“Here’s to your health, Maurille; but I was told that your husband knew something about the disappearance of Honey-Bee.”
“That’s true, your lordship. Though he never was taught anything he learnt a great deal in the pothouses and the taverns. And he never forgot anything. Why if he were alive now and sitting at this table he could tell you stories until to-morrow. He used to tell me so many that they quite muddled my head and even now I can’t tell the tail of one from the head of the other. That’s true, your lordship.”
Indeed, it was true, for the head of the old nurse could only be compared to a cracked soup-pot. It was with the greatest difficulty that George and Francoeur got anything good out of it. Finally, however, by means of much repetition they did extract a tale which began somewhat as follows:
“It’s seven years ago, your lordship, the very day you and Honey-Bee went on that frolic from which neither of you ever returned. My deceased husband went up the mountain to sell a horse. That’s the truth. He fed the beast with a good peck of oats soaked in cider to give him a firm leg and a brilliant eye; he took him to market near the mountain. He had no cause to regret his oats or his cider, for he sold his horse for a much better price. Beasts are like human beings; one judges them by their appearance. My deceased husband was so rejoiced at his good stroke of business that he invited his friends to drink with him, and glass in hand he drank to their health.
“You must know, your lordship, that there wasn’t a man in all Clarides could equal my husband when glass in hand he drank to the health of his friends. So much so that on that day, after a number of such compliments, when he returned alone at twilight he took the wrong road for the reason that he could not recognise the right one. Finding himself near a cavern he saw as distinctly as possible, considering his condition and the hour, a crowd of little men carrying a girl or a boy on a litter. He ran away for fear of ill-luck; for the wine had not robbed him of prudence. But at some distance from the cavern he dropped his pipe, and on stooping to pick it up he picked up instead a little satin shoe. When he was in a good humour he used to amuse himself by saying, ‘It’s the first time a pipe has changed into a shoe.’ And as it was the shoe of a little girl he decided that she who had lost it in the forest was the one who had been carried away by the dwarfs and that it was this he had seen. He was about to put the shoe into his pocket when a crowd of little men in hoods pounced down on him and gave him such a thrashing that he lay there quite stunned.”
“Maurille! Maurille!” cried George, “it’s Honey-Bee’s shoe. Give it to me and I will kiss it a thousand times. It shall rest for ever on my heart, and when I die it shall be buried with me.”
“As you please, your lordship; but where will you find it? The dwarfs took it away from my poor husband and he always thought that they only gave him such a sound thrashing because he wanted to put it in his pocket to show to the magistrates. He used to say when he was in a good humour — —”
“Enough — enough! Only tell me the name of the cavern!”
“It is called the cavern of the dwarfs, your lordship, and very well named too. My deceased husband — —”
“Not another word, Maurille! But you. Francoeur, do you know where this cavern is?”
“Your lordship,” replied Francoeur as he emptied the pot of beer, “you would certainly know it if you knew my songs better. I have written at least a dozen about this cavern, and I’ve described it without even forgetting a single sprig of moss. I venture to say, your lordship, that of these dozen songs, six are of great merit. And even the other six are not to be despised. I will sing you one or two....”
“Francoeur,” cried George, “we will take possession of this cavern of the dwarfs and rescue Honey-Bee.”
“Of course we will!” replied Francoeur.
XXI
In which a perilous adventure is described
That night when all were asleep George and Francoeur crept into the lower hall in search of weapons. Lances, swords, dirks, broadswords, hunting-knives and daggers glittered under the time-stained rafters — everything necessary to kill both man and brute. A complete suit of armour stood upright under each beam in an attitude as resolute and proud as if it were still filled with the soul of the brave man it had once decked for mighty adventures. The gauntlet grasped the lance in its ten iron fingers, while the shield rested against the plates of the greaves as if to prove that prudence is necessary to courage, and that the best fighter is armed as well for defence as for attack.
From among all these suits of armour George chose the one that Honey-Bee’s father had worn as far away as the isles of Avalon and Thule. He donned it with the aid of Francoeur, nor did he forget the shield on which was emblazoned the golden sun of Clarides. As for Francoeur, he put on a good old steel coat of mail of his grandfather’s and on his head a casque of a bygone time, to which he attached a ragged and moth-eaten tuft or plume. This he chose merely as a matter of fancy and to give himself an air of rejoicing, for, as he justly reasoned, gaiety, which is good under every circumstance, is especially so in the face of great dangers.
Having thus armed themselves they passed under the light of the moon into the dark open country. Francoeur had fastened the horses on the edge of a little grove near the postern, and there he found them nibbling at the bark of the bushes; they were swift steeds, and it took them less than an hour to reach the mountain of the dwarfs, through a crowd of goblins and phantoms.
“Here is the cave,” said Francoeur.
Master and man dismounted and, sword in hand, penetrated into the cavern. It required great courage to attempt such an adventure; but George was in love and Francoeur was faithful, and this was a case in which one could say with the most delightful of poets:
“What may not friendship do with Love for guide!”
Master and man had trudged through the gloom for nearly an hour when they were astonished to see a brilliant light. It was one of the meteors which we know illumines the kingdom of the dwarfs. By the light of this subterranean luminary they discovered that they were standing at the foot of an ancient castle.
“This,” said George, “is the castle we must capture.”
“To be sure,” said Francceur; “but first permit me to drink a few drops of this wine which I brought with me as a precaution, because the better the wine the better the man, and the better the man the better the lance, the better the lance the less dangerous the enemy.”
George, seeing no living soul, struck the hilt of his sword sharply against the door of the castle. He looked up at the sound of a little tremulous voice, and he saw at one of the windows a little old man with a long beard, who asked:
“Who are you!”
“George of Blanchelande.”
“And who do you want?”
“I have come to deliver Honey-Bee of Clarides whom you unjustly hold captive in your mole-hill, hideous little moles that you are!”
The dwarf disappeared and again George was left alone with Francoeur who said to him:
“Your lordship, possibly I may exaggerate if I remark that in your answer to the dwarf you have not quite exhausted all the persuasive powers of eloquence.”
Francoeur was afraid of nothing, but he was old; his heart like his head was polished by age, and he disliked to offend people.
As for George he stormed and clamoured at the top of his voice.
“Vile dwellers in the earth, moles, badgers, dormice, ferrets, and water-rats, open the door and I’ll cut off all your ears.”
But hardly had he uttered these words when the bronze door of the castle slowly opened of itself, for no one could be seen pushing back its enormous wings.
George was seized with terror and yet he sprang through the mysterious door because his courage was even greater than his terror. Entering the courtyard he saw that all the windows, the galleries, the roofs, the gables, the skylights, and even the chimney-pots, were crowded with dwarfs armed with bows and cross-bows.
He heard th
e bronze door close behind him and suddenly a shower of arrows fell thick and fast on his head and shoulders, and for the second time he was filled with a great fear, and for the second time he conquered his fear.
Sword in hand and his shield on his arm he mounted the steps until suddenly he perceived on the very highest, a majestic dwarf who stood there in serene dignity, gold sceptre in hand and wearing the royal crown and the purple mantle. And in this dwarf he recognised the little man who had delivered him out of his crystal dungeon.
Thereupon he threw himself at his feet and cried weeping:
“O my benefactor, who are you? Are you one of those who have robbed me of Honey-Bee, whom I love?”
“I am King Loc,” replied the dwarf. “I have kept Honey-Bee with me to teach her the wisdom of the dwarfs. Child, you have fallen into my kingdom like a hail-storm in a garden of flowers. But the dwarfs, less weak than men, are never angered as are they. My intelligence raises me too high above you for me to resent your actions whatever they are. And of all the attributes that render me superior to you that which I guard most jealously is justice. Honey-Bee shall be brought before me and I will ask her if she wishes to follow you. This I do, not because you desire it, but because I must.”
A great silence ensued and Honey-Bee appeared attired all in white and with flowing golden hair. No sooner did she see George than she ran and threw herself in his arms and clasped his iron breast with all her strength.
Then King Loc said to her:
“Honey-Bee, is it true that this is the man you wish to marry?”
“It is true, very true that this is he, little King Loc,” replied Honey-Bee. “See, all you little men, how I laugh and how happy I am.”
And she began to weep. Her tears fell on her lover’s face, but they were tears of joy; and with them were mingled tiny bursts of laughter and a thousand endearing words without sense, like the lisp of a little child. She quite forgot that the sight of her joy might sadden the heart of King Loc.
“My beloved,” said George, “I find you again such as I had longed for: the fairest and dearest of beings. You love me! Thank heaven, you love me! But, Honey-Bee, do you not also love King Loc a little, who delivered me out of the glass dungeon in which the nixies held me captive far away from you?”
Honey-Bee turned to King Loc.
“Little King Loc, and did you do this?” she cried. “You loved me, and yet you rescued the one I love and who loves me — —”
Words failed her and she fell on her knees, her head in her hands.
All the little men who witnessed this scene deluged their cross-bows with tears. Only King Loc remained serene. And Honcy-Bee, overcome by his magnanimity and his goodness, felt for him the love of a daughter for a father.
She took her lover’s hand.
“George,” she said, “I love you. God knows how much I love you. But how can I leave little King Loc?”
“Hallo, there?” King Loc cried in a terrible voice, “now you are my prisoners!”
But this terrible voice he only used for fun and just as a joke, for he really was not at all angry. Here Francoeur approached and knelt before him.
“Sire,” he cried, “may it please your Majesty to let me share the captivity of the masters I serve?”
Said Honey-Bee, recognising him:
“Is it you, my good Francoeur? How glad I am to see you again. What a horrid cap you’ve got on! Tell me, have you composed any new songs?”
And King Loc took them all three to dinner.
XXII
In which all ends well
The next morning Honey-Bee, George and Francoeur again arrayed themselves in the splendid garments prepared for them by the dwarfs, and proceeded to the banquet-hall where, as he had promised, King Loc, in the robes of an Emperor, soon joined them. He was followed by his officers fully armed, and covered with furs of barbarous magnificence, and in their helmets the wings of swans. Crowds of hurrying dwarfs came in through the windows, the air-holes and the chimneys, and rolled under the benches.
King Loc mounted a stone table one end of which was laden with flagons, candelabra, tankards, and cups of gold of marvellous workmanship. He signed to Honey-Bee and to George to approach.
“Honey-Bee,” he said, “by a law of the nation of the dwarfs it is decreed that a stranger received in our midst shall be free after seven years. You have been with us seven years, Honey-Bee, and I should be a disloyal citizen and a blameworthy king should I keep you longer. But before permitting you to go I wish, not having been able to wed you myself, to betroth you to the one you have chosen. I do so with joy for I love you more than I love myself, and my pain, if such remains, is like a little cloud which your happiness will dispel. Honey-Bee of Clarides, Princess of the Dwarfs, give me your hand, and you, George of Blanchelande, give me yours.”
Placing the hand of George in the hand of Honey-Bee he turned to his people and said with a ringing voice:
“Little men, my children, you bear witness that these two pledge themselves to marry one another on earth. They shall go back together and together help courage, modesty, and fidelity to blossom, as roses, pinks, and peonies bloom for good gardeners.”
At these words the dwarfs burst into a mighty shout, but not knowing if they ought to grieve or to rejoice, they were torn by conflicting emotions.
King Loc, again turning to the lovers, said as he pointed to the flagons, the tankards, all the beautiful art of the goldsmith:
“Behold the gifts of the dwarfs. Take them, Honey-Bee, they will remind you of your little friends. It is their gift to you, not mine. What I am about to give you, you shall know before long.”
A lengthy silence ensued.
With an expression sublime in its tenderness, King Loc gazed at Honey-Bee, whose beautiful and radiant head, crowned by roses, rested on her lover’s shoulder.
Then he continued:
“My children, it is not enough to love passionately; you must also love well. A passionate love is good doubtless, but a beautiful love is better. May you have as much strength as gentleness; may it lack nothing, not even forbearance, and let even a little compassion be mingled with it. You are young, fair and good; but you are human, and because of this capable of much suffering. If then something of compassion does not enter into the feelings you have one for the other, these feelings will not always befit all the circumstances of your life together; they will be like festive robes that will not shield you from wind and rain. We love truly only those we love even in their weakness and their poverty. To forbear, to forgive, to console, that alone is the science of love.”
King Loc paused, seized by a gentle but strong emotion.
“My children,” he then continued; “may you be happy; guard your happiness well, guard it well.”
While he addressed them Pic, Tad, Dig, Bob, True, and Pau clung to Honey-Bee’s white mantle and covered her hands and arms with kisses and they implored her not to leave them. Thereupon King Loc took from his girdle a ring set with a glittering gem. It was the magic ring which had unclosed the dungeon of the nixies. He placed it on Honey-Bee’s finger.
“Honey-Bee,” he said, “receive from my hand this ring which will permit you, you and your husband, to enter at any hour the kingdom of the dwarfs. You will be welcomed with joy and succoured at need. In return teach the children that will be yours not to despise the little men, so innocent and industrious, who dwell under the earth.”
THAÏS
Translated by Robert B. Douglas
Thaïs was first published in 1890 in France and the title of the work is a reference to Saint Thaïs of Egypt, a supposed convert to Christianity in fourth century Alexandria. She is portrayed as a beautiful and wealthy courtesan, who comes to repent her behaviour and lifestyle when she discovers Christianity. She is sent to a convent cell for three years to demonstrate penance for her sins. When she is finally released she spends just over two weeks with the nuns in the desert before she dies. An early source on the tale of the
conversion is the 9th century play Paphnutius, written by Hrotsvitha of Gandersheim, detailing the importance of ‘Saint Paphnutius the Ascetic’ in Thaïs’ journey to faith. It has been argued, although not agreed upon, that the tale of Thaïs’ conversion was one created to serve as a moral lesson and underline the possibility of change, and the necessity of repentance.
France’s novel is an interesting and unique exploration of the story, which involves subverting the traditional moral message of Thaïs’ conversion to Christianity. Paphnuce is an anchorite that decides he should leave his desert dwelling and venture to Alexandria to attempt to convert the famous actress and courtesan Thaïs to Christianity. France’s depiction of Thaïs and her journey does not deviate too much from the known story, but his portrayal of Paphnuce and the ascetic lifestyle, demonstrates an intriguing inversion of the classic story, and an entirely different comment on the Christian morality tale, while never rejecting religion.
‘Saint Thaïs’ by José de Ribera
1922 French edition
CONTENTS
PART THE FIRST — THE LOTUS
PART THE SECOND — THE PAPYRUS
THE BANQUET
PART THE THIRD — THE EUPHORBIA
Image of Mary Garden in the opera Thais
PART THE FIRST — THE LOTUS
In those days there were many hermits living in the desert. On both banks of the Nile numerous huts, built by these solitary dwellers, of branches held together by clay, were scattered at a little distance from each other, so that the inhabitants could live alone, and yet help one another in case of need. Churches, each surmounted by a cross, stood here and there amongst the huts, and the monks flocked to them at each festival to celebrate the services or to partake of the Communion. There were also, here and there on the banks of the river, monasteries, where the cenobites lived in separate cells, and only met together that they might the better enjoy their solitude.
Complete Works of Anatole France Page 38