MONSIEUR DE LA ROCHECOUPÉE, the Prime Minister who, under the feeble
King Cloche, governed the kingdom, respected popular beliefs, as all
great statesmen respect them. Caesar was Pontifex Maximus, and Napoleon
had himself crowned by the Pope. Monsieur de La Rochecoupée admitted
the power of the fairies. He was by no means sceptical, by no means
incredulous. He did not suggest that the prediction of the seven
godmothers was false. But, being helpless, he did not allow it to
disturb him. His temperament was such that he did not worry about evils
which he was impotent to remedy. In any case, so far as could be judged,
the occurrence foretold was not imminent. Monsieur de La Rochecoupée
viewed events as a statesman, and statesmen never look beyond the
present moment. I am speaking of the shrewdest and most far-sighted.
After all, supposing one day the King’s daughter did fall asleep for a
hundred years, it was, in his eyes, purely a family matter, seeing that
women were excluded from the throne by the Salic Law.
He had, as he said, plenty of other fish to fry. Bankruptcy, hideous
bankruptcy was ever present, threatening to consume the wealth and the
honour of the nation. Famine was raging in the kingdom, and millions of
unfortunate wretches were eating plaster instead of bread. That year the
opera ball was more brilliant and the masques finer than ever.
The peasantry, artisans, and shopkeepers, and the girls of the theatre,
vied with one another in grieving over the fatal curse inflicted by
Alcuine upon the innocent Princess. The lords of the Court, on the
contrary, and the princes of the blood royal, appeared very indifferent
to it. And there were on all hands men of business and students of
science who did not believe in the award of the fairies, for the very
good reason that they did not believe in fairies.
Such a one was Monsieur Boulingrin, Secretary of State for the Treasury.
Those who ask how it was possible that he should not believe in them
since he had seen them are unaware of the lengths to which scepticism
can go in an argumentative mind. Nourished on Lucretius, imbued with
the doctrines of Epicurus and Gassendi, he often provoked Monsieur de La
Rochecoupée by the display of a cold disbelief in fairies.
The Prime Minister would say to him: “If not for your own sake, be a
believer for that of the public. Seriously, my dear Boulingrin, that
there are moments when I wonder which of us two is the more credulous in
respect of fairies. I never think of them, and you are always talking of
them.”
Monsieur de Boulingrin dearly loved the Duchess of Cicogne, wife of the
ambassador to Vienna, first lady-in-waiting to the Queen, who belonged
to the highest aristocracy of the realm; a witty woman, somewhat lean,
and a trifle close, who was losing her income, her estates, and her very
chemise at faro. She showed much kindness to Monsieur de Boulingrin,
lending herself to an intercourse for which she had no temperamental
inclination, but which she thought suitable to her rank, and useful to
her interests. Their intrigue was conducted with an art which revealed
their good taste, and the elegance of the prevailing morality;
the connection was openly avowed, and thereby stripped of all base
hypocrisy; but it was at the same time so reserved in appearance that
even the severest critics saw no cause for censure in it.
During the time which the Duchess yearly spent on her estate, Monsieur
de Boulingrin used to stay in an old pigeon-house, separated from his
friend’s château by a sunken road, which skirted a marsh, where by night
the frogs among the reeds tuned their diligent voices.
Now, one evening when the last rays of the setting sun were dying the
stagnant water with the hue of blood, the Secretary of State for the
Treasury saw at the cross-roads three young fairies who were dancing in
a circle and singing:
“Trois filles dedans un pré
Mon coeur vole
Mon coeur vole
Mon coeur vole à votre gré.”
They enclosed him within their circle, and their light and airy forms
sped swiftly about him. Their faces, in the twilight, were dim and
transparent; their tresses shone like the will-o’-the-wisp. They
repeated:
“Trois filles dedans un pré!” until, dazed and ready to fall, he begged
for mercy.
Then said the most beautiful, opening the circle:
“Sisters, give leave to Monsieur de Boulingrin to pass, that he may go
to the castle, and kiss his ladylove.”
He went on without having recognized the fairies, the mistresses of
men’s destinies, and a little farther on he met three old beggar women,
who were walking bowed low over their sticks; their faces were like
three apples roasted in the cinders. From their rags protruded bones
which had more dirt than flesh upon them. Their naked feet ended in
fleshless toes of immoderate length, like the bones of an ox-tail.
As soon as they saw him approaching they smiled upon him and threw him
kisses; they stopped him on his way, calling him their darling, their
love, their pet, and covered him with caresses which he was powerless
to evade, for the moment he made a movement to escape, they dug into his
flesh the sharp claws at the tips of their fingers.
“Isn’t he handsome? Isn’t he lovely?” they sighed.
For some time they raved on, begging him to love them. Then, seeing they
could not rouse his senses, which were frozen with horror, they covered
him with abuse, hammered him with their staves, threw him on the ground
and trod him underfoot. Then, when he was crushed, broken, aching, and
crippled in every limb, the youngest, who was at least eighty years
of age, squatted upon him and treated him in a manner too infamous to
describe. He was almost suffocated; immediately afterwards the other
two, taking the place of the first, treated the unfortunate gentleman in
the same way.
Finally all three made off, saluting him with: “Good night, Endymion!”
“To our next meeting, Adonis!” “Good-bye, beautiful Narcissus!” and left
him swooning.
When he came back to his senses, a toad near him was whistling
deliciously like a flute, and a cloud of mosquitoes were dancing before
the moon. He rose with great difficulty and limpingly pursued his
journey.
Once again Monsieur de Boulingrin had failed to recognize the fairies,
mistresses of the destinies of men.
The Duchess of Cicogne awaited him impatiently.
“You come very late, my friend,” she said.
He answered, as he kissed her fingers, that it was very kind of her to
reproach him. His excuse was that he had been somewhat unwell.
“Boulingrin,” she said, “sit down there.”
And she confided to him that she would be very happy to accept from
the royal treasury a present of two thousand crowns, as a fitting
compensation for the unkindness of fate, faro having for the last six
months been terribly against her.
Informed that the matter was urgent, Boulingrin wrote immediately to
Monsieur de La Rochecoupée to ask for the necessary sum of money.
“La Rochecoupée will be delighted to obtain it for you,” he said. “He
is a helpful person and takes pleasure in serving his friends. I may add
that in him one perceives greater talents than are commonly seen in the
favourites of Princes. He has taste, and a head for business; but he
is lacking in philosophy. He believes in fairies, relying on his
senses----”
“Boulingrin,” said the Duchess, “you stink like a tom-cat.”