Monday, June 8, 2015

the corsair - 7. the comtesse's tale

by paulette popolescu

illustrated by roy dismas

editorial consultant: Prof. Dan Leo

click here to begin the corsair

click here for previous episode of the corsair

click here to begin the 14th princess




refreshed by her nap, and fortified by a cup of tea, the comtesse, as she had promised, began her tale.

marie, now a little more accustomed to her mistress’s casual manners, leaned back comfortably in her chair.

the fire crackled behind them.

*


once upon a time there was a beautiful young princess.

she lived in a faraway castle at the edge of a faraway sea.

everybody in the kingdom loved her, because she was so good and beautiful, and looked forward to the day when she would become queen.

but before she became queen, she had to marry a prince.

until she was old enough to marry, her stepmother had acted as regent, with the counsel of the royal wizard.


because the princess was so good and obedient, she promised her stepmother and the royal wizard that she would marry any prince they chose.

they arranged for the princess to marry the seventh son of the emperor of heaven and earth, who lived in a castle on the shore of an even more faraway sea.

the day arrived. it was a bright and sunny day , not too warm or too cool, with a few white clouds and with a pleasant breeze.

a stage was set up on the dock where the princess, her stepmother, the royal wizard and other officers and handmaidens of the court could look out over the harbor and await the imperial armada which was expected to accompany the prince.


the princess was arrayed in a simple yet tasteful sky-blue gown, with a single red flower in her hair.

all the peasants and servants and dwarves and seamstresses and milkmaids and little shopkeepers in the kingdom had been given the day off to come down to the harbor to witness the arrival of the new prince.

other, more enterprising citizens set up booths from which they could sell drinks, pastries and other wares to the crowd, and, they hoped, to the horde of sailors and imperial functionaries who would accompany the new groom.


suddenly a single ship appeared on the horizon.

a single ship, unaccompanied by any armada. or at least by any armada yet visible.

the crowd, which had been quite loud and merry, grew quieter. a few stray bursts of laughter and drunken song still floated over the water.

the ship entered the harbor. the breezes had died down, and the water which the ship cut through was calm and dark.

“perhaps,” the royal stepmother observed to the royal wizard, “this is not the prince at all, but another ship altogether, which has chanced to arrive on this day.”


but her hopes were dashed when the ship stopped in the middle of the harbor.

the ship dropped anchor and raised the flag of the empire - a small flag, but clearly the white, black, and gold flag of the empire of heaven and earth.

as the apprehensive royal party and perplexed citizens watched, a small boat was lowered.

the boat was occupied by a mere five figures. one standing tall in the front, two others seated on either side of him, and two sturdy fellows who began plying the oars with smooth. powerful strokes which quickly brought the little craft within sight of the royal stage.


though she had confided her hopes to no one - as she had no one to confide them to - the princess had dared to dream that her prince would be - a prince - young, handsome, courteous, civilized, with perhaps just a touch of fire in his chiseled face and deep eyes.

but a glance showed that it was not to be. the figure standing in the boat had an upright imperial carriage, and was dressed tastefully enough ( though in dark clothing not to the princess’s fancy or what might be expected of a joyous bridegroom ), but in no other wise seemed to conform to her hopes.

in fact, he did not have the face or form of a human at all, but those of a wolf.

the boat struck the shore. alighting by himself, the wolf-prince ascended the steps of the royal stage.


the princess, the stepmother, and the other members of the entourage, trained from birth to courtesy as they were, had recovered from their initial shock and presented their visitor with faces of truly royal politeness.

the stepmother stepped forward. “the kingdom of y————— greets you on this happy day, prince johan,” she declared smilingly. she curtsied. “i am the dowager queen j—————, at your service.”

the prince nodded. “greetings, madam. i am indeed prince johan, come to add this wretched little town you are pleased to call a kingdom to my collection of such.” he sighed, and fastened his gaze on the princess. “and this, i presume, is the bride.”

the princess bowed. “i have that great honor, my prince.”

“you look a proper wretched little milksop,” the prince replied. “perhaps i can make something of you.” he sighed again. “more likely not.”

turning away without waiting for an answer, the prince looked out at the assembled crowd, which had started to buzz restlessly. “and what is this rabble?”

“they are your loyal subjects, come to welcome you,” the stepmother ventured.

“have they nothing better to do? do they not have work to keep them out of mischief?”


“indeed they do,” the stepmother answered, a little less confidently. “but a holiday was declared today. since your arrival was so eagerly expected.”

“ah,yes,” the princely wolf replied. "but peasants, no less than princes, should be wary of eagerness. do you not find it so?”

the stepmother considered her answer carefully. “eagerness is not something we are much accustomed to. here in the kingdom of y———— , one day has always gone on pretty much as the one before.”

“at least,” the royal wizard added, “until today.”


“and who are you,” the prince asked him, “that you speak to me without my leave?”

“i am h—————, the royal wizard, at your service.”

“i have no use for wizards. and i am not to be spoken to without permission.” the prince gestured out at the crowd. “have these people dispersed.”

as he spoke, the two attendants who had had ridden to shore with him ascended the steps and appeared before the royal party . they stood upright, but had the visages of nameless beasts. they wore dark, rough clothing, but carried no weapons, at least none visible.


a youngish man separated himself from the royal party and walked boldly up to the prince.

“may i speak?”

“speak, but first identify yourself.”

“i am the count g—————, the royal chamberlain.” he neglected to mention that he was a particular favorite of the stepmother and owed his position to her. “you speak boldly, my lord, and are quite ready to give orders, despite the fact that your nuptials with the princess have yet to be performed. may i ask with what confidence you do so?”


for the first time, the royal party heard the prince laugh. it was not a reassuring sound.

“you are a bold fellow, at least. you wish to know the source of my authority, do you?”

“i realize you have the empire behind you. “ answered count g————. “but is the empire here?”

for answer the prince turned and pointed across the harbor.

suddenly, dark-sailed ships , dozens of them in a line. appeared on the horizon.


8. the comtesse's tale - concluded



Saturday, May 30, 2015

the corsair - 6. marie's tale - continued

by paulette popolescu

illustrated by roy dismas

editorial consultant: Prof. Dan Leo

click here to begin the corsair

click here for previous episode of the corsair

click here to begin the 14th princess





the angel that st peter had sent to st andrew returned to heaven.

as he flew through the gate, he was noticed by the archangel st michael.

st michael always took an interest in the doings of lesser angels and he asked him where he had been and what he had been doing.

the angel, whose name was gustave, had not been sworn to any secrecy by st peter. and in any wise he was an angel and incapable of anything but truth. so he told st michael readily what he had been about.


st michael was not pleased by what he heard. he thought st peter was using his power, and the power of heaven, in a frivolous and unseemly way.

at the same time he realized that st peter had powerful friends, and could not be taken to task without due consideration.

this was not the first time that the new breed of saints had made their presence felt - st michael and the other archangels who had been in heaven since its inception felt that the new saints did not always show them the respect their aeons of experience deserved.


st michael resolved to discuss the matter with st gabriel and st raphael before proceeding with any complaint or action.

“the devil take us!” cried the comtesse at this point in marie’s story. “child, you make heaven sound like the court of poor marie antoinette - not even that, the court of some backwater kingdom like portugal or sardinia! what next, the angels running their flaming swords through one another over some pretty face, or pretty foot?”

for an instant marie seemed almost flustered by the comtesse’s outburst. but quickly perceiving that the comtesse was amused rather than scandalized, she only replied with her customary gravity:


“i am telling madame the story as i heard it from father paul.” she hesitated . “or perhaps from old gervaise, may her soul rest in peace. yes, i think it must have been from gervaise.”

marie resumed her tale.

st gabriel and st raphael agreed with st michael that st peter had perhaps used his power frivolously , but rather than confront him directly, or complain about him to the blessed virgin or any of her attendant angels, they resolved to play a prank upon st peter themselves, which might perhaps cure him of his bumptious ways.


and so st gabriel went to the gate of heaven and told st peter in the politest way possible that his protege, the emperor nero, was having trouble in his new role as a shepherd boy, which peter had assigned him in playing his prank on andrew.

somewhat embarrassed at being caught out in this undignified pastime by the eminent archangel, st peter neither protested nor enquired as to where gabriel had received his information, but without further ado left his post at heaven’s gate to st linus and made his way to earth, to the snowy countryside where st andrew was being entertained in the shepherd’s hut by nero.

no sooner had peter arrived back on earth than he heard the gate of heaven clang shut behind him. he saw a light in the sky and saw the three archangels looking down on him with gentle smiles.


“peter,” st michael addressed him, “we have decided that since you enjoy a good jape, and enjoy involving yourself in the affairs of earth, you will enjoy the task we have for you. therefore we command you to stay upon the earth and take to the roads of earth as a poor beggar, with one companion, asking pennies from travelers to build a beautiful new cathedral of our lady in the jungles of brazil, which shall be a beacon to the faithful throughout the world.

your companion will, of course, be your old familiar, the emperor nero.


we estimate that the two of you will take about two thousand years to complete your task.”

and with that the three heavenly emissaries disappeared, leaving st peter to his thoughts in the wind and snow.

if peter had learned nothing else, it was to accept the decrees of heaven. espying the light in the shepherd’s hut, he made his way to it and knocked upon its door.

imagine the amused perplexity of nero and the astonishment of st andrew, when peter burst in upon them.


he explained to nero - who was no doubt delighted to absent the regions of hell for a couple of thousand years - the change in their plans, and that the jape they were playing on andrew must be suspended.

peter tearfully apologized to andrew for his intended mischief, insisting he had only meant a bit of fun. st andrew of course forgave him.

andrew, after his astonishment had passed, bade peter goodbye and made his way to the northern kingdom through regions still stormy, but now quite devoid of wolves - perhaps st michael or st gabriel had seen to that - where he converted the king and his subjects to the true faith, to which they remain steadfast to this day.

and where the king, in his gratitude, erected a glorious basilica to our lady of the snows, which is even now the most beautiful in the regions just below the north pole.


and so it is that to this day - for the two thousand years are not yet up - a traveler anywhere on this earth may encounter two bedraggled wayfarers - one whitehaired and bent, the other darkhaired and curiously merry, begging alms for the construction of the cathedral in the jungle.

and, as atheism and blasphemy have made their way across the surface of the earth, making it more likely that their appeal be met with incredulity and jeers, it may be imagined that the original estimate of two thousand years to complete their task may prove only too optimistic.


marie folded her hands, indicating that her tale was over.

“i must say,” the comtesse told her. “that seems a bit hard on poor peter. robespierre was not half so harsh to poor king louis and marie antoinette.”

“the ways of heaven are not for us to question, madame,” marie replied. “and, besides, it may only be a story.”

“how true. and a most entertaining story.” the comtesse looked into the fire. “look here, it is time for my nap.” she stood up. “there is no need for you to accompany me. finish your tea, keep the fire going, and when i awake i will tell you a story. what do you say to that?”

“i look forward to it, madame.”


7. - the comtesse's tale



Monday, January 5, 2015

the corsair - 5. marie's tale

by paulette popolescu

illustrated by roy dismas

editorial consultant: Prof. Dan Leo

click here to begin the corsair

click here for previous episode of the corsair

click here to begin the 14th princess





the comtesse de colinson gazed over the rainswept sea at the lighthouse. it was dark, and despite the statement of the servant marie that it was occupied, she saw no sign of life.

just as she turned to go - for the rain was starting to fall harder - she saw the tiniest flicker of light at the top of the tower.

so - the child was right after all. the lighthouse was indeed inhabited. the comtesse smiled, thinking of the girl's artless descripion of the keeper's son as "breaking the heart of every woman in the province" or whatever it was she had said.

this romeo was probably a hulking grunting yellowtoothed donkey - still, there was no harm in imagining him as a darkeyed apollo sprung from the rocks and waves of the desolate country to which the comtesse found herself banished - she hoped, temporarily.

the coach was waiting for her under the shelter of the cliff. the coachman and the maid had spread rough but dry blankets inside on the seat.

the comtesse thanked them with her habitual graciousness as she placed her dripping self within the coach. she had not realized how wet she had gotten.

a moonless night had completely fallen. but the ride back to the chateau in the rain was uneventful.

***


the comtesse had changed with marie’s assistance into dryer clothing, including a rough dressing gown that even she, with her avowed indifference to ceremony, would not have appeared in before a member of her own class. but there was, of course, no one of her own class to see her.

she seated herself on the divan facing the window. a single small lamp lit the room.

marie began building up the fire, which had dwindled to almost nothing during the excursion to the seaside.

“leave that,” the comtesse commanded her. “i will attend to it myself. bring me some tea. hot tea.”


“yes, madame.”

“and bring a cup for yourself.”

if marie was surprised by either the comtese’s tending the fire or her offer of tea, she did not show it, but retained the same grave demeanor which so amused her mistress.

the comtesse threw some sticks on the fire, pushed it around a bit and returned to her seat and waited for marie.

she had not decided whether it would be more amusing to attempt to corrupt the pious child, or to continue to be charmed by her innocence. for now, she would pursue the latter course.


marie returned with a tray. it contained a teapot, a cup and saucer and spoon for madame , a small bowl of sugar, and a rough mug for herself. she poured the tea with the same solemnity she did everything else.

“make yourself comfortable,” the comtesse instructed her when she had finished.

“yes, madame.”

the comtesse did not feel she was condescending to marie, or demeaning herself by treating her so familiarly. she had grown accustomed , in her travels, to being thrown together with all classes of people. she was mildly annoyed at the idea that she might be expected to resume the old ways of strict observance of different manners and addresses towards different classes of people.


“tell me,” the comtesse began, “ do you have wolves prowling in this countryside? i have heard that wolves may prowl, especially in the winter months."

"oh no, madame. we have not been much troubled by wolves, or bears, or any wild creatures for many years. an occasional goat or pig might be taken by them, in the coldest winters, but no living souls."

the comtesse sipped her tea. "how boring."

marie, innocent that she might be, realized that her mistress wished to be amused.


"but," she told the comtesse. "there are many stories about wolves from the olden days."

"ah."

"would madame like to hear one?"

"indeed i would. you tell me a story, and then i will tell you one."

"madame is very kind."

"have some of your tea first. it will fortify you."

after obeying by taking a sip of the scalding beverage, and as the rain beat on the windows, marie began her tale.

***


once upon a time a king ruled a kingdom in the far north, in the ice and snow, near where the earth meets the moon.

it was not a large kingdom or a small kingdom but just a kingdom.

and the king was not a good king or a bad king, or a strong king or a weak king, but just a king.

the chief occupation of the king and his soldiers was protecting the kingdom from the wolves which lived in the ice and snow and periodically invaded the kingdom and carried off cows and pigs and occasionally a poor milkmaid.


the king and his soldiers never completely drove the wolves away, and the wolves never overran the kingdom.

things went on in this way until one cold day st andrew approached the kingdom.

st andrew was the original member of the twelve apostles who had been sent to convert the wild kingdoms of the north.

he had already converted the wild kingdoms of russia, finland, denmark and scotland.

he had grown old in the service of the gospel, and dealing with the wild northmen - especially the scotchmen - had worn him out.


he felt that if he were to convert any more kingdoms he needed a helper, and he prayed to the blessed virgin to send him one.

but his prayer to the blessed virgin was intercepted by his brother, st peter. st peter had recently arrived in heaven himself after being crucified by the wicked roman emperor nero.

st peter had always enjoyed playing pranks on st andrew when they were little boys and even later when they both grew up and became apostles.


so st peter sent an angel - not an archangel like st michael or st gabriel - but just an ordinary angel - to st andrew and the angel told him he would come to a hut about another mile up the road to the northern kingdom, and in this hut he would find a young man who had been raised by wolves, but who, once he had had the gospel preached to him, would surely make a fine helper.

st andrew thanked the angel and continued on his way on the road to the northern kingdom.

a snowstorm came up and as the saint trudged along he could hear wolves howling on every side of him.


in the whiteness of the storm he saw the outline of a hut with a faint light showing in it.

he felt that even if this were not the hut the angel had described, he might ask the occupant or occupants if he could take shelter in it.

the saint shouted outside the hut, imploring the occupant's hospitality in the name of our savior and the virgin. after a moment the single door opened.

a darkhaired young man looked out at the saint. at first glance he appeared to have more the appearance of an angel than a wolf, but even so the saint felt a strange foreboding in looking into his eyes.


"it is not often," the young man observed in a curiously melodious voice, after indicating that andrew might enter, "that we encounter travelers in these parts, especially in such unseemly weather."

the saint took a seat on a rough chair pointed out to him. after catching his breath, he told the young man that he had come to the north kingdom to preach the gospel of our lord and the blessed mother.

"whatever that might mean," his host replied, with a smile that sent a chill through the saint. "i am sorry i have little to offer you," he continued. "i have a bit of wine, but it is not of the best quality."


"i should be grateful for it all the same," st andrew replied in his most courteous manner.

"make yourself comfortable then, while i find you a cup."

"are you a shepherd?" the saint asked the young man.

"of course, what else would i be? in this hut, in this wilderness? though i am afraid the wolves have played much havoc with my flock lately." he smiled in a manner that evinced little honest concern for the unfortunate charges thus described.


"and were you - raised by wolves yourself?" the saint enquired.

"raised by wolves?" the young man laughed as he placed a wooden cup and a small rough jug of wine on the one small table. "what an idea! no, sir traveler, i am a prince. a prince quite reduced, as you see, but a prince nonetheless."

the young man did not lie in this particular. although he was not an honest shepherd or any other kind of honest folk.

he was in fact a demon.

and not just any demon, but a demon who in his time on earth had been none other than the emperor nero, who, shortly after martyring st peter, had met a most violent end himself.

the saint considered the young man's statement, as the wind and snow - and the wolves - howled outside.


6. marie's tale - continued