Penguin Island

A >> Anatole France >> Penguin Island


The next day he went to the end of the Wood of Conils to visit the
good Father Cornemuse. He found the monk in his laboratory pouring a
golden-coloured liquor into a still. He was a short, fat, little man,
with vermilion-tinted cheeks and an elaborately polished bald head. His
eyes had ruby-coloured pupils like a guinea-pig's. He graciously saluted
his visitor and offered him a glass of the St. Orberosian liqueur, which
he manufactured, and from the sale of which he gained immense wealth.

Agaric made a gesture of refusal. Then, standing on his long feet and
pressing his melancholy hat against his stomach, he remained silent.

"Take a seat," said Cornemuse to him.

Agaric sat down on a rickety stool, but continued mute.

Then the monk of Conils inquired:

"Tell me some news of your young pupils. Have the dear children sound
views?"

"I am very satisfied with them," answered the teacher. "It is everything
to be nurtured in sound principles. It is necessary to have sound views
before having any views at all, for afterwards it is too late. . . .
Yes, I have great grounds for comfort. But we live in a sad age."

"Alas!" sighed Cornemuse.

"We are passing through evil days. . . ."

"Times of trial."

"Yet, Cornemuse, the mind of the public is not so entirely corrupted as
it seems."

"Perhaps you are right."

"The people are tired of a government that ruins them and does nothing
for them. Every day fresh scandals spring up. The Republic is sunk in
shame. It is ruined."

"May God grant it!"

"Cornemuse, what do you think of Prince Crucho?"

"He is an amiable young man and, I dare say, a worthy scion of an august
stock. I pity him for having to endure the pains of exile at so early an
age. Spring has no flowers for the exile, and autumn no fruits. Prince
Crucho has sound views; he respects the clergy; he practises our
religion; besides, he consumes a good deal of my little products."

"Cornemuse, in many homes, both rich and poor, his return is hoped for.
Believe me, he will come back."

"May I live to throw my mantle beneath his feet!" sighed Cornemuse.

Seeing that he held these sentiments, Agaric depicted to him the state
of people's minds such as he himself imagined them. He showed him the
nobles and the rich exasperated against the popular government; the army
refusing to endure fresh insults; the officials willing to betray their
chiefs; the people discontented, riot ready to burst forth, and the
enemies of the monks, the agents of the constituted authority, thrown
into the wells of Alca. He concluded that it was the moment to strike a
great blow.

"We can," he cried, "save the Penguin people, we can deliver it from
its tyrants, deliver it from itself, restore the Dragon's crest,
re-establish the ancient State, the good State, for the honour of the
faith and the exaltation of the Church. We can do this if we will. We
possess great wealth and we exert secret influences; by our evangelistic
and outspoken journals we communicate with all the ecclesiastics
in towns and county alike, and we inspire them with our own eager
enthusiasm and our own burning faith. They will kindle their penitents
and their congregations. I can dispose of the chiefs of the army; I have
an understanding with the men of the people. Unknown to them I sway
the minds of umbrella sellers, publicans, shopmen, gutter merchants,
newspaper boys, women of the streets, and police agents. We have more
people on our side than we need. What are we waiting for? Let us act!"

"What do you think of doing?" asked Cornemuse.

"Of forming a vast conspiracy and overthrowing the Republic, of
re-establishing Crucho on the throne of the Draconides."

Cornemuse moistened his lips with his tongue several times. Then he said
with unction:

"Certainly the restoration of the Draconides is desirable; it is
eminently desirable; and for my part, desire it with all my heart. As
for the Republic, you know what I think of it. . . . But would it not te
better to abandon it to its fate and let it die of the vices of its own
constitution? Doubtless, Agaric, what you propose is noble and generous.
It would be a fine thing to save this great and unhappy country, to
re-establish it in its ancient splendour. But reflect on it, we
are Christians before we are Penguins. And we must take heed not to
compromise religion in political enterprises."

Agaric replied eagerly:

"Fear nothing. We shall hold all the threads of the plot, but we
ourselves shall remain in the background. We shall not be seen."

"Like flies in milk," murmured the monk of Conils.

And turning his keen ruby-coloured eyes towards his brother monk:

"Take care. Perhaps the Republic is stronger than it seems. Possibly,
too, by dragging it out of the nerveless inertia in which it now rests
we may only consolidate its forces. Its malice is great; if we attack
it, it will defend itself. It makes bad laws which hardly affect us;
if it is frightened it will make terrible ones against us. Let us not
lightly engage in an adventure in which we may get fleeced. You think
the opportunity a good one. I don't, and I am going to tell you why. The
present government is not yet known by everybody, that is to say, it is
known by nobody. It proclaims that it is the Public Thing, the common
thing. The populace believes it and remains democratic and Republican.
But patience! This same people will one day demand that the public thing
be the people's thing. I need not tell you how insolent, unregulated,
and contrary to Scriptural polity such claims seem to me. But the people
will make them, and enforce them, and then there will be an end of the
present government. The moment cannot now be far distant; and it is then
that we ought to act in the interests of our august body. Let us wait.
What hurries us? Our existence is not in peril. It has not been
rendered absolutely intolerable to us. The Republic fails in respect and
submission to us; it does not give the priests the honours it owes them.
But it lets us live. And such is the excellence of our position that
with us to live is to prosper. The Republic is hostile to us, but women
revere us. President Formose does not assist at the celebration of our
mysteries, but I have seen his wife and daughters at my feet. They
buy my phials by the gross. I have no better clients even among the
aristocracy. Let us say what there is to be said for it. There is no
country in the world as good for priests and monks as Penguinia. In what
other country would you find our virgin wax, our virile incense, our
rosaries, our scapulars, our holy water, and our St. Orberosian liqueur
sold in such great quantities? What other people would, like the
Penguins, give a hundred golden crowns for a wave of our hands, a sound
from our mouths, a movement of our lips? For my part, I gain a thousand
times more, in this pleasant, faithful, and docile Penguinia, by
extracting the essence from a bundle of thyme, than I could make
by tiring my lungs with preaching the remission of sins in the most
populous states of Europe and America. Honestly, would Penguinia be
better off if a police officer came to take me away from here and put me
on a steamboat bound for the Islands of Night?"

Having thus spoken, the monk of Conils got up and led his guest into
a huge shed where hundreds of orphans clothed in blue were packing
bottles, nailing up cases, and gumming tickets. The ear was deafened
by the noise of hammers mingled with the dull rumbling of bales being
placed upon the rails.

"It is from here that consignments are forwarded," said Cornemuse.
"I have obtained from the government a railway through the Wood and
a station at my door. Every three days I fill a truck with my own
products. You see that the Republic has not killed all beliefs."

Agaric made a last effort to engage the wise distiller in his
enterprise. He pointed him to a prompt, certain, dazzling success.

"Don't you wish to share in it?" he added. "Don't you wish to bring back
your king from exile?"

"Exile is pleasant to men of good will," answered the monk of Conils.
"If you are guided by me, my dear Brother Agaric, you will give up your
project for the present. For my own part I have no illusions. Whether or
not I belong to your party, if you lose, I shall have to pay like you."

Father Agaric took leave of his friend and went back satisfied to his
school. "Cornemuse," thought he, "not being able to prevent the plot,
would like to make it succeed and he will give money." Agaric was not
deceived. Such, indeed, was the solidarity among priests and monks that
the acts of a single one bound them all. That was at once both their
strength and their weakness.




II. PRINCE CRUCHO

Agaric resolved to proceed without delay to Prince Crucho, who honoured
him with his familiarity. In the dusk of the evening he went out of his
school by the side door, disguised as a cattle merchant and took passage
on board the St. Mael.

The next day he landed in Porpoisea, for it was at Chitterlings Castle
on this hospitable soil that Crucho ate the bitter bread of exile.

Agaric met the Prince on the road driving in a motor-car with two young
ladies at the rate of a hundred miles an hour. When the monk saw him he
shook his red umbrella and the prince stopped his car.

"Is it you, Agaric? Get in! There are already three of us, but we can
make room for you. You can take one of these young ladies on your knee."

The pious Agaric got in.

"What news, worthy father?" asked the young prince.

"Great news," answered Agaric. "Can I speak?"

"You can. I have nothing secret from these two ladies."

"Sire, Penguinia claims you. You will not be deaf to her call."

Agaric described the state of feeling and outlined a vast plot.

"On my first signal," said he, "all your partisans will rise at once.
With cross in hand and habits girded up, your venerable clergy will lead
the armed crowd into Formose's palace. We shall carry terror and death
among your enemies. For a reward of our efforts we only ask of you,
Sire, that you will not render them useless. We entreat you to come and
seat yourself on the throne that we shall prepare."

The prince returned a simple answer:

"I shall enter Alca on a green horse."

Agaric declared that he accepted this manly response. Although, contrary
to his custom, he had a lady on his knee, he adjured the young prince,
with a sublime loftiness of soul, to be faithful to his royal duties.

"Sire," he cried, with tears in his eyes, "you will live to remember
the day on which you have been restored from exile, given back to your
people, reestablished on the throne of your ancestors by the hands of
your monks, and crowned by them with the august crest of the Dragon.
King Crucho, may you equal the glory of your ancestor Draco the Great!"

The young prince threw himself with emotion on his restorer and
attempted to embrace him, but he was prevented from reaching him by
the girth of the two ladies, so tightly packed were they all in that
historic carriage.

"Worthy father," said he, "I would like all Penguinia to witness this
embrace."

"It would be a cheering spectacle," said Agaric.

In the mean time the motor-car rushed like a tornado through hamlets
and villages, crushing hens, geese, turkeys, ducks, guinea-fowls, cats,
dogs, pigs, children, labourers, and women beneath its insatiable tyres.
And the pious Agaric turned over his great designs in his mind. His
voice, coming from behind one of the ladies, expressed this thought:

"We must have money, a great deal of money."

"That is your business," answered the prince.

But already the park gates were opening to the formidable motor-car.

The dinner was sumptuous. They toasted the Dragon's crest. Everybody
knows that a closed goblet is a sign of sovereignty; so Prince
Crucho and Princess Gudrune, his wife, drank out of goblets that were
covered-over like ciboriums. The prince had his filled several times
with the wines of Penguinia, both white and red.

Crucho had received a truly princely education, and he excelled in
motoring, but was not ignorant of history either. He was said to be well
versed in the antiquities and famous deeds of his family; and, indeed,
he gave a notable proof of his knowledge in this respect. As they were
speaking of the various remarkable peculiarities that had been noticed
in famous women.

"It is perfectly true," said he, "that Queen Crucha, whose name I bear,
had the mark of a little monkey's head upon her body."

During the evening Agaric had a decisive interview with three of the
prince's oldest councillors. It was decided to ask for funds from
Crucho's father-in-law, as he was anxious to have a king for son-in-law,
from several Jewish ladies, who were impatient to become ennobled, and,
finally, from the Prince Regent of the Porpoises, who had promised his
aid to the Draconides, thinking that by Crucho's restoration he would
weaken the Penguins, the hereditary enemies of his people. The three
old councillors divided among themselves the three chief offices of the
Court, those of Chamberlain, Seneschal, and High Steward, and authorised
the monk to distribute the other places to the prince's best advantage.

"Devotion has to be rewarded," said the three old councillors.

"And treachery also," said Agaric.

"It is but too true," replied one of them, the Marquis of Sevenwounds,
who had experience of revolutions.

There was dancing, and after the ball Princess Gudrune tore up her green
robe to make cockades. With her own hands she sewed a piece of it on the
monk's breast, upon which he shed tears of sensibility and gratitude.

M. de Plume, the prince's equerry, set out the same evening to look for
a green horse.




III. THE CABAL

After his return to the capital of Penguinia, the Reverend Father
Agaric disclosed his projects to Prince Adelestan des Boscenos, of whose
Draconian sentiments he was well aware.

The prince belonged to the highest nobility. The Torticol des Boscenos
went back to Brian the Good, and under the Draconides had held the
highest offices in the kingdom. In 1179, Philip Torticol, High Admiral
of Penguinia, a brave, faithful, and generous, but vindictive man,
delivered over the port of La Crique and the Penguin fleet to the
enemies of the kingdom, because he suspected that Queen Crucha, whose
lover he was, had been unfaithful to him and loved a stable-boy. It was
that great queen who gave to the Boscenos the silver warming-pan which
they bear in their arms. As for their motto, it only goes back to the
sixteenth century. The story of its origin is as follows: One gala
night, as he mingled with the crowd of courtiers who were watching the
fire-works in the king's garden, Duke John des Boscenos approached the
Duchess of Skull and put his hand under the petticoat of that lady, who
made no complaint at the gesture. The king, happening to pass, surprised
them and contented himself with saying, "And thus I find you." These
four words became the motto of the Boscenos.

Prince Adelestan had not degenerated from his ancestors. He preserved an
unalterable fidelity for the race of the Draconides and desired nothing
so much as the restoration of Prince Crucho, an event which was in his
eyes to be the fore-runner of the restoration of his own fortune. He
therefore readily entered into the Reverend Father Agaric's plans. He
joined himself at once to the monk's projects, and hastened to put him
into communication with the most loyal Royalists of his acquaintance,
Count Clena, M. de La Trumelle, Viscount Olive, and M. Bigourd. They
met together one night in the Duke of Ampoule's country house, six miles
eastward of Alca, to consider ways and means.

M. de La Trumelle was in favour of legal action.

"We ought to keep within the law," said he in substance. "We are for
order. It is by an untiring propaganda that we shall best pursue the
realisation of our hopes. We must change the feeling of the country. Our
cause will conquer because it is just."

The Prince des Boscenos expressed a contrary opinion. He thought that,
in order to triumph, just causes need force quite as much and even more
than unjust causes require it.

"In the present situation," said he tranquilly, "three methods of action
present themselves: to hire the butcher boys, to corrupt the ministers,
and to kidnap President Formose."

"It would be a mistake to kidnap Formose," objected M. de La Trumelle.
"The President is on our side."

The attitude and sentiments of the President of the Republic are
explained by the fact that one Dracophil proposed to seize Formose
while another Dracophil regarded him as a friend. Formose showed himself
favourable to the Royalists, whose habits he admired and imitated. If
he smiled at the mention of the Dragon's crest it was at the thought
of putting it on his own head. He was envious of sovereign power, not
because he felt himself capable of exercising it, but because he loved
to appear so. According to the expression of a Penguin chronicler, "he
was a goose."

Prince des Boscenos maintained his proposal to march against Formose's
palace and the House of Parliament.

Count Clena was even still more energetic.

"Let us begin," said he, "by slaughtering, disembowelling, and braining
the Republicans and all partisans of the government. Afterwards we shall
see what more need be done."

M. de La Trumelle was a moderate, and moderates are always moderately
opposed to violence. He recognised that Count Clena's policy was
inspired by a noble feeling and that it was high-minded, but he timidly
objected that perhaps it was not conformable to principle, and that it
presented certain dangers. At last he consented to discuss it.

"I propose," added he, "to draw up an appeal to the people. Let us show
who we are. For my own part I can assure you that I shall not hide my
flag in my pocket."

M. Bigourd began to speak.

"Gentlemen, the Penguins are dissatisfied with the new order because it
exists, and it is natural for men to complain of their condition. But at
the same time the Penguins are afraid to change their government because
new things alarm them. They have not known the Dragon's crest and,
although they sometimes say that they regret it, we must not believe
them. It is easy to see that they speak in this way either without
thought or because they are in an ill-temper. Let us not have any
illusions about their feelings towards ourselves. They do not like us.
They hate the aristocracy both from a base envy and from a generous love
of equality. And these two united feelings are very strong in a people.
Public opinion is not against us, because it knows nothing about us. But
when it knows what we want it will not follow us. If we let it be seen
that we wish to destroy democratic government and restore the Dragon's
crest, who will be our partisans? Only the butcher-boys and the little
shopkeepers of Alca. And could we even count on them to the end?
They are dissatisfied, but at the bottom of their hearts they are
Republicans. They are more anxious to sell their cursed wares than to
see Crucho again. If we act openly we shall only cause alarm.

"To make people sympathise with us and follow us we must make them
believe that we want, not to overthrow the Republic, but, on the
contrary, to restore it, to cleanse, to purify, to embellish, to adorn,
to beautify, and to ornament it, to render it, in a word, glorious and
attractive. Therefore, we ought not to act openly ourselves. It is known
that we are not favourable to the present order. We must have recourse
to a friend of the Republic, and, if we are to do what is best, to a
defender of this government. We have plenty to choose from. It would
be well to prefer the most popular and, if I dare say so, the most
republican of them. We shall win him over to us by flattery, by
presents, and above all by promises. Promises cost less than presents,
and are worth more. No one gives as much as he who gives hopes. It is
not necessary for the man we choose to be of brilliant intellect. I
would even prefer him to be of no great ability. Stupid people show an
inimitable grace in roguery. Be guided by me, gentlemen, and overthrow
the Republic by the agency of a Republican. Let us be prudent. But
prudence does not exclude energy. If you need me you will find me at
your disposal."

This speech made a great impression upon those who heard it. The mind
of the pious Agaric was particularly impressed. But each of them was
anxious to appoint himself to a position of honour and profit. A secret
government was organised of which all those present were elected active
members. The Duke of Ampoule, who was the great financier of the
party, was chosen treasurer and charged with organising funds for the
propaganda.

The meeting was on the point of coming to an end when a rough voice was
heard singing an old air:

Boscenos est un gros cochon;
On en va faire des andouilles
Des saucisses et du jambon
Pour le reveillon des pauv' bougres.

It had, for two hundred years, been a well-known song in the slums of
Alca. Prince Boscenos did not like to hear it. He went down into the
street, and, perceiving that the singer was a workman who was placing
some slates on the roof of a church, he politely asked him to sing
something else.

"I will sing what I like," answered the man.

"My friend, to please me. . . ."

"I don't want to please you."

Prince Boscenos was as a rule good-tempered, but he was easily angered
and a man of great strength.

"Fellow, come down or I will go up to you," cried he, in a terrible
voice.

As the workman, astride on his coping, showed no sign of budging, the
prince climbed quickly up the staircase of the tower and attacked the
singer. He gave him a blow that broke his jaw-bone and sent him rolling
into a water-spout. At that moment seven or eight carpenters, who were
working on the rafters, heard their companion's cry and looked through
the window. Seeing the prince on the coping they climbed along a ladder
that was leaning on the slates and reached him just as he was slipping
into the tower. They sent him, head foremost, down the one hundred and
thirty-seven steps of the spiral staircase.




IV. VISCOUNTESS OLIVE

The Penguins had the finest army in the world. So had the Porpoises. And
it was the same with the other nations of Europe. The smallest amount of
thought will prevent any surprise at this. For all armies are the finest
in the world. The second finest army, if one could exist, would be in
a notoriously inferior position; it would be certain to be beaten. It
ought to be disbanded at once. Therefore, all armies are the finest in
the world. In France the illustrious Colonel Marchand understood
this when, before the passage of the Yalou, being questioned by some
journalists about the Russo-Japanese war, he did not hesitate to
describe the Russian army as the finest in the world, and also the
Japanese. And it should be noticed that even after suffering the most
terrible reverses an army does not fall from its position of being
the finest in the world. For if nations ascribe their victories to the
ability of their generals and the courage of their soldiers, they always
attribute their defeats to an inexplicable fatality. On the other hand,
navies are classed according to the number of their ships. There is a
first, a second, a third, and so on. So that there exists no doubt as to
the result of naval wars.

The Penguins had the finest army and the second navy in the world.
This navy was commanded by the famous Chatillon, who bore the title
of Emiralbahr, and by abbreviation Emiral. It is the same word which,
unfortunately in a corrupt form, is used to-day among several European
nations to designate the highest grade in the naval service. But as
there was but one Emiral among the Penguins, a singular prestige, if I
dare say so, was attached to that rank.

The Emiral did not belong to the nobility. A child of the people, he was
loved by the people. They were flattered to see a man who sprang from
their own ranks holding a position of honour. Chatillon was good-looking
and fortune favoured him. He was not over-addicted to thought. No event
ever disturbed his serene outlook.

The Reverend Father Agaric, surrendering to M. Bigourd's reasons and
recognising that the existing government could only be destroyed by one
of its defenders, cast his eyes upon Emiral Chatillon. He asked a large
sum of money from his friend, the Reverend Father Cornemuse, which the
latter handed him with a sigh. And with this sum he hired six hundred
butcher boys of Alca to run behind Chatillon's horse and shout, "Hurrah
for the Emiral!" Henceforth Chatillon could not take a single step
without being cheered.

Viscountess Olive asked him for a private interview. He received her at
the Admiralty* in a room decorated with anchors, shells, and grenades.

* Or better, Emiralty.

She was discreetly dressed in greyish blue. A hat trimmed with roses
covered her pretty, fair hair, Behind her veil her eyes shone like
sapphires. Although she came of Jewish origin there was no more
fashionable woman in the whole nobility. She was tall and well shaped;
her form was that of the year, her figure that of the season.