Funestine and Other Adventures in Romancia Read online

  “How light he is,” she said to her dear Fatima. “Would one have thought on seeing the dolor with which he quit me, that he could forget me with so much facility? Alas, he was less fickle when he was a butterfly. I wish he still were; I would at least have the pleasure of seeing him.”

  Finally, the day arrived that, in her view, would be the most unfortunate of her life; she was conducted the temple like a victim. Timandre, for his part, went there firmly resolve to assure the person destined for him that he was determined to lose his life rather than give her his hand. He entered, therefore and, traversing the numerous assembly proudly, he approached the princess. She was pale and trembling.

  He had no sooner set eyes on her than he recognized her for the person he adored. What joy for him! What a charming surprise or her! He made her know, in a few words, how favorable he found his fate; he thanked Silent and the king, his father, for the trick they had played on him. Then the ceremony took place, which was concluded to the great satisfaction of everyone.

  As they were about to leave the temple, a loud thunderclap was heard that made the most determined tremble. The vaults of the superb edifice opened, and a veiled woman appeared mounted on a black chariot of terrible dimensions.9 She approached the newlyweds and, touching them with a golden wand, said to them: “Too fortunate lovers, receive from my hand the death I give you.”

  Immediately, Timandre and Zelima fell unconscious, causing all those who witnessed the spectacle to utter cries of dolor. Then the cruel magicienne, taking a dagger from beneath her dress, plunged it into her breast, saying: “And you, too tender and too unfortunate queen, die, abandon life, since it is devoid of charms for you.”

  As she finished speaking she rendered the last sigh, and the chariot on which she had arrived carried away her body through the same gap by which it had entered. The spectacle had gripped the entire court with fear; the two kings and the queen had fainted at the sight of the calamity that had just occurred.

  An admirable concert of voices and instruments caused them to recover from their weakness. They perceived the vault of the temple open for a second time and allow through a ruby caleche drawn by twelve white eaglets, in which a beautiful lady appeared, clad in a white robe embroidered with diamonds, who was recognized by Silent and Fatima as the fay Favorable.

  “Console yourselves, Princes,” she said to the two kings. “Your children are not dead; I was watching over their conservation and I prevented the wand of the jealous and fraudulent Gracious from abridging their days. She did not perceive that they are merely torpid, so, her vengeance satisfied and in despair at having lost the person she loved, she has given herself veritable death.”

  Addressing the two spouses then, she said: “Get up, amiable couple, and live a long sequence of years without ceasing to love one another and without anything ever being able to trouble your felicity.”

  At that voice, Timandre and Zelima recovered their senses. Cries of joy were heard on all sides, but that joy was changed to sadness when the fay, having made them mount her caleche with Silent, Abdal, Zelima and Fatima, was seen taking them all into the realm of the Graces, where the prince and princess reigned for several centuries, always lovable and always lovers.

  Silent and Abdal spent tranquil days there; the latter abandoned his kingdom without difficulty and the latter did not regret his subjects, even though they had loved him sincerely. He had never been able to inspire them with sentiments of justice and piety. He found more satisfaction living as a simple commoner with virtuous people, than he had experienced in reigning over a corrupt people.

  Favorable, having rendered them all happy, quit them in order to go and soothe the pains of several other unfortunates.

  PRINCE SINCERE

  There was once a king in the land of the Zinzolantins who had an extreme passion for silkworms. He spent entire days in his gardens collecting mulberry leaves for their nourishment. The rest of the time he shut himself away in his cabinet in order to watch the little animals toil, and in order to make hanks of the silk that they had spun, not finding anyone else who could do it to his liking. In fact, no one wound silk better than he did; he often gave it to noblemen—the majority of them winders like him who gloried in imitating their sovereign—but what happened? Intelligence and politeness abandoned an abode where they were so scorned; impoliteness took possession of the young, and ennui was the share of the most beautiful women.

  In the impossibility of making use of their charms with men who only knew and admired the beauty of their worms and the finesse of their silk, almost all of the latter withdrew to distant provinces. The formed a small court there, not of princes and dukes, or even of marquises—they had experienced too much impertinence and impoliteness from them—but of persons of a less elevated condition who had no less merit for not having any of those titles. Good taste and probity was found among them; they cherished the sciences and enjoyed all pleasures without ever banishing the delicacy that alone makes all charm; in sum, they were men different from those at the court of King Dévideur.10 The queen was one of the first to retire; she had a fine castle in a forest situated on the edge of the sea, and chose it for her residence.

  After having taken her leave of the king, who was not displeased by her departure, she took with her two princesses who were the only fruit of her marriage, and a few of her subjects of whose zeal and affection she was aware. The solitude of the place did not frighten her; she had it embellished and rendered the abode charming, combining there all that nature had of the most beautiful with all that art had of the most perfect. Surrounded by people she loved, she savored a tranquility in the palace that she had never experienced before.

  The princesses also found the abode enchanted. They loved music, and the most skillful musicians in the world were found in their retinue. The two young women were as beautiful as they were well made, but they were not equally lovable. The elder, named Aigremine, was proud, envious, vindictive and cruel. The younger was mild, obliging and had no greater pleasure than that of obliging. She had a thousand charms in her intelligence and character that made all those who knew her love her, so she merited the name Aimée. She felt a veritable amity for her sister, although she was not unaware that she was hated in return.

  One day, after having endured a thousand reproaches because she did not want to appear negligently clad at a ball where there would be a great many people, Aimée went for a walk on her own in order to dissipate the chagrin and annoyance that her sister had caused her.

  Aigremine, for her part, went into the forest in order to imagine a costume that would efface her sister’s. Occupied with those thoughts, she walked for a long time, without perceiving the path that she was following. Lassitude finally obliged her to sit down at the foot of an oak tree that provided a shade the sun’s rays could not penetrate. Examining the height and girth of the tree, she discovered a little key hidden between the bark and the wood. She took it out, but, unable to imagine what use it could be, tried to put it back in the same place.

  After having tried in vain, she inserted it in a small hole that she could see; instantly, the key turned of its own accord and opened a door accommodated in the oak with an infinite artistry. That door hid a stairway. Curious to know where it led, the princess decided to go down it. The first steps seemed very dark, but after having descended a few she saw, with surprise, that the staircase was illuminated by several candles placed in beautiful rock crystal chandeliers.

  She continued her descent, and when she had gone down more than three hundred steps, she arrived in a magnificently-furnished apartment. One might think it astonishing, and almost impossible, that a person of her sex would be bold enough to enter an unknown subterrain on her own, but I shall say, because I know, and in order that no one will be astonished by it, that she was wearing on her little finger a ring that her grandmother had given her when she died, in order to preserve her until the age of twenty from dangers of any sort.

  Convinced that she
had nothing to fear, she advanced as far as a large cabinet, or rather a store-room of rare jewels and precious stones. She stopped in order to examine all those riches, but when her sight was drawn to a bed with silver sheets placed in a kind of alcove she was very astonished to perceive the most handsome young man there ever was. He appeared to be plunged in a profound slumber.

  Aigremine approached the bed in order to consider him more closely. That curiosity cost her dear, since, from that moment on, she was no longer mistress of her liberty. Convinced—as all pretty women are—that no one could see her without loving her, she did not hesitate to wake the handsome stranger, with the design of inspiring in him the tenderness that she wanted him to have for her. She therefore made a certain amount of noise, but went into the next room, in order that she could not accuse her of anything.

  There she found a piece of paper on which was written:

  Only the person who can make herself loved by the ugliest of all mortals will have the power to render the prince who reposes here sensible.

  The princess read the piece of paper several times. She flattered herself that her eyes were powerful enough to touch the young prince, and that she could make his conquest without being obliged to go in search of the ugliest of men in order to induce him to amour. Filled with that confidence, she attempted to go back into the cabinet, not doubting that the unknown man would wake up; but a spider-web through which it was impossible to distinguish any object immediately sealed the entrance as she tried to approach it.

  “Such a slight obstacle won’t prevent me from going through,” said Aigremine. She advanced, but, in spite of all her efforts, she could neither lift nor pierce the web.

  Astonished by such great resistance, she made the decision to go back up to the forest, to return to the queen and to go in search of the ugly man that it was necessary to render amorous before she could inflame the one she had just seen. She went back through the same apartments, therefore, went back up the stairs and emerged into the forest through the door that she had opened.

  Scarcely had she come out than the door closed again without being possible to see where it had opened or to rediscover the little key. She went around the tree several times, but in vain.

  Despairing of the adventure, she resumed the path to the castle, and found herself on the sea shore. She perceived the princess, her sister, who was looking attentively at a diamond of surprising size and beauty. A bird had just dropped it on her dress, telling her to conserve it carefully, because it would preserve her from a great danger one day, if she had recourse to it.

  Aigremine, enchanted by the beauty of that admirable stone, wanted to take possession of it, but she was prevented from doing so by a little man whom she found behind her, and whose frightful face caused her and Princess Aimée to run away. They both withdrew into the forest.

  The little man was three feet high. His flat and very broad head was ornamented by an abundance of red hair; his eyes were sunken and so narrowly open that they would have been indistinguishable without their bright red borders; his nose was long and pointed; his jowls hung down over his chest; and his mouth and chin were garnished with a long and bushy red beard, His deformed body was only sustained by one leg, on which he was posed as if on a pivot, but he was so well equilibrated that the slightest wind made him spin continuously—which is why he only went outside when the air was extremely calm. He could not walk, but he hoped with a marvelous agility, and by making several small leaps he arrived promptly wherever he wanted to go.

  Aigremine, having recovered from the fear that the little monster had caused her, approached him, and in a tone full of bitterness she asked him who he was and what could have rendered him bold enough to oppose what she had wanted to do.

  “I’m a powerful king,” he said to her. “My name is Sincere. Reasons that I cannot tell you drew me away from my estates, and I’m spending my days in the depths of a rock that isn’t far from here. I’ve seen you several times in this beautiful place, and I’ve noticed the unjust conduct you’ve often had toward your sister. I’ve just witnessed the violence you wanted to do her in snatching a diamond that ought to belong to her. The love that I have for justice, combine with an emotion that I dare not declare, engaged me to act on her behalf and prevent you doing her that violence.”

  The princess listened to that discourse with an extreme impatience; however, she dissimulated that anger because she made the reflection that the man who was talking to her could not possibly be equaled in ugliness by anyone in the world, and that, in consequence, she ought not to neglect anything to please him, since it was written than she could only render the man she loved sensible on that condition. She therefore adopted a mild manner and told him that the quality of king and the unfortunate state to which he appeared to be reduced obliged her to forgive him, that she even desired to be his friend, and that she flattered herself that he would not refuse her amity. Then she begged him to come and see her at the castle, assuring him that the queen, informed of his quality, would doubtless offer him an apartment where he could wait at his ease until fortune ceased to persecute him.

  The king thanked her politely, and told her that he was far too well aware of the excess of his ugliness to dare to flatter himself with the amity of a beautiful princess and to go to live in a court, where he knew that deformity of the body is not pardoned. As he said that he made a hop in order to take his leave of her, bowed to her, and retired with a sigh—not without looking at the lovely Aimée, whom the presence of her sister had retained a short distance away.

  The latter princess had listened to the conversation of her sister and Sincere; she had been surprised by the appearance of generosity that Aigremine had affected and he invitation she had give him to come to the castle. She judged that the princess had only had that mildness because she wanted to hide some desire for vengeance. The pity that Aimée had for the unfortunate man caused her to make the resolution to warn the king to beware of the apparent caresses that her sister was giving him. She put off the execution of her project until the following day.

  That day having arrived, she went out with one of her women and took the path to Sincere’s rock. She was some distance away from it when she stopped to listen to a song, the words of which appeared to be addressed to her. The sound of the voice that she heard was so touching, and flattered her ears so much, that she remained where she was for a long time, even after the song had ended.

  Cephise—that was the name of the maidservant accompanying her—extracted her from her reverie by drawing her attention to the fact that Sincere was coming toward her. Although she was determined to consider him without fear, she could not look at him without trembling and without turning away immediately.

  He perceived that with chagrin, and, saluting her with a great deal of respect, he invited her to enter his rustic palace momentarily in order to rest there. Aimée consented to that, and told him that she had only come out in order to see him and tell him things of an extreme consequence. The king offered her his hand with the best grace possible, led her toward the grotto, and spoke to her in the wittiest fashion in the world. She had never imagined that a man as ugly could express himself with so much grace. Everything he said was pronounced in a tone that pleased the princess so much that she wished more than once that she might have a lover who had as much wit as that unfortunate.

  Eventually, she arrived inside the rock; fresh green moss carpeted it; a table made of a fragment of white marble, which nature alone had sculpted, a bed and a few grass seats were the only furniture it contained. A spring from which clear pure water emerged fell from the height of the rock and formed a little stream, the noise of which, combined with that made by two nightingales perched on an orange tree laden with flowers and fruits, appeared more charming to the princess than the finest concerts she had ever heard.

  After have sung the praises of that agreeable retreat, she told Sincere the reasons that had engaged her to pay him a visit. The prince, charmed by
the interest she was taking in his regard told her all the things most appropriate to express his gratitude; he even let a few escape that made it known that his heart was filled with the most tender amour. Aimée understood them very well, but she pretended not to divine that they were addressed to her. In order to change the subject she told the king about the satisfaction she had had in hearing a charming voice before encountering him, and asking him whether he knew who it was that had sung so well.

  “It’s a prince who adores you,” said Sincere, “and who would offer you his heart, his hand and the crown that he ought one day to wear, if his form did not forbid it,” He sighed as he finished speaking.

  The princess blushed and, understanding that he was talking about himself, did not question him further, but she became pensive. She quit him shortly thereafter, because she feared that her absence might be perceived.

  She took the path to the palace, talking to Cephise about the intelligence that she found in Sincere. “I confess, my dear Cephise,” she said to her, “that in spite of his ugliness, I feel for him what I have never felt for anyone. I don’t know whether it is amity, but I tremble that it might be something more.”

  “What, Madame?” said the maid, astonished. “You could love that little monster? Everything about him doesn’t horrify you? You could resolve yourself to live with him? The slightest wind makes him spin like a weathervane.”

  “Oh,” said the young Aimée, “he thinks so delicately, and he speaks with so much wit, that I would prefer him to the handsomest men in the world. They almost always have an excessive stupidity; delighted with themselves, they only take pleasure in consulting their mirrors, as much as persons of our sex.”