom of religion, specific religious views…”
The sensayer frowned. “You’re saying you discuss theology while having sex.”
“For beginners it’s before and after mostly, managing it during sex takes skill and concentration. It’s our unique service. Since discussing religion is even more taboo today than it was in our dear Eighteenth Century, it makes the most thrilling erotic talk. I’m sure you’ve run across this sort of thing before, Doctor Carlyle, professionally, I mean.”
“Not in so institutionalized a form, but yes.” The sensayer smiled almost smugly. “It’s what I expected, really.”
“Oh?”
“Your inscription: Deo Erexit Sade, ‘Built for God by de Sade,’ it’s a bit too literate for someone who would read Sade so narrowly as to think it was all about sadism. You’re using the religious half of Sade, attacking the sensayer system.”
“I would never attack the sensayer system,” Madame contradicted, holding a hand against her bosom as if wounded. “I told you, we are very careful. What happens here is fun and play, not danger. Taboos are thrilling, and my guests enjoy breaking taboos, especially the triple mixture of sex, gender, and religion, stacking forbidden things to build a richer thrill. No need to worry about bringing this to the attention of the Sensayers’ Conclave; they know. We have many sensayers on staff here, Dominic among them, tasked with making sure that things stay safe, and the Conclave sends inspectors frequently to watch for proselytizing. Whenever it’s a group of three or more, we have a sensayer chaperone to certify the discussion nonproselytory. I believe the consensus in the Conclave is that my establishment is healthy for the world. The urge to break the religious taboo is common enough, and it’s better that it be concentrated here, where it’s carefully monitored and directed toward harmless play, than to leave people to vent the same impulses in secret meetings, or visiting Reservations where you have no jurisdiction.”
Thisbe’s smile faded as she found herself on less familiar ground. “What does proselytizing have to do with the Marquis de Sade?”
“Ask your sensayer,” Madame encouraged, “Sade is still on the standard syllabus, is he not, Doctor Carlyle?”
Carlyle perked at the invitation to ply his trade. “Their reputation aside, Thisbe, a lot of Sade’s writings were moral and philosophical. They did precisely this taboo-breaking thing Madame is describing, mixing sex with philosophy and theology, usually by literally alternating them in the text: sex scene, philosophy, sex scene, philosophy, and so on. Sade equated racy, forbidden sex acts with radical ideas like atheism, or criticizing the king. It was a lot like that Diderot stuff about nuns that Heloïse quoted, encouraging readers to question what’s meant by ‘natural’ when both celibacy and sex can be defined as perversions depending on how you look at it.”
Madame’s eyes beamed approval. “An admirable summary, Doctor Carlyle, but our Marquis was more experimental even than le Philosophe. My favorite example is his Proof from Design.” Carlyle smirked recognizing it, but let Madame continue. “Nature, according to the science and theology of the Marquis’s day, makes all things to fit where they belong, forest animals with brown fur, arctic animals with white fur, predators with sharp teeth, herbivores with dull teeth, round pegs in round holes on a world scale. With me so far, Thisbe?”
“Yes…,” she answered, cautious. “And before Darwin people used that as proof of the existence of God.”
“Precisely. Now, the penis is round, and the anus is round, while the vagina’s opening is long and narrow; clearly then Nature designed the penis to fit into the anus, not into the vagina.”
Thisbe snickered. “That may be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Precisely,” Madame confirmed. “The Marquis is parodying Eighteenth-Century scientific logic. If you want to throw away his Proof of the Naturalness of Sodomy, you must also throw away Saint Thomas Aquinas’s proof of the Existence of God from Design. Sade took on all sorts of things, gender, religious and moral concepts, all by experimenting with acts, or at least descriptions of acts, which reverse those prejudices. Since, in our modern day, discussing religion has become risky again, just as it was in the Eighteenth Century when anything radical could get you executed, the thrill is back too. And our dear Marquis’s questions are still worth asking, even if today we have more rational laws and open-minded leaders.”
“I … see it,” Thisbe conceded. Then brightened. “Yes, I see it. It sounds fun.”
Carlyle did not brighten. “Why are the President and Director here?” he asked, looking to the VIPs who flanked them in silent approval.
A nod from Ganymede invited Andō to speak first.
“I’m here at the moment for family business,” the Chief Director answered.
Carlyle’s light brows furrowed. “Family?”
Sparkling Ganymede glanced at the Cousin, then gave Thisbe a smirk of quick judgmental humor. She smirked back. “Carlyle, really, you haven’t heard the rumors?”
He frowned. “What?”
“ ‘Tai-kun,’ that’s the nickname the Mitsubishi use for J.E.D.D. Mason, isn’t it?”
Chief Director Andō nodded, not really smiling, but his face perhaps a little warmer now.
“Cardie couldn’t get across to me the fifteen or so things the nickname means, but they’re actually your child, aren’t they, Director? That’s what Mitsubishi circles say, that, despite being adopted by the Emperor, J.E.D.D. Mason is actually Chief Director Andō’s child.”
Carlyle blinked, dazzled. “I never believed. Then … President Ganymede, you’re J.E.D.D. Mason’s uncle?”
Duke Ganymede sighed at the sensayer, as at a newcomer at a banquet who lifts the dessert fork first. “Chief Director Andō has been married to my sister for twenty-eight years. You can’t expect him to publicly accept responsibility for a bastard child of twenty-one; what an eccentric suggestion.”
Andō’s face revealed nothing. “Suffice to say Tai-kun is very dear to me, and I was glad to see my friend and colleague Cornel MASON secure a place for the child where they would have access to the very highest circles. MASON, meanwhile, has been happy to have my help raising Tai-kun, since we’re both such busy people.”
Carlyle’s puzzled gaze shifted from Director to Madame to Duke, and fixed at last on Thisbe.
“So, like an unofficial, makeshift bash’,” Thisbe suggested, stretching back catlike across the silken seat as she savored the mystery’s solution.
“Or a marriage alliance,” Madame suggested, “between two royal houses. Who do you think convinces the Masons not to push too hard for a new Census even though their population’s grown enough to merit another Senator? Or who do you think gets the Mitsubishi not to raise rents on the rest of us when they own more than half the globe?” Madame’s breast within its bodice swelled with mother’s pride. “He is a very important Boy, my Son the Prince D’Arouet, a Pillar of friendship between the Masons, Mitsubishi, and Humanists.”
“A personal alliance.” Thisbe is always happy to be right. “So which one gets to be called Monsieur D’Arouet? The Emperor or you, Director?”
“Voltaire,” Carlyle answered softly.
“What?”
“Voltaire’s real name was François-Marie Arouet before they changed it to Voltaire. Sticking ‘De’ on the front just makes it sound aristocratic—it’s the sort of thing ambitious women aiming to become kings’ mistresses used to do.”
Madame concealed her smile behind a fan of deep blue ostrich feathers veined with gold. “If the Patriarch is no longer using the name, why shouldn’t I? After all, Voltaire was my inspiration, he and his age.”