Second blogskin change, owing to another instance of vanishing images. It's okay; I kind of like this one, though the font could be a tad bit brighter.
Oh yeah. This is post 150! Bring out the confetti and poppers.
.....
Dans l'aube grise du levant
Trouve un chemin vers l'arc-en-ciel
(In the gray dawn of the rising
Is a path to the rainbow sky)
.
First
There is an oft-told fairytale in the antediluvian annals of children’s folklore – a tragic parable of a land-prince whose love was true and innocent but laid upon someone else (but not to say that she was no less deserving), and a sea maiden who would cast aside a centennial existence and her life for him. It’s far too easy for adults and adolescents alike to deplore the young mermaid for her stubbornness and pass snarky commentary on her lack of self-preservation; very few, of course, can barely begin to fathom the intricacies of their complicated relationship. By some form of logic that will not be elucidated for the purpose of this particular telling, their incredulity and scepticism do hold merit in some way. Nevertheless, the fable remains an anguished story indeed.
But we discuss too much the stories that have the serendipity to be preserved in living memory and neglect those that never come to pass. Of the many that exist (for want of better word) in the latter category, one comes fleetingly to mind when we think of mermaids who longed for a life out of the sea; mermaids who sang nightly hymns to the moon, grieving the loss of their sister. It is a work of fiction that shares much symmetry with Andersens’s cruel allegory – the forlornness of a love that went unrequited, two people who were close together but lived worlds apart, culminating in a death upon the breaking waves that framed a rising sun. We may treat this story more kindly and with much less cynicism, because we already know the true story behind these characters (though it is a story which shall be reserved for another day).
This is the unsung story of the little mermaid, Éponine, and her prince, Marius.
Second
As they are portrayed typically in paintings and literature, merpeople are fantastic creatures, their magnificent hearts a plenitude of beauty and joy. Accordingly, mermaids are absolutely ravishing. Oceanic ladies who glide through water like scissors through silk, their flowing hair stream gracefully in their wake, falling about their petite shoulders as they shake their heads free of the occasional hitchhiking barnacle. Éponine was slightly different in their circles, however – while she would have still been considered a decent belle by land dwellers’ standards, she was rather plain when juxtaposed against her supremely beautiful sisters. It wasn’t her fault that she was dealt a losing hand by the roll of the genetic die, and although her sisters acknowledged that and loved her regardless, she was still morose regarding her relative unattractiveness.
There was one thing, though, that managed to fill her with wonder and amazement. As Éponine carefully nurtured her little flower garden, teasing the recent blooms into stylish wreaths, she would gaze upwards at the cerulean ring of light that rippled endlessly and ruminate silently. The surface world – oh, how she longed to explore it and experience all its marvels! It wasn’t her turn to go just yet – she was the youngest of them all – but her sisters before her had returned home with enthralling stories to share; the merry tintinnabulations from the stone belfry of a church, the rolling hills of verdant green, the sun that shone so resplendently even as it descended into the salt sea.
When she was finally fifteen, her grandmother sent her to the surface world with pearl halves strung through her hair and an epaulet of shellfish pinned to her tail. As she broke through the aquatic barrier binding her to the sea, the night air filled her lungs – respiratory organs that were so used to saltwater the sudden aeration seemed unnatural.
There was a large ship bobbing nearby with a sail as large and white as a cumulus. Curious, Éponine ventured closer to observe the activities of the vessel. Peering carefully through a porthole, she was delighted to have found so many of the dry-landers so quickly into her adventure. There were men and women, formally dressed and dancing to the metrical sonata that was being performed. It fascinated her so – their quirky leg movements not accomplishable with a natatory tail and their whimsical oddities.
Right in the middle of them, there was a handsome young man; Éponine slowly found her gaze gravitating towards him. His eyes twinkled benevolently and he laughed gaily; twice she could have sworn he looked straight at her and she ducked below the window lest she be spotted, then returned to looking at him. She couldn’t help but think that even compared against the impressive mermen back in the ocean, he would best them all.
His name came to her on the whispering debris of small talk and shaped her lips as she continued to watch him waltz. Marius.
Third
All creatures of the deep are taught from young never to approach the sea witch – her horrible magic knew no boundaries and did terrible things to those in her vicinity. Even the path to her abyssal lair was riddled with pits of boiling sulphur and chasms housing seething whirlpools, a death trap for the foolish. Bleached fish bones paved the way, macabre route markers to such an abominable place.
Her voice was high and cruel when she laughed at the mermaid that cowered before her. “You are unwise to come,” she sneered. “I see the longing in your heart and I will give you what you desire, if you are agreeable to my terms.” The witch ticked off the caveats with her scaly fingers: impalement on an invisible sabre, feet that would tread imperceptibly sharp blades and bleed daily, the hollow loss of speech for the rest of her days. “You may not succeed, and knowing all you will suffer till the day that you finally die, you would still chase him, would you not?”
“Ah,” Éponine said sadly. “But you don’t see what it would mean to live without him either – swords and knives could never hope to wound me as much, and what use is my pretty voice if I cannot sing to him with it?”
“I see. It is silly of you to harbour such sentiments, but it matters not to me. It will be interesting to see where this leads, no? I will help you, naïve little mermaid.” She swept herself up grandly and drew her paring knife. “First, you will pay me; I am not one to work without reward.”
At that, Éponine closed her eyes and extended her pink, delicate tongue, as remuneration.
Fourth
Marius threw his arms joyfully around his bride-to-be, and even though it wasn’t sunrise yet, Éponine felt as though as her heart had already been cleaved in two.
That night, she clutched her sisters’ final gift in her hand and entered his tent. As she looked at him sleeping soundly, she felt her arms tremble, and Éponine knew that she couldn’t possibly perform this deed. If she killed him there, the daybreak wouldn’t matter at all – she would die, for even a mermaid couldn’t live long without a heart. Tears mingling with the sea-salt air, she leaned over him to whisper goodbye, then kissed him on the forehead for the last time, for luck.
The morning sun peeked over the earth’s rim and its light suffused the seascape, like a welcomed benediction. Its shielded rays touched her pale skin lightly – an absolving halo from the angels. Bearing within her a mortal loss, she leapt lightly over the wooden barrier and into the briny sea below, printing its surface with graceful charity.
Fifth
And so the telling of this particular fairytale comes to a close. This story will eventually fade into obscurity, as is the fate of many other fables that are far more popular and well-known, but the fact that it has been told once to those who would take the time to listen is sufficient justice for the characters.
The prince would never know the truth behind the taciturn lass who had danced for him and loved him with her eyes – he had so many questions, but she took all the answers with her on the morning of her departure. The truth – she gave her voice to be with him, walked on a thousand blades to brighten his heart and ultimately chose his life over hers. While Marius the prince dearly loved his wife as much as the Marius Pontmercy of Hugo’s masterpiece did his, there would always remain some part of him that continued to sorrow for the loss of his enigmatic companion – we are free to speculate if that part did know of her sacrifice and love somehow, but as intuition is a rather mysterious element, no one can truly say for sure.
However, unlike the other tale of Éponine Thénardier, it is indeed comforting to know that the tale of Éponine the mermaid has a slightly happier ending, at least. We must remember that it is, after all, a children’s story and as convention holds, it would not be entirely proper to conclude any other way.
.
Se découvrira le printemps
Calme sur l'océan
(To discover the spring
Calm of the ocean)