At any rate, seeing that the light was still increasing, and judging that the exit I was seeking could not be far away, I increased my pace—or, rather, I ran, urgently, in order to get there. In fact, I found it, and I saw…how can I put it? Yes, I saw the most astonishing, the most admirable, the most charming things that one can see.
In a word, I saw the land of Romances. That is what I shall relate in the next chapter.
II. The entry of Prince Fan-Férédin to Romancia.
A description of the natural history of the land.
Most voyagers like to boast about the beauty of the lands they have traveled, and as the simple truth dos not furnish them with enough of the marvelous, they are obliged to have recourse to fiction. For myself, far from wanting to exaggerate, I would like, on the contrary, to be able to dissimulate a part of the marvels that I saw, in the fear that people might suspect the sincerity of my account. Having made the reflection, though, that it is not permissible to suppress the truth in order to avoid the suspicion of lying, I shall generously make the decision appropriate to every sincere historian, which is to recount the facts with the most exact verity, without any party interest, exaggeration or disguise. I foresee that strong minds will be obstinate in their incredulity, but their very incredulity will take the place of punishment, while reasonable minds will have the satisfaction of learning a thousand curious things that they did not know. I shall therefore resume the continuation of my story.
Scarcely had I arrived at the exit from the subterranean tunnel than, casting my eyes over the vast country that was offered to my gaze, I was struck by an astonishment that I can only compare to the admiration that a man born blind would have on opening his eyes for the first time. The comparison is all the more just because all the objects seemed new to me, such that I had never seen anything similar. There were, in truth, woods, rivers and springs; I could distinguish meadows, hills and orchards; but all those things were so different from the things that we call by the same names in this land that one can honestly say that we only have the name and the shadow of them.
The first reflection that came to mind was to think that there many countries that we do not know under the earth; that appeared to me to be an important observation for geography and physics; but it is true that, drawn by curiosity and admiration for the objects that were offered to my eyes, I did not linger long over those philosophical reflections. I entered into the country without having any clear idea of where to direct my steps, feeling equally attracted on all sides by new beauties, scarcely giving myself the time to consider any in particular.
I finally decided to follow a charming river that snaked across the plain. The river was bordered by the most beautiful, the brightest and softest grass imaginable, embellished by a thousand flowers of various species. It irrigated a meadow of admirable beauty, the herbs and flowers of which perfumed the air with an exquisite odor, and if, in places, it appeared to double back, it is doubtless because it had a sensible regret in quitting such a beautiful place.
The meadowland was ornamented, throughout its extent, by delightful clumps of bushes, spaced out in a way apt to please the eyes; and, as if nature sometimes liked to imitate art, as art is always pleased to imitate nature, I perceived in some places regular designs formed by grass, flowers and small trees that made charming flower gardens; but the river itself seemed to exhaust all my admiration. The water was clearer and more transparent than crystal. As soon as one lent an ear to it, one could hear the waves moaning tenderly; that soft murmur combined with the melodious song of swans, which are very common there, and make a very touching music.
Instead of sand, mother-of-pearl could be seen shining on the river bed, and a thousand precious stones; an infinite number of gilded, silvery, azure and crimson fish could be distinguished without dutifully in the bosom of the waters, which, to render the spectacle even more agreeable, were amusing themselves playing a thousand pleasant games.
“It’s a pity, though,” I murmured, “that one can’t pass from one bank to the other in order to enjoy both sides of the river equally.”
Would you believe it?—undoubtedly, for I have many other marvels to recount—no sooner had I pronounced those words than I perceived beneath my feet a very neat little boat. Thanks to my reading, I knew the usage of that boat too well to hesitate for a moment. I descended into it, in fact, and in a moment I was carried to the other bank of the river. Let the incredulous dare, after that, to make use of nasty quibbles against facts so undeniable! What will finish confounding them is that, considering a certain stretch of the river and finding that it was appropriate to make a bridge there, I was astonished to see one completed at that moment, in such a way that nothing more convenient has ever been seen.
I continued my route, however, and I can say without exaggeration that I encountered new objects of admiration at every step. Among others, I perceived a place in the meadowland that seemed to me to be a little more cultivated. I was curious enough to approach it, and I found a spring. The water seemed to me to be so pure and beautiful that, not doubting that it was excellent, I wanted to taste it; but what did I feel, instantly, within myself! What ardor, what transports, what unknown emotions, what fires!
Those fires had, in truth, something very mild about them, and it seemed to me that I found pleasure in them, but they were, at the same time, so vivid and so unquiet that, no longer in possession of myself, falling alternately into the liveliest agitation and the most profound reverie, I marched across the meadowland without knowing exactly where I was going.
I encountered in that fashion a second spring, and I know not what impulse made me drink from it as well. Scarcely had I swallowed a few drops, however, than I found myself utterly changed. It seemed that my heart was enveloped by a black vapor and my mind covered by a dark cloud. I felt furious transports and confused emotions of hated and aversion for all the objects that presented themselves.
That change opened my eyes. I recalled what I had read about springs of love and hatred, and did not doubt that it was those from which I had just drunk. Then, remembering that I had also read that the lake of indifference ought not to be far away from the two springs in question, I hastened to search for it, and having encountered it—for in that land one always finds what one is seeking—I had only drunk a few drops therefrom in the hollow of my hand when, instantly returned to myself, I felt a mild and tranquil calm succeed the disturbance that had agitated me.
I shall say nothing about the singular plants that I observed. It is sufficiently well known that the land in question is covered with them. It is only in Romancia that the famous herb moly is found, and the celebrated lotus. Even the plants that we know, which are also found in that land, have a virtue so admirable that one cannot say that they are the same plants, and I cannot in that regard help admiring the simplicity of the unfortunate knight of La Mancha, who thought he could compose with the herbs of his homeland a balm similar to that of Fierabras; for it is true that we have plants of the same name, but they are far from having the same virtue.
It is for that reason that amorous philters, enchanted beverages, charms and all the spells that our magicians attempt to compose with magic herbs do not succeed, because we only have plants devoid of strength and virtue, and I imagine that the reason why we no longer see the marvelous wands, the surprising rings, the talismans, the powders and a thousand other curiosities that operate so many prodigious effects is because we do not have in this land the veritable materials of which they need to be composed.
But what I ought not to forget is the admirable bounty of the climate. I have never understood while reading romances how the princes and the princesses, the heroes and the heroines, and even their domestics and their retinues pass their entire lives without ever mentioning drinking or eating. For after all, I thought, one might be amorous, passionate, avid for glory and a hero from head to toe, but one must still sometimes be subject to a need as pressing as hunger.
I have
changed my mind, however, since I have respired the air of Romancia. To begin with, it is the purest, the most serene, the healthiest and the most invariable air that one can breathe. Also, no one has ever heard it said that any hero was inconvenienced by rain, wind or snow, or that he caught a cold in the nocturnal calm while lamenting his amorous torments in the moonlight. But that air has one singular property above all, which is that it can take the place of nourishment for those who breathe it. The consequence of that is one can undertake the longest voyage there, through the most uninhabited deserts, without going to the trouble of making any provision for oneself, or even for one’s horses.
Here is another thing that struck me extremely. Our rocks in all the lands here are so hard and of such great sensibility that one can talk to them for an entire year about the most touching things in the world, and they will not even listen. But the rocks are very different in Romancia. I encountered a considerable accumulation of them in my path, and as my curiosity led me to observe everything, I approached them in order to consider them at closer range. I even tried to feel some of them with my hand, but imagine my astonishment to find them so tender that they yielded to the effort of my hand like grass or silk.
I confess that that phenomenon seemed so strange to me that I uttered an exclamation of astonishment, and I would never had understood it if it had not been explained to me subsequently. It was because the previous day, one of the most unfortunate and most eloquent lovers in the land had come to relate his torments to those rocks, and his story was so touching, his tone so dolorous and pitiable, that the rocks had been unable to resist it, in spite of their natural hardness. Some had split from top to bottom, others had allowed themselves to melt like wax, and the hardest had been softened and tenderized to the point that I have just described.
If the rocks of Romancia are so sensitive, it is easy to judge what the complaisance of echoes must be there for those who speak to them. There is nothing as amiable or so docile. They repeat anything one wants. If you sing, they sing; if you lament, they lament with you. They do not even wait for you to finish speaking in order to respond, and rather than let a poor lover speak alone, they will converse with him for an entire day.
It is one of the great resources that one has in the land in question that, when one has no one to whom to confide one’s secret troubles, one only has to go and find an echo—especially if it is a female echo—and one is set up for as long as one wants.
III. A continuation of the previous chapter.
The trees of Romancia are, in general, quite similar to ours, but there are certain important remarks to make about them. In addition to the fact that their foliage is always a beautiful green, their shade delightful and their fruits much better than ours, it is only in Romancia that one finds trees so rare and precious that some bear golden branches and others golden apples. It is true, however, that it is rare to encounter them, and it is even more difficult to approach them and pick their fruit, because they are all guarded by dragons or terrible giants, the mere sight of which imports fear into the most intrepid souls.
One flatters oneself in vain that their vigilance can be deceived; their eyes are always open and they do not know the sweetness of slumber. On the other hand, to attempt to force a way past them is to risk certain death, with the consequence that it is necessary to renounce ever picking such precious fruit unless one is favored by some special protection; then, nothing is easier. A little herb that one carries on one’s person, a mirror that one shows to the dragon or giant, a wand with which one touches them, a beverage that one presents to them, or the slightest charm, puts them to sleep, after which it is easy to cut off their heads and thus put oneself in possession of all the treasures of which they are the guardians.
I ought, however, to did that this is only according to the reports of others, for, as those trees are very rare, I did not find any in my path and I had no interest in going to search for them.
One thing I have seen, however, which can be regarded as certain, is the liking that the trees in that land have for music. This is something that happened to me and caused me great surprise at the time.
One day, when I had abandoned myself to sleep in a charming grove of young chestnut trees, I was astonished when I awoke to find myself exposed to the ardors of the sun and entirely uncovered, without my being able to imagine what had become of the trees that had been lending me shade a little while before. On looking round, however, I perceived them, already some distance away, moving as if in cadence toward a small plan, where a excellent lute-player was attracting them to him by means of the harmonious sounds of his instrument. A few rocks had joined their company, with all the lions, tigers and bears in the region. It was one of the spectacles that gave me the greatest pleasure throughout my voyage.
As for what I have heard a celebrated historian relate, that trees have a very intelligible language with which to converse together when a gentle breeze agitates the extremity of their branches, I listened carefully in the various forests that I saw, but either that observation must have escaped me or the fact is not true, all the more so as that historian is not always exact in his narrations.13
It is not so with regard to those who have asserted that trees serve as abodes for rural divinities, for it is an undeniable fact to which I have often been witness. Nothing is more commonplace, in fact, in the evening, when the moon begins to illuminate the shadows of the night, than to see all the oaks suddenly open up in order to allow the dryads who spend the day therein to emerge from their bosom, and then to open again at daybreak in order to receive them, after they have danced in the fields with the naiads. As it is easy to distinguish the inhabited trees from those that are not, they are extremely respected, and no mortal is bold enough to touch them. If some reckless individual dares to strike one, blood is immediately seen to flow therefrom in abundance, but his impiety will soon be punished.
Fauns, like dryads, also have their trees and there are marks to distinguish them. That gives rise, on occasion, to very pleasant games. On returning from dancing, a young faun might take possession of a dryad’s tree. The dryad arrives and knocks on her tree in order to make it open. Who goes there? The place is taken. It’s is necessary to improvise. The dryad defends herself, escapes and runs to seize in her turn the abode of another dryad. The latter comes and makes a racket, during which the faun emerges quietly and comes up behind her to surprise her. But she son perceives him and flees. The faun runs after her, and while he is running the first dryad goes back to her tree. The one being pursued reaches another if she can, but eventually, there is a last to arrive who pays for all the others, and the game finishes thus. It is to that little amusement that we owe the game known as four corners.
In any case, it is only for a few moments that these divinities can be permitted to dislodge themselves thus, for they are obliged by the laws of their natural condition to live and die with their trees, without being able to be separated from them except by death. It is necessary not to believe, however, that they really die; their death only consists of passing into another form when the tree finally perishes of old age or by virtue of some accident. One can thus distinguish the old divinities from the younger ones, and even recognize by the disposition of the tree that of the divinity that inhabits it—which is to say, whether she is happy or not.
Among others, an aspen was pointed out to me that was inhabited by one of the wisest and most virtuous fauns of his species. It was even said that he had rather amiable qualities, but after having lived in indifference for a long time he had the misfortune to fall in love, and for several years he had only felt the torments of amour without ever experiencing the pleasure. Chagrin and despair had finally overcome his courage and his reason. He languished without hope of living very long, or rather, if anything could still please him, it was the hope of soon dying, and that was perceptible in the pallor of the tree’s leaves, the dryness of its branches and its crown, which was already beginning to be deprived of
verdure.
As I continued walking, I encountered a few streams of milk and honey. They are quite common in that land, and as I had often heard mention of them, I was not very astonished. I did not know, however, what the source of those charming streams could be, and I had the pleasure of seeing it with my own eyes. It is because, in Romancia, the cows and goats produce milk so abundantly that they render it continually by themselves, without taking the trouble to be milked, with the consequence that as soon as there are a dozen or so gathered together, they form a rather considerable stream in no time. The bees attach themselves to a tree in order to make their honey there, and make such a prodigious quantity of it that the drops fall incessantly, forming a stream.
That gave me occasion to consider more closely the livestock that was grazing in the meadows. I can assure you that it is worth the trouble, and you will believe me easily since I saw in that country, in fact, all kinds of animals that are not seen here. The herds were separated in accordance with their different species into different parks.
To begin with, I considered a stud-farm of horses, and I remarked three kinds of them.
Firstly, there were horses quite similar to ours, but of an incomparable beauty. They were all so lively and ardent that their breath seemed fiery, and what astonished me most of all is that their agility was so surprising that they could run through a field of wheat without breaking a single stalk. Also, they were not engendered in accordance with the ordinary laws of nature. They had no other father than the zephyr; in order to perpetuate the race it was only necessary to expose the mares to a gentle wind and they were immediately in foal. It is doubtless greatly to be wished that we had similar stud-farms in our lands, but they have only ever been seen in Libya. I noticed there, above all, one mare of an admirable beauty. She was known as the tinkling mare because a great many little golden bells were hung from her mane, which, in the judgment of connoisseurs of harmony, produced a very beautiful music.
Funestine and Other Adventures in Romancia Page 11