“I know,” said Virtue, “that there are engagements one can make without offending one’s duty; I know that here are some that duty authorizes and justifies; but I am not in that circumstance. People believe me to be severe, and perhaps, in fact, I am. Men hardly ever deliver themselves to amour when they do not see the hope of its consequence. Cares have been rendered to me; to whom can they not be rendered? A constancy has sometimes been sworn to me proof against all the obstacles I could expose to it. People seek to deceive me, or to deceive themselves. The most urgent retreat did not surprise me; I was too indifferent, too guarded against men to regret their homages. They did not interest either my heart or my self-esteem. But you, charming Imagination, object of the worship and the prayers of everything that respires, how many things you would be able to tell me if your confidence equaled my amity!”
“You are going to see,” she replied, embracing her, “that I am more sincere, or less reasonable, than you. There are few genii who have not sighed for me; born lively and curious, I receive them with complaisance, but without mystery. I sometimes had ten or twelve in my chamber; it was Madame d’Ussé’s aviary.63 I took advantage of their talents and knowledge; my mind was enlightened without any cost to my heart. Mistress then of my sentiments, I treated those rivals with an equality that suspended their anxiety and their jealousy; the pleasure of seeing me, the fear of being deprived of me by an indiscreet outburst, maintained between them an apparent union, the sincerity of which I did not take the trouble to fathom. That kind of life had its charms, but it had its voids. I abandoned it, without thinking that I would ever regret it; I was deluding myself and I soon repented of my inconstancy, and without you, amiable Virtue, I would still be repenting it.
“At my father’s court there was a young woman named Novelty. I made her acquaintance; sympathy spared us the care of studying one another; we liked one another as soon as we saw one another, and we became inseparable. We agreed to confide to one another without reserve all the ideas that passed through our heads. The most singular and the most bizarre appeared to us to be the most amusing, and, so to speak, the only ones that could amuse us. Novelty, ever ingenious, always occupied with the desire to please me, seemed to reproduce herself continually. What fire! What sallies! What projects! She was a Proteus that took on a thousand different forms.
“She had a friend about whom she told me so many good things that I did not give her any repose until she had brought her to me. Fabulous—that was her name—was as keen to meet me as I was to meet her, and she responded to my eagerness. I see her come into my room; I fly to meet her, I caress her, I admire her, I felicitate her. Novelty has not flattered her; she possesses that which is most seductive in the art of invention and speaking well; the Graces preside over all her discourse; one cannot weary of hearing her; the most incredible fictions take on an air of plausibility in her hands that verity itself sometimes lacks.
“The joyful commerce of these two charming girls made me forget all my suitors; they wanted to complain; I did not listen to them. The most just reproaches weary us when they touch the pleasures that we are savoring, Amour...”
Suddenly interrupting herself, she became pensive. Then, resuming speaking, she cried: “No, Funestine, you shall not always be unfortunate! The rigor of your fate moves me to compassion, and the hatred of your enemies revolts me.” Addressing Virtue, surprised by that sudden emphasis, she continued: “Would you like to help me in performing an action worthy of you and of me? Let us go and extract the Princess of Australia from her misfortunes and imperfections. I’ll tell you her story on the way, your help will answer to me for the success of my ideas.”
Virtue, who never let an opportunity to be useful to the unfortunate escape, seized with pleasure the one that presented itself. They both climbed into a chariot made from a silkworm cocoon, drawn by two sea-eagles, and departed.
While they were traveling to the Palace of Eventualities, Rêveuse, importuned by Clair-obscur, finally emerged from her lethargy, but it was to say to him, naively, that she did not want either to love or to be loved. The genius, who did not believe her, expanded himself in further protestations; she imposed silence on him with an arrogance by which he was disconcerted. Her indolence was only apparent; when some passion moved her, she was no longer the same person; one discovered that she had a great deal of intelligence and a great deal of firmness. Ashamed of such a misplaced passion, he felt all the ridicule of it, and went home, in order to bid adieu to his son, whom he found occupied with his preparations. He witnessed the review of his troops, out of complaisance, for he was no warrior; they were not numerous, but were brisk and well-disciplined.
“Prince,” he said to Formosa, when everything was disposed for his departure, “you are going to serve as a model for all those who, in centuries to come, want to establish themselves as conquerors; you will reign over the greater part of the world; let your good will win you the hearts of those you have subjugated by the might of your arms.”
“I shall profit from the counsel of moderation with which you honor me,” Formosa replied.
“I have been thinking,” Clair-obscur added, “about the perils that menace your days; reassure my alarmed tenderness, and receive these arms; they are proof against cannon and lightning.”
“What!” retorted the prince, indignant at the weakness of the genius. “You’re trembling for me, as the Sun trembled for Phaeton? What do we have in common? I render thanks to the gods for having an immortal father, but I’m glad not to be immortal myself. Keep your baleful presents. What is the value of a life that one exposes with impunity? It’s necessary to know that one might die at any moment in order to confront death with honor. I only want to owe my success to my courage and the value of my soldiers. ‘In vanquishing without peril one triumphs without glory.’”64
To that dart of erudition Clair-obscur had nothing to say. He embraced his son; they separated; he followed him with his eyes, and lost him in the distance.
After Formosa’s departure, Clair-obscur ran to consult his mirror; he only found objects therein so blurred that, in spite of his vast penetration, he imagined that he was reading an enigma from the Mercure de France.
What troubled him more than anything else was the sight of two young women descending to his favorite isle. His tenderness for Funestine made him fear that they might be fays profiting from his absence to harm her or abduct her. Discouraged by so many obstacles that he had been unable to overcome, he no longer knew what to do.
The idea of Imagination and Virtue caused hope to be reborn in his heart. Without losing any time, he flew to their palace, learned that they had departed for the Palace of Eventualities and followed them at top speed. He was the fastest genius in the world, and he arrived in time to lend them a hand in descending from their chariot. Out of breath from his race, he told them that he no longer had any doubt about Funestine’s happiness, since they appeared to be interested in it. They replied that they would do their best to contribute to it, but that it was necessary to take measures in order to succeed.
The genius, who was not fortunate in councils, would have preferred not to run the risk of that one. Imagination spoke first; she took responsibility for the mind of the princess. Virtue took charge of her heart, but she said that she needed to be aided in that by Docility.
“Docility!” interjected Clair-obscur. “I’ve often heard mention of her but I’ve never seen her. Young people fear her, men are scornful of her, and I believe that she’s no longer in the world.”
“It’s up to me to find her,” she continued. “I’m offering to go in search of her.”
“And I offer to accompany you,” said the genius. “You might have to go a long way, and one gets bored traveling alone.”
The fay refused politely and advised him to build a little house during her absence, in which Funestine, less distracted by the diversity of objects, would be more capable of attention and meditation. He appreciated the wisdom of that sugge
stion so much that he had a simple building built by new architects, so comfortable that there was nothing about it to criticize.
Virtue took the route to the hyperborean regions. Docility lived there among a few illustrious unfortunates who, presuming nothing of themselves, sustained without murmuring the reversal of their fortune and the injustice of their persecutors.
As she passed over a cabin she saw a young man of modest and tranquil appearance, who was cultivating vegetables that his industry had preserved from the rigors of the climate. She assumed the form of an old man and approached him.
“My son,” she said to him, “I’m looking for Docility, is she not with you?”
“Alas,” replied the solitary, “for some time she was all the consolation of my life, but I’ve lost her, and I no longer hope that she might return.”
“Why did she quit you?” Virtue asked.
“By my own fault,” added the young man, holding back his tears, “but you doubtless need repose, my father. This,” he continued, indicating his cabin, “is the only palace I can offer you; honor it with your presence and deign to receive a frugal meal, such as my present fortune permits.”
Virtue followed him; she ate, or seemed to eat, the fruits that he presented to her in a rush basket, while she admired the arrangement and neatness of his cell, where everything reflected the tidy mind of the master. He was surprised by the mildness and majesty of his guest; he looked at him, sighing, was moved, and was no longer in a state to resist his heart.
Virtue noticed his disturbance and said to him: “You’re not made for the kind of life you’re leading; everything about you announces an education worthy of a high birth; an unmerited disgrace has doubtless led you to this solitude; you believed that you would shelter yourself here from the malice of perfidious men. Were you not mistaken? Does not this precipitate retreat contain as much chagrin as reason? Don’t disguise your woes from me; perhaps I’ll be fortunate enough to alleviate your bitterness.”
Whatever disguise Virtue adopts, her power is always the same; on feels its effect by virtue of the confidence it inspires.
The young man replied: “I was born in the realm of Camor; Ulibec is my name; I descend from the first sovereigns who reigned in India, an advantage too frivolous to glorify me. A new man, sustained by crime and fortune, took possession of the throne of my ancestors; they were constrained to seek refuge in a foreign land. Their subjects have groaned under tyranny for four centuries without being able to liberate themselves. My father, in conformity with his estate, came to establish himself in Camor. The king, the father of the present one, sustained for several years an unsuccessful war against his neighbors, lost three battles and suffered other disgraces more catastrophic, had opened his devastated provinces to his enemies. Emboldened by their success and his misfortunes, they threatened to lay siege to his capital. My father found the means to disunite them, beat them separately, and forced them to consent to peace.
“One of the foremost responsibilities of the realm was the price of his services; he raised me with a view to replacing him one day, and was only occupied with rendering me worthy of it. My brother-in-law Ufebor65 was four years older than me; that difference did not enter into our sentiments; I had loved him since my childhood; he responded to my amity, and I was all the more flattered by that because I believed him to be sincere. My sister was amiable; she augmented by her mildness the pleasure of a union that seemed unbreakable.
“Such beautiful appearances had nothing solid; my father died too soon for her and for me; we felt that loss in its full extent; we gave him tears and regrets of which nothing could stem the source; the gods had determined the end of our happiness. Ufebor, in order to extract me from my dejection, made me think about my fortune; he told me that I ought to solicit my father’s position. At that cherished name my tears flowed more abundantly. ‘I’m only twenty years old,’ I replied, ‘That position requires detailed knowledge; it requires experience; I don’t feel capable of fulfilling its duties; don’t expose me to a refusal that might close entry to other favors if I have enough virtues to merit one of them one day.’
“He made me ashamed of a sentiment in which, he said, there was more mistrust than true modesty. He added that he would work, in spite of me, to sustain the honor of my house. Innocence is not suspicious; I confided my interests to him. He had friends, he knew the king. He asked for the position for himself, obtained it, and crowned his bad faith with a further perfidy. ‘The king,’ he told me, ‘thought you to young; he has given me your charge until you are old enough to exercise it. More satisfied to render it to you, my dear Ulibec, than to possess it, I shall press him to accept my resignation in your favor as soon as possible.’
“Seduced by that false sincerity, I lived tranquilly; my friends said sometimes that Ufebor was deceiving me; I loved him, I was prejudiced, I did not believe them. I finally opened my eyes, but it was too late. He had as much intelligence as ambition; his charge put him in a position to speak to the king frequently; he knew his weaknesses and was able to profit from them. His favor and his credit became immense. He reigned under his master’s name; there were murmurs everywhere about such rapid fortune; I was the only one who still rejoiced in it. I did not take long to repent of the good opinion I had of his sagacity.
“Under the pretext of being overwhelmed by the weight of his affairs he only gave me an audience, so to speak, in public; I could no longer speak to him except in the crowd of courtiers that surrounded him. Such is their character that they detest favorites as a matter of taste but adore them by reason of interest. The king, who had seen me at first with kindness, only received me any longer with coldness. All that alarmed me; I confided my anxieties to my sister; she soothed them without approving them. ‘Calm yourself, my brother,’ she said to me. ‘My husband loves you; he’s incapable of abandoning you or betraying you; you’ll reproach yourself one day for having condemned him on vain appearances.’ Her amity rendered her persuasive; I sacrificed my suspicions to her.
“The foremost dignity in the realm having fallen vacant, Ufebor combined it with his other titles. The opportunity seemed favorable to me; I spoke to him. ‘You’ll soon have your charge’ he said to me, dryly. ‘I permit you to request it of the king,’ I sensed all the bitterness of such a measured expression, but I did not have time to respond to him; he went into his cabinet and the door was forbidden to me. I returned home troubled and shocked, but less afflicted by the loss of my fortune than my brother-in-law’s ingratitude.
“Scarcely had I returned than I was told that my charge had just been given to someone else. I was prepared for that eventuality. I was not for a note that was handed to me a moment later; it only contained these few words: ‘You are suspect; there are designs on your liberty, perhaps your life; hasten to put both in safety.’ The advice came from a hand too dear not to be taken. I was innocent, but one never is with kings when they want to find us culpable. To spare that of Camor an injustice, I gathered up the sad debris of my heritage and came to hide in this desert. I spent two years here in a calm that filled my heart. Docility did not abandon me; aided by her presence, sustained by her advice, I found that true happiness consists in rendering oneself master of one’s desires and reflections.
“Docility believed my constancy to be above events; she informed me of the causes of my disgrace and told me about the further crimes and the fall of Ufebor during my absence. I had supported his treason; I had forgiven him, because I was the only object of it; I was no longer capable of containing myself when I knew that others had been his victims; I forgot myself to the extent of murmuring against the gods; I fell into discouragement. Docility made vain efforts to bring me back, but I no longer listened to her; she became insupportable to me; I forced her to quit me, and I only found myself less unhappy when her presence no longer constrained my tears or my plaints.”
Virtue knew the human heart too well to aggravate Ulibec with severe reproaches. She spared his weakness,
flattered his dolor, and only criticized its excess. When one makes an invalid love the remedies one gives him, one advances the cure. In sum, she acted with so much dexterity on the mind of her host that she engaged him to continue his story.
“I adored Algée, the sister of the King of Camor; she is beautiful and virtuous; dispense me with going into further detail, it would plunge me back into my first aberration. I only appreciated the impression that she had made on me when I was no longer in a state to efface it. My defeat was too glorious to seek to combat it further. How timid amour is in a heart that is commencing to sense it! Everything appears to be an obstacle; everything arrests it; it mistrusts itself, it fears displeasing; it wants to extinguish its fires, and augments them by the constraint it imposes on them; it is obstinate in hiding a secret that it is burning to reveal. Rarely does hope prevail over respect. I avoided the princess, I dared not look at her or speak to her; I languished; I was dying.
“My circumspection had a success that I did not expect. Algée was surprised by it; she deduced the reason for it; she made a crime of her penetration; she wanted to punish me for it but did not have the strength; I kept quiet, I was respectful; was that offending her? Fortunate without knowing it, I observed myself with so much exactitude that, at the time when I was the most passionate, I passed for the most indifferent man in the court. My passion increased in silence; the princess enjoyed her triumph without risk to her glory. A year passed in that way; fortune was jealous of my happiness, if it is a happiness to love without hope.
“Cimure, the King of Ichionie, an amiable prince of whom much was hoped, had just succeeded his father; his realm was no close to that of Camor that their kings were continually at war in order to extend them or conserve their limits. Cimure, whose rights appeared the more apparent, wanted to terminate a quarrel that was incessantly renewed; he requested Algée, offering in favor of that marriage to desist in his pretentions and to abide by what was decided in the council of Camor. A proposition so advantageous could not find any contradiction. Algée, treated by her brother as queen of Ichionie, received the compliments of the whole court. The universal joy became for me the subject of the cruelest sadness and despair, but the interest of my amour was the less strong; I rejoiced sincerely in a marriage that would render me unfortunate because I believed that it would enable the happiness of the princess I adored.
Funestine and Other Adventures in Romancia Page 23