SEVERAL MORE DAYS PASSED, during which Carmichael learned to parrot the barbaric text of “The Battle of the Tez.” Guided by Seil-kor, he had easily retained the strange tune adapted to the stanzas and felt confident that he was up to the task of singing this new fragment of the “Jeroukka.”
At the Stock Exchange, the Carmichael had not stopped climbing in value ever since a Ponukelean song, with its prodigiously bizarre words and music, had replaced the young Marseillais’s standard repertoire.
As the great day approached, the speculations picked up momentum, and a final session, which promised to be intense, was scheduled for just before the start of the performances.
Eager to contribute to the magnificence of the gala by weaving the emperor a rich sacramental cloak, Bedu assembled his famous loom, which had suffered no damage in the shipwreck, astride the Tez.
He drew up a map of Africa surrounded by a vast area of ocean and marked all the territories now under Talou’s scepter in glaring red.
The fact that the southern border of Drelchkaff was not clearly defined left the artist free license, and out of flattery he extended the kingdom all the way to the Cape of Good Hope, whose name he spelled out in capitals.
Once the paddles were adjusted, the machine was set in motion, and soon a heavy ceremonial garment was ready to be placed over the sovereign’s shoulders at the solemn moment.
Encouraged by this success, Bedu decided to prepare a surprise for Sirdah, who had always shown us such kindness and devotion.
He designed a sumptuous pattern for a cape, to be decorated with many arresting scenes from the biblical Flood.
The inventor intended to fine-tune the device on the very morning of the coronation and have it operate in Sirdah’s presence, for after her cure the girl would surely enjoy watching the vision provided by the magical workings of the miraculous machine.
As Bashkou’s operation was to take place at nightfall, an acetylene beacon, found among the Lynceus’s gear and installed at water’s edge, would project onto the machine the dazzling beams emitted by its reflector.
To enhance the portion of the spectacle involving the river, Fluxier decided to create several blue lozenges, which, when tossed into the currents, would create a variety of distinct and fleeting images on the water’s surface.
Before setting to work, he consulted us collectively on the choice of subjects to treat and received a plethora of suggestions, from which he retained only the following:
1. Perseus brandishing the head of Medusa.
2. A Spanish feast accompanied by frenetic dancing.
3. The legend of the poet Giapalù, who, having come to seek inspiration at the picturesque site where the Var sprang from the ground, let his secrets be discovered by the old river, leaning forward in curiosity to read over his shoulder. The next day, the babbling currents recited his new verses from the source all the way to the river’s mouth; bearing the stamp of genius, they immediately spread throughout the land unattributed. The dumbfounded Giapalù tried in vain to establish his authorship but was treated as a fraud, and the poor poet died of grief without ever having known fame.
4. A peculiarity of the Land of Cockaigne concerning the regularity of the wind, which provided inhabitants with the exact time without having to wind up or maintain a clock.
5. A piquant tale involving the Prince of Conti, which he himself had discreetly related in his correspondence:
In the spring of 1695, François-Louis de Bourbon, the Prince of Conti, was the guest of an octogenarian, the Marquis of ***, whose château stood in the middle of a vast, shaded park.
The previous year, the marquis had married a young woman of whom he was keenly jealous, even though the love he showed her was purely paternal.
Every night, the Prince of Conti went to join the marquise, whose twenty years could not make do with such incessant solitude.
These visits required infinite precautions. To contrive a pretext for his sudden absence in case of discovery, the prince let loose in the park, before each rendezvous, a certain trained jay, which had long been used to accompanying him on all his travels. One night, having grown suspicious, the marquis went to knock on the door of his guest’s chamber; obtaining no reply, he entered the empty room and saw the missing man’s clothes lying on a chest.
The octogenarian went straight to his wife’s room and demanded she let him in immediately. The marquise silently opened and closed her window, allowing her lover to let himself drop gently to the ground. This maneuver having taken but a few seconds, the bolt of her door could be pulled back in time.
The jealous old man barged in without a word and vainly checked every corner of the room. After which, the possibility of escape through the window having occurred to him, he stalked out of the château and began hunting through the park.
Soon he discovered the half-dressed Conti, who said he was searching for his escaped jay.
The marquis decided to accompany his guest to see if he was telling the truth. After several steps, the prince cried, “There he is!”—pointing at the trained bird sitting on a branch, who at the first call came to perch on his finger.
The old man’s doubts were immediately allayed, and the marquise’s honor remained intact.
Armed with these five subjects, Fuxier applied to his block of blue material the meticulous process he’d already completed for the internal modeling of the red lozenges used in the Shakespearean scene.