At the word injustice she uttered a profound sigh. O gods, what have I done? The unfortunate Quart-d’heure and the even more unfortunate Imaé are languishing in an obscure person, and I’m not doing anything to set them at liberty. What will Virtue think of me?
She saw her enter her room, ran to her and said to her: “Quart-d’heure… Imaé...”
“I’ve anticipated your intentions,” she replied. “They’re free. I’ll bring them to you, treat them kindly.
“Virtue alone,” replied the princess, “could repair the imprudences of Funestine; she repents of them, but without you it would only be a vain repentance. It is for them to pardon me. Let Imaé cease to fear me; I sense that I am disposed to love her; she did not make me sense my ugliness, I would be very unjust to make a crime of her beauty.”
Quart-d’heure appeared, trembling. It is not given to all tellers of tales to come out of prison prouder than they went in. He changed occupations sagely; Formosa took charge of his fortune and enriched him without elevating him. As for Imaé, attached to Funestine by sympathy and gratitude, she did not want either to marry or to quit her, to the great regret of Quart-d’heure, and a thousand others who found her as lovely as he did.
A few days later, Virtue came to see Funestine. “The manner in which you have received young Imaé,” she said, “causes me to judge that you would not be sorry to see Princess Rêveuse; she is a charming sister who merits your tenderness; I do not oppose what blood and reason authorize; you might love her, and I even recommend it. Imagination has gone to fetch her, and she will soon be here; but let’s talk about something else. How do you find your situation?”
“Alas,” replied the grateful princess, it is a thousand times milder and more gracious than I deserve, or dared to hope. I only respire—I only exist—since I have known you; before you I did not exist.”
“That response,” said Virtue, “merits its recompense; I’m no longer thinking about anything but rendering you happy; you are commencing to be by your own efforts, and I do not want exterior things to get in the way of your felicity. Your domestics will be more submissive and more attentive, and your masters will no longer scold you. Continue to love me; you will see that I don’t neglect the interests of my friends.”
Rêveuse had an excellent depth of character, which only lacked a little vivacity; that did not appear to be a defect to the lovers of indolent beauty who make of languor a fourth Grace. Imagination exercised her benevolence on the princess, communicating to her a few sparks of the divine fire that enlightens and vivifies. Their effect was prompt. Rêveuse came to know herself, and made such good usage of that knowledge that for some time, few princesses in the world would have dared to dispute anything with her.
She was announced; she came in. At the sight of her, Funestine felt a secret emotion, a natural reaction, and pardonable in a young person who believes herself to be ugly and who sees her younger sister displaying before her eyes everything that beauty can have of the most seductive. That involuntary disturbance was only momentary; she had the courage to triumph over it and to run to her sister with open rms. She said things to her do tender and naïve that there might only have been sentiment and no intellect in that reception.
For her part, Rêveuse, obliged to keep quiet about her older sister’s charms, the shine of which she could not sustain, appeared nonplussed; she could not reconcile what she saw with the idea she had formed of her; less mistress of her passions than Funestine, she could not forbid her heart a small twinge of jealousy.
How touching she is! What grace she has! she said to herself. Simply dressed, she owes all her beauty to herself! Why am I not the elder, if being older has so many advantages?
Funestine noticed her embarrassment, without divining the motive. “My sister,” she said, “I frighten you; if my sentiments and your amity do not make you forget that I am ugly, you could not tolerate me.” Such an ingenuous kindness made Rêveuse blush at her weakness, but did nothing to dissipate it; she was a young woman, and Virtue had not been her mistress.
Meanwhile, Clair-obscur, anxious about the fate of the Princess of Australia, consulted his mirror. He returned to it several times; he wiped the glass, he turned it in all directions, he rubbed his eyes, but did not find what he was looking for. The same object was presented there obstinately: a perfectly beautiful young woman. That could not be Funestine, and it made him impatient. It might well be, he said to himself, that Imagination and Virtue have rendered her less nasty, but that they have rendered her beautiful surpasses their powers, and I’m not simple enough to believe it.
In order to get out of his anxiety he set forth for his island, but one of the springs of his chariot broke as he was passing over Cythera. He landed, and while it was being repaired he went for a walk in the gardens. He found Amour there, who was amusing himself sharpening his arrows on a stone stained with the blood of hearts that he had wounded.
“You’re at a loose end,” the genius said to him. “If you care to take a little trip with me, I’ll give you an occupation and I’ll show you a palace that might not seem to you to be in bad taste. I love a princess; I intend and want to make her marry my son; she has intelligence but she’s indocile; I warn you, too, that she isn’t pretty, but I’ve got it into my head to make her my daughter-in-law. I’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to render her supportable, but thus far I haven’t had a great deal of success. Marvelous things are said about your power; I knew something about that once, but I’m liberated from your pains and pleasures now. Write on one of your arrows the name of Formosa and on another the name of Funestine, and make use of them to wound them mutually.
“Where are they?” asked Amour.
“One is off fighting somewhere; the other is in the Palace of Eventualities. Let’s begin with the princess; that’s the more urgent. I’ve put her in the hands of Imagination and Virtue, but you can do more in two minutes than they’ve done until now.”
“In truth, Sire Genius,” said Amour, “you can’t think so. Pass for Imagination; she’s my friend; but Virtue can’t stand me; she’ll quarrel with me, and I won’t endure it; I’ll get carried away.”
“Good, good,” said Clair-obscur. “You can handle her; it’s only a matter of fooling her; in any case, we have only to hide what we’re doing from her.”
“Let’s go, then,” said Amour. “I won’t refuse, but I can foresee the enterprise going badly.”
When they arrived at the Palace of Eventualities the genius said: “How do you like all this?”
Amour, less difficult than the fays, seemed content with it.
“Funestine is in the little house you can see in front of us. I’ll go make enquiries and come back to give you an account of my discoveries.
He penetrated all the way to the princess’s bedroom, but only found Imaé asleep there. The opportunity was favorable; he picked her up. “Quickly, Amour!” he shouted, while running. “Quickly! It’s all set. In order to introduce yourself, take the resemblance of this sleeper; she’s Funestine’s favorite and confidant.”
“I’m not fortunate in disguise,” Amour replied. “I remember having made a rather thin personage under the features of Ascanius and Eucharis.68 I even fear greatly for an author who has made me take on the name and features of a certain Aglaure in a comedy he’s preparing for the public.69 No matter; I’m still ready to attempt the adventure. How do you find me?”
“So similar that I’m confusing the true and false Imaé. At least refrain from wounding Funestine for anyone except Formosa, and do your best to give her a little beauty.”
Amour introduced himself into the princess’s chamber, and saw her come in with Rêveuse; he found them both so beautiful that he thought that neither of them could be Funestine, unless that the genius had deceived him. While he was seeking to clarify the matter, Funestine, mistaking him for Imaé, came to kiss him. Rêveuse caressed him in her turn. The perfidious individual smiled and, wanting to make himself loved, he forgot F
ormosa and only occupied himself with pleasing them. His uncertainty regarding the choice saved the two sisters.
After that great measure of prudence the genius encountered Virtue, who informed him of what he had done for Funestine.
“When will you take me to see her?” he said.
“Right away,” Virtue replied, “but it’s necessary to promise me first that you won’t show any surprise and that you won’t say anything about her beauty.”
“I’ll consent to anything you wish,” replied Clair-obscur, “but I admit that I don’t really understand what you’re saying about her beauty. Isn’t she ugly?”
“You can judge for yourself,” she added. “Follow me.”
Funestine received him with an air of nobility and mildness that he did not expect. “I have so many obligations to you,” she told him, “that I don’t know how to express my gratitude to you; my words would enfeeble its vivacity, only my conduct can enable you to see its full extent; I will be fortunate if it effaces my first imprudences.”
The genius, less attentive to that discourse than dazzled by the splendor by which he was struck, remained motionless. It was not the fear of disobliging Virtue that prevented him from speaking, but admiration. He would still have been admiring if the goddess, fearing some indiscretion on his part, had not said to Funestine that her masters were waiting for her. Seeing the false Imaé following her mistress, Clair-obscur made signs of intelligence to her, which she pretended not to understand.
“Are you content with me?” Virtue said when they were alone.
“Content?” he replied. “I’m enthused. To make you see that I’m not ingrate, would you like my island? I’ll give it to you, with all it contains. I confess that I didn’t believe that you were so skillful. This reeks of prodigy; it’s a veritable one. If I knew your secret, I like beautiful women so much there wouldn’t be any ugly ones in the world any longer. But is it really possible that Funestine doesn’t know what she is? A young woman who is beautiful but doesn’t suspect it! There’s only her in the world of that species. I’m not opposing your ideas, but it seems to me that that ignorance is depriving her of the greatest pleasure of her life. Will you leave her for long without informing her of your benefits? Will it be my son who will inform her?”
Without replying to hose frivolous questions, Virtue asked him what Prince Formosa was doing.
“He’s frankly irresponsible,” he told her, “and utterly headstrong. He hasn’t wanted my advice or my help. I believe he’s attached to a fortified city that he desires to take by storm, and I’m very much afraid that he might be obliged to lift the siege.”
“Don’t worry,” said Virtue. “All will go well. Go and tell him that I beg him, when the city has surrendered, to come and find me at the Palace of Eventualities. It’s necessary to make him think of marrying Funestine; if you haven’t changed your opinion about the marriage I presume that you’d like me to take care of it.”
“With all my heart,” replied he genius. “I’ll go in search of him, and bring him to you.”
He was getting ready to depart when he saw Rêveuse appear. “O gods!” he cried. “What do I see? How feeble chagrin is against such a charming sight! Princess...”
In order to interrupt a discourse that displeased her, Virtue sent Rêveuse to join her sister; she curtseyed and drew away.
“You’re very wicked,” said Clair-obscur, “to have taken away from me the pleasure of seeing her and talking to her; I felt enough intelligence to please her, and enough amour to touch her.
“I won’t make you long reproaches regarding the imprudence of your sentiments,” replied Virtue. “You don’t doubt that I condemn them, and however little reason you have left, you ought to condemn them yourself. What has the queen done for you to repudiate her? I demand of you that you resume for her the tenderness that she merits; I want you to be reunited; that’s the sole price that I put on the services I’ve rendered you.”
Clair-obscur hesitated, but when Virtue wants something strongly she makes herself obeyed. He promised her everything, and did not break his word.
Amour could not make up his mind. His arrows were all in his quiver. The elder is the more beautiful, he said to himself, but Virtue is defending her heart, and I don’t like difficulties. I’d better stick to the younger; it’s true that her beauty, striking as it is, doesn’t have the charm I’m looking for, which arrests me when I find it. Oh well. I’ll only love her for a moment.
In spite of his indecision, his power acted upon the two sisters. Uncertain, irresolute amour is nevertheless amour; its presence is always dangerous. Funestine became distracted, less applied to her exercises, less tranquil. Virtue noticed that change, and was astonished by it. She examined her; she interrogated her. The princess agreed, without excusing herself, that she was experiencing stirrings whose cause she did not know, and that her languor was increasing by the hour.
The false Imaé lent an ear maliciously to that speech. Virtue looked at her; nothing escapes her penetration and she recognized the author of the disorder. She took him apart and said to him: “Did you think you could deceive me with that disguise? Why have you come to interfere with my work? Don’t you know that the hearts I protect are not in your jurisdiction? I’ll soon render you master of Funestine’s, but wait until I call you; you won’t gain anything by anticipating my arrangements. Go away, Amour; I won’t make you wait; when you establish yourself somewhere, nothing expels you.”
“I could dispute the terrain with you,” he replied, “but I don’t want it to be said that we’re never in accord; I cede to you with good grace.” While speaking in that fashion he picked up his arrows. He appeared beautiful, even in the eyes of Virtue.
“It’s a pity,” she said to him, “that you only have the appearance.”
“There you go,” he went on, “You’re always ready to decry me, but I’m not in a mood to get annoyed today. Adieu, remember our conditions. I’m counting on it, because you’re not a liar. I’ll send you Zephyr. When you need me, give him your orders.”
Clair-obscur, intent on his project, was prowling around the Palace of Eventualities. There’s no hurry, he said to himself, about going to find my son, and I can always find my wife son enough. Let’s find out, before leaving, what Amour is doing. I’ll be delighted to take Formosa the news that Funestine is mild, beautiful and sensible.
While he was occupied in reasoning so sanely, Amour passed in front of him.
“What, victorious already!” he said to him. “I don’t suspect you of having quit the game; you’ve triumphed, since I see you.”
“I suspected,” replied Amour, “that you were going to cause me to make a false step, and that I’d be discovered. Sire Genius, I wish you good day; I don’t believe that we’ll be seen together for a long time.” Having said that, he flew away. Clair-obscur made no reply, and departed in his own direction.
The next day saw a singular example of the inconstancy of things down here. Rêveuse found herself so changed when she woke up that she had difficulty recognizing herself. There were the same eyes, the same features, but there were no longer the same charms. What became of her? Only those who have been in the same situation can say.
Her beauty was the work of the fays; it ended when they ceased to exist. The sad princess was afraid to look at herself, and did not dare show herself. Imagination, Docility, Virtue and Funestine did everything they could to console her. Did they reassure her? You might doubt it, as I do.
The fays were nothing less than tranquil. Having become mortal, their empire was collapsing day by day. The good or the evil that they had done in the world was so slight that their existence had hardly been noticed. What a change! What a reverse! The desire to avenge themselves sometimes drew them out of the languor into which the dolorous sentiment of their condition plunged them, but the scant success of their attempts immediately threw them into a confusion mingled with despair.
They had tried to introduce themselves
into the presence of Funestine in order to annihilate the designs of Virtue and Imagination, or at least suspend their effects; far from being able to enter the inaccessible island, they could not even find it. They cited the two fays at their tribunal, who did not appear, and were demoted. Dissatisfied with a futile vengeance, they turned their fury against Formosa, who triumphed over the obstacles that their malice created with as much facility as if they had not been raised.
In that extremity, what course of action could they take? Only one presented itself, the idea of which filled them with horror: recourse to Clair-obcur! Ask him for peace! What shame! What ignominy! They were too proud to consent to it, and the genius was too irritated to sacrifice his resentment for them.
“Well,” said one of them, then, who had a bad cold, the consequences of which she feared, “give me the power to act. I won’t betray either the interests or the honor of Faerie. You know that I’m not maladroit. If, at the beginning of our quarrel with Clair-obscur, I had been permitted to respond to him, we wouldn’t be reduced to seeking expedients to appease him. This is what I propose. You know Pacific; I have some credit with that genius, he has some with Clair-obscur. I’ll ask him to talk to him, and to arrange a reasonable accommodation between us, of which these are the conditions: He’ll promise....”
“No, no,” said those who were listening, interrupting “If he promises anything, he’ll run the risk of being disfavored.”
“How quick you are,” replied the fay. “He’ll promise to dispose us to receive him well if he comes to render us immortality. You can see that I’m not going too far. If, however, Clair-obscur demands some other evidence of benevolence, I don’t believe that you’re sufficiently enemies of yourselves not to hear him. You’re shaking your heads; apparently you’re not thinking about what an ugly thing it is to die. In any case, if he employs good grace, as I don’t doubt, for he’s quick-tempered, but he doesn’t hold a grudge, we can, for our part, do something for this Funestine who has such a strong hold on his heart.”
Funestine and Other Adventures in Romancia Page 27