Hulda, encountering Aag at this moment, ogled his silhouette in a flattering manner—then tackled new verses: “The Lord of Ruge loved Caditte, the chaste leading lady of Mysteries, who demanded in exchange for her hand that he, like her, would convert to Klormisme, a dissident religion then in fashion. Accusing her jokingly of pilfering his heart, Ruge obeyed—and, like every Klormist neophyte, was required, as a sign of zeal, to write with his blood the gospel of the Dishonored City: In those days Jesus was traveling through the lustful city of Gouffar, when suddenly he saw its famous motto outrageously displayed in letters of solid gold on the façade of a public building: Fornication depreciates once it becomes marital. And Jesus having pointed at the gold, it formed in place of the motto an anathema in enormous letters: Gouffar, Disgraced City. Terrified, the Gouffarians fled—and mended their ways. So successfully that a year later, as Jesus was walking beside a field, he saw a working woman approaching him—a former Gouffarian jade, who proudly showed him her calloused hands. And the Lord of Ruge became a happy husband.
Another meeting … and Hulda slipped into the famous wood followed by Aag, who, having pushed back his cowl, killed her on the spot and left her there to the mercy of the ravens, who quickly transformed her into a skeleton—soon to be gathered up by Suleil, who, keeping in mind the applauding elves, endowed her with supernatural virtues.
Having placed his ear between the jaws of the skeleton in search of counsels, Suleil composes a mixture which he gives to Gerta.
* * *
8. The famous Ordeal of the Perch. Granor VII’s sham adversaries were secretly drugged—effectually or not? there is nothing to indicate which—and the king, adorned with the icicle diamond lent as a good-luck charm by Tinophir, won a normal victory.
Here the leader of the pilgrims fell silent—and the pious procession left the tomb of Angelo Essermos.
Fifth Document
In 1905, the newly promoted colonel of the 56th Infantry regiment decided to revive a certain anniversary which had unjustly fallen into neglect.
For as long as anyone could remember, each senior officer of the regiment had honorifically kept in his possession a medal depicting St. George, the patron saint of soldiers.
One of these, Armand Vage, acting on an anonymous tip, had one day discovered his wife in flagrante delicto—and had performed so well with a truncheon that a serious wound, the result of a sound thrashing, had made him a widower, easily acquitted by the court.
Vage’s only relative was an older sister, an avaricious spinster from whom he inherited among other things a piece of cardboard pierced with two holes, which could only have been a cipher-stencil for locating a buried treasure.
The deceased, a great reader, had selected pages with the aid of scissors, glue, and sheets of cardboard, the latter of the same dimensions as the stencil, indicating that one should look there.
Disregarding the instances in which the two holes encircled nothing of interest, Vage, seeking illumination, meditated on these gists of pages:
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1. The conspiracy of the Ardecists—who have gathered together at a banquet to choose a ringleader, either Balu or Dircet. On the menu is chicken with a new sauce that needs naming. “Poulet à la Flourdas,” proposes Balu, who goes on to laud the antique virtues of his hero:
Flourdas discovers that his father is the leader of a band of forgers who, to cover their traces, operate on an island. Inflexible, Flourdas’s conscience turns him informer, resulting in the setting up of a police trap leading to mass arrests—and the suicide of his father, who has time to leap from a window.
Dircet, as a rival, raises captious objections concerning the case: Is one to admire Flourdas for his strength or condemn him as a parricide?
“Poulet à la Flourdas,” shout the assembled conspirators, who, realizing the worth of an energetic man, choose Balu as their leader.6
* * *
2. Lodet’s fable of the Two Neighbors. Sangal, an enthusiastic gourmet who likes only rich dishes, boasts that he can recite a thousand notable menus. His neighbor Dess, a model of sobriety, takes pleasure only in the constant embellishment of his garden. As a result of his excesses, Sangal dies prematurely after long suffering. Dess, on the contrary, serenely attains an age so advanced that he is able to observe the superannuation of certain tulips whose hybridization he had witnessed.
* * *
3. The confiteor of Crude, who covets at the same time as Barnille the hand of the hesitant Enice. Crude dreams of utilizing a certain neurotic fear of storms that afflicts his rival, so as to eliminate him. On the eve of an excursion planned by the trio, Crude ascends to the sky to find Ornigec, who is specially charged with determining the length of lightning flashes—and pays him to dispense them in good measure at the appointed hour. Next day, during their promenade, Ornigec outdoes himself, and Barnille exhibits such cowardice that the disgusted Enice becomes affianced to Crude. Later, the happily married Crude experiences remorse for his tactic, which leads him to confess.
* * *
4. The prediction of Nadéac. A fervent yachtsman, the haughty Count of Festol receives visitors only in audience because he is descended from a certain bastard son of a king of Neustria. The wall of his yacht’s cabin is adorned with a grayish map of old Europe, in which Neustria stands out in bright red. At the moment of undertaking a long crossing, he gives audience to the renowned wizard Gourtane, who, as is his custom, appears costumed as Caliban—and soon predicts a shipwreck for him while examining the figures traced on a sheet of white paper in black dust which he scatters from a phial held over it. Furious and deeply disturbed, Festol has Gourtane seized by his servants and succeeds in extracting from him a comforting confession of charlatanism: Instead of drumming up business through a reputation as an invariably superior prophet, Gourtane, in order to tinge his alleged supernaturality with an appearance of truth, sometimes purposely imitates Cassandra by pretending to rebel in vain against evil powers—such as Caliban, whose costume he has assumed to that end.
* * *
5. The punishable rhymes of Soge, a popular author of irreverent ballads. It is a question of a poster emblazoned, in verse and music of Soge, with a pseudo-letter from King Mostar to his sister, concerning an extra zero added purely in her favor to a sum taken from public funds for the restoration of a lacustrian village ill-used by a waterspout. Now, rumors of incest have circulated with regard to the brother and sister. And the lampooner, to add to the incriminating exaggeration of intimacy contained in the cynicism of the confession, has throughout caused the word “we” to be printed in red instead of black.
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6. The fine didactic role of Anne de Greux, a young widow of the age of Louis XIV, whose hand is sought by a country neighbor, her vassal Gaston de Sessine. Now Anne is a précieuse, and Gaston, orphaned early in life, is, though well-born, unlettered and unpolished. Gaston is not repugnant to Anne, who tames and instructs him, using as a goad when necessary a certain fear that haunts him of being abandoned by his guardian angel, whom, she tells him one day when his English translation is execrable, she will go so far as to exile by a hundred wing-flaps if he fails again.
* * *
7. The hesitations of another young widow of the same era, Solange de Briveneuc, also a précieuse, whom two suitors, d’Arcel and d’Hourcuff, amorously deluge with their poems—and one fine day call upon to choose between them. Solange enjoins each, promising herself to him who best succeeds, to compose some verses about a painting by Querbois showing a giantess, the Plague, with a basket on her back into which she is stuffing heaps of her corpses—and utilizes, on the appointed day, a backsliding ex aequo. Promptly badgered, the procrastinatrix finally resorts to a wager concerning the weather, the winner of which she swears to accept. After a glance at an opaline December sunset, d’Arcel, gainsaid by d’Hourcuff, predicts an impending frost—and, triumphant, soon brings the précieuse a lyre of ice just removed from a mould hastily fabricated in advance. Bu
t Solange, eluding her oath, becomes affianced to d’Hourcuff, whom the unexpected death of a brother the very day before has made an heir to great nobility and wealth.
* * *
8. The megalomania of Estal, a metaphysician with a twin brother, rebuked by his father when, as a naive greenhorn already sufficiently full of himself to see, paranoid, imaginary enemies desperate to extinguish his self-styled budding genius, he had hidden phials everywhere while launching a series of experiments in immunization in the style of Mithridates. Later Estal had to share an inheritance with his brother—and gave him a hefty supplement in order to reestablish a balance necessitated, in his view, by the extraordinary gifts heaven had lavished on him. In reality Estal left behind nothing but a worthless philosophical tome, The Surprising Republic, of which he made Merlin the puppet-president and wherein he attempts in vain to set up striking contrasts between the enchanter’s magical omnipotence and his complete political ossification.
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9. The austere sacred quadrille of the members of the Siliciah, an English religious sect that combats pauperism—a quadrille during which Caudley manages to murmur the words “Solace with a key” to Laura Plyde, his mistress with a jealous husband. After the sacred dance, each member receives, in the form of a tract signed by Caudley, a comforting discourse to be joined to their alms. Warned, Laura examines her copy—and discovers there a phrase with a double meaning canceling a forthcoming rendezvous which was to have been turned into a scandal by a treacherous orchestral serenade directed at the culpable windows.
* * *
10. The futility introduced into the conspiracy of Calogne by the accomplice Félistu, who, something of an ogre, was once kept so long at table by his enormous appetite that it was still being cleared—he having arrived late—at the end of an important council held that day by the affiliates.
* * *
11. The nervousness of the young prince Egelar who, one October evening, as his tutor had just ended his lesson by explicating Bréou’s Game-Board of Civility—a sort of checkerboard school portfolio with illustrated squares, the last of which deals with the disesteem caused by pouring liquor down one’s gullet without touching the flask to one’s lips—felt himself overcome by autumnal blackness, the name he gave to a special melancholy occasioned by the curtailment of the days. As a remedy he resorted to one of his favorite distractions, summoning his two buffoons, Badre and Sinel, whom he incited to taunt each other by appraising them in two columns—with the aim of drawing up two reckonings to be paid in cash.
* * *
12. The solemn nightlong celebration under a beautiful starry sky filled with favorable auguries wherein the century-old tiff between the Proys and the Galiches was finally terminated. Charles and François de Proy, two close-knit twin brothers, had at the age of twenty (the house of Galiche being at that time reduced to an orphaned daughter, Berthe) affectionately resolved the difficulty created by their equal rights to the title of head of a great family: Through methodical permutations each became in turn the elder and the younger brother—until the day when Berthe, having attained her majority, enamored Charles and, totally free to choose a husband, promised herself to him. Fearful of preparing the way for bloody cousinships if he too were to marry, François, leaving his own desires completely out of consideration, retired to a monastery.
* * *
13. The public soliloquy of the patriot Korko against the conqueror Mirissu III, king of Ormada, who, proud of having enlarged his realm on its four cardinal borders, possessed, in addition to that of his ancestors, four golden crowns with symbolic names. As he preached revolt to his oppressed compatriots, Korko shook an effigial gilded crown bearing the word “East”—their region. And such was its intentional fragility that the entire gilt finish fell off little by little. Bolstered by the spectacle of this fall from grace, Korko’s incendiary discourse took hold so successfully that an insurrection soon broke out in that precinct, leading to the recovery of independence.
* * *
14. The sacrilege condoned by Jacqueline de Faublas, younger sister of the famous libertine who, far from protecting her as an elder brother should, shamelessly paid court to her. Jacqueline had in addition two obstinate suitors between whom a dialogue revealed by a door left ajar terrified her. Loyally, one of them, the next morning at five o’clock in the forest of Lul, was to surrender his place entirely to the other through a duel which death alone would decide. Believing that nothing less than a definitive inspiration of unheard-of horror could avert the terrible tragedy, Jacqueline at the calculated moment led her delighted brother into the forest of Lul, on arriving whither the two adversaries were paralyzed by the incestuous spectacle—after which she entered the Carmelite order.
* * *
15. The cynical pride of the rich misdeal-marquis of Bérouce, a country squire, who, when his hand appeared unpromising, would not shrink from inventing a pretext to deal the cards again. In his château, the painted dome of a circular room depicted a ballet danced by the neighboring households of petty squires—and himself, placed symbolically at the zenith. The sight of peasants at work caused him to descend from his coach, spouting odious raillery concerning the rage that the toil they undertook for his profit must inspire in them. One day when he came to amuse himself in this fashion at the expense of a sower, his principal toady dared allude to possibilities of vengeance, whereupon he annulled the writ concerning his promotion.
* * *
16. The argumentative use made by the egalitarian Geordot of the conjugal felicity of the brothers Arthur and Bertrand d’Oclode, who, as descendants of Marcel d’Oclode the Zealous, had each a curious mark on his forehead. Five centuries before, the heroic and triumphant defense of a city gate had left Marcel d’Oclode with, among many other scars, a star-shaped one on his forehead7 produced by several sword thrusts at the same spot. So that this trait so glorious for their house might never be eclipsed, all the newborn sons of the d’Oclodes received on their foreheads an astral abrasion generating an indelible commemorative scar. Now, visibly noble among all but exempt from prejudice, Arthur and Bertrand, following their hearts, had simultaneously married two exquisite peasant girls—and had a year later come to a draw, by each attaining the pinnacle, with regard to a bet whose winner was to be the brother with the happiest lot.
* * *
17. An inspiration felt one glacial nivôse8 evening by Barras, surrounded at home by his cronies, some of whom took advantage of the fact that one breathed freely at last to proclaim their belief in the existence of the soul—denied by the others. Noncommittal at first, Barras suddenly stood up, moved, he said, by the spirit of Marthe Fabian, a long-mourned mistress who was eager to settle the question. As though transformed into an automaton, Barras went to get one of his favorite books, the Novel of the Peninsula by Bias de Priène, one of the seven sages of Greece, set on an imaginary peninsula which the author, encapsulating certain truths involving prominent contemporaries, peoples with an independent society of upright citizens with an ideal government. From this book Barras removed a dried daisy given him by Marthe Fabian and plucked its petals one by one while murmuring freeze, thaw, ending with the latter word. The next day a sudden rise in temperature rendered the believers’ side victorious.
* * *
18. An amorous defeat suffered by the Duc d’Aumale in the wings of the Comédie Française, where Claude Bonnal’s Conquest of Algeria was being performed. The duke had come to see himself on the stage taking a relaxing horseback ride on the eve of a battle while reciting his favorite poem, the famous Playful Pastoral by Charles d’Orléans; then, at the junction of two roads, dispatching several ambushed Arabs and nonchalantly continuing to recite his verses the while, his stage mount unfazed by the crackling gunfire; and finally espying the arrival of a young native girl amazed at her own tranquil bravura, whom he would go on to seduce—a splendid but virtuous actress, a true Mohammedan whose French diction was flawless. Enchanted, the duke had between
the acts expressed to Nourdah his desire to see her pass, insofar as regarded him, from the level of fiction to reality. Impregnable, Nourdah, so as to gild the pill of her refusal in a flattering manner, had recited in Levantine lingua franca—then translated—a passage from the Koran that speaks of corollaries to be deduced from the fact that one can list thirteen plants which, unlike the heliotrope, turn timidly away from the sun.
* * *
19. An example of wise mansuetude provided by the portraitist Crustal. At the age of thirty, as one of a numerous houseful of guests, Crustal was living in the château of the Comte de Bervé, where it was the custom for everyone to assemble each morning for breakfast. One day a ravishing girl of ten entered the dining room uttering a “Good morning, Philippe” which intersected the “Good morning, Philippine” from a boy her own age. Who had spoken first, Fred or Alice? With the anticipated prize at stake9 the other children deliberated—and their vote gave rise to a verdict which, favorable to Fred, transformed Alice into such a pretty little weeping thing that Crustal dashed off a sketch of her on the spur of the moment. Later, having matured into a marvelous young maiden, Alice, at his ardent request, and dazzled by his success, married the talented and still handsome Crustal—and several years of happiness ensued. One August evening, having discerned his wife and a young male friend silhouetted in a tender embrace against a gleam of nocturnal light that persisted in the west, he went back indoors, mad with rage, to get a revolver—and stopped, riveted to the spot by the sight of the famous childhood sketch, which never left his possession. Induced by a sudden realization of their disproportionate ages to see in himself a Géronte10 playing a juvenile role, he vowed to shut his eyes to the circumstance—and kept his word.
* * *
20. The appellation “haloed native” given by Prouglot in his “Proverbs Belied” to the sixteenth-century astrologer Bulias, a prophet in his own country. Luckily launched in his natal city by the timely realization of a prediction, made for the subsequent solstice, of the favorable outcome of a scandalous trial, Bulias, venal by nature, seized on the windfall to enrich himself by charging exorbitant prices for his horoscopes.
Collected French Translations: Prose Page 14