So I thought to myself - Mariusette version of this little known engagement challenge folktale (type 329)? Why not? Here I have heavily paraphrased from my own translation from the Swedish of The Twelve Windows, my favourite version of this type of tale.
PS. This AU contains Cyrano de Courfeyrac and Booby!Marius. And yes, I watched blue-footed booby videos of their courtship in preparation.
THE TWELVE WINDOWS
Once upon a time, there was a young heiress who lived all alone with her single guardian, since both of her parents had passed away many years before. The gentleman had made this adopted daughter his sole rightful heir, you see, because of a promise he had made on her real mother's deathbed, and thus ensured that Cosette would always lead a better life there than with her first guardians, so he had her trained in economics and statescraft as well as the usual occupations of young women of rank, such as musical instruments, and dance, and opera song. She was not only charming; they say she owned so many books that she could not count them, and studied philosophy and art and other such things, and spoke Latin and Spanish and English as easily as you please. Since she loved to read about all the things that other people have imagined, she had a library with shelves that reach to the ceiling. As you may realise, not only had her guardian trained her for life as a businesswoman, but also in the usual accomplishments of young women of rank; for she had closets stuffed with dozens of beautiful dresses and accessories, where her porcelain dolls had so many lovely things to wear they needed closets of their own. In the room where she had once had her etiquette lessons, she acted out plays and has her tea, always at five o'clock, always Earl Grey with butter scones. And at night, she was tucked into a big canopy bed wrought with flowers of silk, and her guardian read her to sleep, telling her stories about magic and mysteries. She often accompanied her guardian beyond the garden walls, to speak to those in need and give alms and friendly smiles. Much of what she bought, she donated to the poor; she kept for herself only the items that she considered particularly special.
Mademoiselle Cosette was uncommonly clever and kind-hearted, and she loved her guardian with all her heart and soul, so much that old Monsieur Fauchelevent thought with dread of the fateful day when she would tie the knot and leave him all on his own again in that great mansion, after all that he had done for her sake; and she herself had made up her mind to wed as soon as she could find the sort of husband who could give a good answer when anyone spoke to him, instead of one of those fellows who merely stand around looking impressive, for that is so tiresome. Neither a yes-sayer, nor one who could only cut a figure in uniform and behave himself in society, nor a stern curmudgeon. After a lot of thought she came up with a contest. Whichever young man in all the world who didn't cower at her remarkable cleverness, whichever man would talk back to her and not just take everything she said lying down, would be a spouse worthy of her. She wanted a husband who was as clever as a cat. She was interested in marriage only if she found the one; she wanted a man who knew what to answer for himself. She did not desire a storybook prince like there are countless great pretenders, but a man with her same intellectual level, one able to carry out a conversation with her without being afraid of her status. She wanted a husband who found it easy to answer for himself, something more than a distinguished mien, enfin un homme aimable.
Her fiancé, the one she wanted for a spouse, should be good-looking, brave, intelligent, able to patronise the arts during peacetime, and to lead a regiment at its head in case of war; enfin, she needed someone of equal wit and knowledge to talk to her intelligently and keep her company through the long, cold winter nights, as proof that she had completely cut all ties to the tragic past in which she had never been a child. Long story short, enfin, she wished for something like a Prince Charming, such as, among all her male acquaintances in high society, she had never seen anyone.
But Cosette never despaired in finding what she sought, determined as she was not to stoop before her guardian if he should arrange her marriage, but to choose herself, no matter of which rank he might be, a spouse worthy of her.
He had to be of equal wit and knowledge so he could talk intelligently and debate with her. But all the young wealthy boys she'd grown up were rather dim. Cosette herself isn't dim — no, she devised a clever idea that would get her a husband.
And thus, she promised her guardian not to marry until she had found a young man who, on one of three tries, succeeded in hiding himself so cleverly anywhere in the estate grounds that he could not be seen by her.
Now you may think, dear readers, that challenge did not seem quite hard, and express surprise at this unusual method of selecting a husband, but Cosette had really keen eyes, and she could spot the tiniest little thing, like a line of ants or the smallest little daisy bud out on the lawns around the hedge-maze in the estate gardens. Highest up in her cylindrical tower, Cosette had her special bedchamber, with a four-poster bed embroidered with flowers in silver thread, bookcases up to the ceiling, but first and foremost with twelve windows, all of them identical and arranged at the same height, for her to look out of in every direction and train her special talent at hide-and-seek.
And all the dashing and single fine young men of the land, counts and barons, lordlings and gentlemen, scholars and lawyers, captains and lieutenants, read the proclamation she had written herself and had published in the press, surrounded for the occasion with a border of flaming hearts and white roses and crowned with her initials, and they all came in droves to woo the heiress; but a fortnight had already passed since the first suitors arrived and not one of them had succeeded in hiding himself well enough to win the prize.
The advertisement was quite a good idea in theory, of course, but what neither the heiress nor her guardian hadn't counted on was word of mouth. Once one person read in the paper, or nailed to a Faculty door, or at a tea party at another estate, that Cosette was looking for a husband, well, then it spread like wildfire. The advertisement said that whoever could impress Mademoiselle Cosette the most with their wit, knowledge, and discourse would win her hand in marriage and thus become her lawful wedded spouse.
So the interviews lasted days — you've never seen such a queue as formed outside the palace gates. One thought it would never end! full of brave talk and dressed in their fanciest clothes, in their best finery, but none of them could impress Mademoiselle. She didn't find anything in them. All the dashing and single fine young men of the land, counts and barons, lordlings and gentlemen, scholars and lawyers, captains and lieutenants, read the proclamation she had written herself and had published in the press, surrounded with a border of flaming hearts and white roses and crowned with her initials, and they all came in droves to woo the heiress; but a fortnight had already passed since
the first suitors arrived and not one of them had succeeded in hiding himself well enough to win the prize. Seeing their failures, she had no need to understand anything more, and knew from the first impressions exactly whom she had been dealing with; and thus she grew bored with each man, and sent them all away, one by one by one by one by one.
In that crowd, there also came a modest young translator, one very passionate about his studies, who was more interested in sharing a lively conversation with Cosette and finding out if she was as bright as rumour had it. All too frequently he had seen the dashing young suitors come and go, and even drown their sorrows in response to their disappointment at being sent away, but Marius thought that Lady Fortune does favour the brave and the bold, and that a modest young lad who had always grown up in the shade might as well have a try and attempt to win a shot at being within Cosette's reach himself as well. And thus he set forth on foot, stepping quite jauntily straight up to the château, carrying nothing but a small cloth bundle, a little valise or knapsack, strapped to his back — on which he wore a plain coat — and strolled in, perfectly at ease; his bright eyes shining with confidence, his curly dark hair fine thick and flowing and curling about at the bottom of his neck, but his clothes as shabby as those of any other bohemian.
When he stood before the wrought-iron garden gates, the guards on duty just laughed at him, but their leader, who had just arrived for the changing of the guard, thought that the young translator had an honest look in his eyes, and moreover he had saluted them and made some little quips to them on his way in; told them that it would weary him to stand still waiting for hours in a hot uniform like that! Thus, after looking beyond his worn attire at such a lively and confident suitor, they opened the gates before him and led him through the gardens, along the great promenade where the chestnut blossoms were falling one by one, and through the mansion, across halls dazzling with lights of chandeliers, meandering into the Great Hall as if nary a care in the world, then up two or three flights of stairs into the heiress's tower bedroom. At last he stood before Cosette; she looked radiant, her long golden hair as bright as the candles, washed and combed and tied back in a loose chignon, her lashes fluttering above her sparkling eyes. Mademoiselle Cosette, by now, was getting terribly weary of all these tongue-tied young men, and quite sure she had had enough of this marriage business. She wondered whether the wedding she dreamed of would ever happen. After all, it was impossible for ordinary men to win her over. The space outside the garden gates was still packed with carriages full of hopeful suitors with their retinues. Almost three days passed and she hadn't found her suitor. There were still plenty of fancy carriages arriving by the hour, bringing more pompous men who strutted around the palace like bantam roosters. She was sitting by the music stand she used to hold her books, and reading a thousand-page book, as eagerly as if she were relishing the most delicious, the most scrumptious among desserts. Her weariness of listening to so much twattery in a row was such that she didn't hear him come, nor notice that he had arrived. The library was immense, and books spilled from floor-to-ceiling shelves. Cosette wanted a clever husband, but it tired her dreadfully to sit and listen to the young men trying in vain to give speeches and talk about how rich and sexy and smart they were. She fell asleep and stayed asleep until the young man with the squeaky boots came in. It was his boots that woke her up when he made his way before her. She turned around and saw, immediately, his honest face, but she also saw the old and worn waistcoat underneath his dark plain overcoat, and she saw his heart pounding against his ribs.
He stood there and commented on her beautiful chignon of golden hair. She replied that flattery would get him nowhere unless he could show her some substance of intelligence or wit. And so he went! He simply put his right hand on the middle of his chest (she could see the heart pounding and the lungs quivering underneath) and swore upon his own life that he would at least pass the test on the third try for her sake.
No matter how brave a face Marius was pulling, how unfazed he appeared, she saw right through him. This would be a worthy opponent indeed...
Cosette wished him good luck, and then, producing her golden pocket-watch, she gave him an hour to hide himself. Marius went downstairs, deep into an old cellar shaft above ground level in the mansion, and curled himself up inside a haystack. When the time was up, after an hour, the heiress braced herself and looked out the first window. She could not see either hide or hair of the translator. Then she looked out the second window, but could not catch a glimpse of him either. But when she looked out the third window, then she caught sight of him where he lay in the dark under the haystack. Now Cosette was a little disappointed, for she realised that this young translator was the first of all her suitors that she was really pleased with.
The next day, Marius went to the koi pond in the garden, and, after taking the deepest breath he could, he took the plunge into the water and sank all the way down to the bottom, clinging to the stalks of the lotus lilies to keep himself from surfacing. There he hid, among the stalks of the lovely lotuses. And he waited and waited, until his lungs were ready to burst. Cosette, in her room in her tower, looked out the first window, then out the second, third, fourth, and fifth. She could not catch a glimpse yet of her suitor, and she was actually glad about that. Then she looked out the sixth, seventh, and eighth window. Still not a trace of Marius, and she was delighted. But then she looked out the ninth window, and she had the chance to see him crouching in the koi pond, under the stalks of the lotus lilies. She was as overcome with disappointment as he was, surfacing and gasping to quaff in as much air as he could.
The young translator understood that the stakes were too high for him to reach the goal on his own, and thus, on that same night, he sought up his friend and patron, the dashing Gascon baron who had recommended him to the publishing companies, and encouraged him whenever he had any creative block. While Marius was being swaddled in dry towels, he told Courfeyrac everything about Cosette and her prowess at hide-and-seek, and he also confessed over their cupfuls of mulled wine that he had fallen head over heels for her. Courfeyrac only gave a thoughtful nod in response and, after showing Marius to a spare bedroom, he told the translator to have a nice sleep in bed and wished him good night.
The next day, early in the morning before sunrise, Marius was suddenly startled up with a slight slap in the face from his patron, urging him to make haste. After they had quickly dressed up and broken their fast, Courfeyrac took Marius to a spring in the woods. The lad had to take the plunge in, clothes and all; he leapt into the water and resurfaced swimming at one stroke back to land, then waddled unsteadily on beautiful ocean blue feet, webbed like a duck's, with an ultraviolet sheen to them. In his surprise, he gasped, but the sound that left his throat was a whistle like a kettle boiling over.
"There we have you, a fine little booby!" Courfeyrac, now appearing wa-a-ay taller, patted him on the crown of the head. Marius, insecure, flapped his wings, surprised that he had chocolate-coloured wings instead of dark overcoated arms, whistled once more, and turned back towards the pool; the reflection that met him was not a young person, but the strangest-looking avian he had ever seen, with the body shape and feet of a duck, but a cream-and-chocolate head with a dagger beak like those of a cormorant or something like that; a wide maniac stare, a chest white as snow, and a back like dark chocolate matching his wings, like the plain overcoat he had worn in human form.
Cocking his head from side to side, Marius tried to ask Courfeyrac whether he had turned into that so-called "booby," but the only sound he could make in his new sulid form was this high-pitched whistle. Anyway, he only had to get used to it.
"Oui, Marius, I know what you are thinking. Oui, you are now a blue-footed booby," his patron said in that Gascon accent of his, as he cradled the marine avian in strong arms and, with Marius in tow, set off towards the garden gates of the Château Fauchelevent.
Luckily, they found Cosette outdoors, walking beneath her sunshade in the flowering gardens, yet with a dow
ncast and listless look quite unusual in her. Cosette was not feeling particularly fine that day, in a chocolate-brown silk dress with feather trim and cunning shoes of a lovely shade of sky blue; one could read the sorrow in her eyes, for she thought that this was this translator's third and final chance to try to win her hand. It was then that she spotted a sharply-dressed dapper young gentleman standing at the gates with what appeared to be a large white-and-chocolate duck in his arms. Upon coming closer, the so-called "duck" turned out to have a long and sharp beak, and bright ocean blue feet; it looked like so queer and so fine an avian that she could not resist to come closer, reach through the gate, and caress that shiny, soft plumage, especially on the nape of the neck, where it was just like ice cream laced with dark chocolate shavings.
"This is most certainly not a duck... but its plumage is so warm and so soft... and its feet so unusually bright blue..."
"That is actually not a duck, as Mademoiselle well has guessed; 'tis a blue-footed booby. And furthermore, he's a boy booby." With a sly look in his eyes, Courfeyrac gave the live sulid, which as we know actually was Marius, to the heiress.
"May I pet him a little more, please?" Cosette, completely taken off-kilter by the eccentric beauty of the blue-footed booby, the softness of his plumage, and the ocean blue colour of his webbed feet, agreed, and let him fly over the gates and land awkwardly by her side, but, when she had to give what she assumed was his pet back to the Gascon gentleman, he had already disappeared.
And thus, together, the heiress and
her new pet booby, the latter waddling in her wake, went up all the stairs into the room with the twelve windows; she had to pick up her skirts a little so as not to trip, and her blue-shod feet flashed as neatly as a prima ballerina's over the paving-stones.
A piercing whistle drew her up short. Every now and then, compelled by a powerful urge that he found impossible to resist, Marius eyed her sideways, then spreadeagled both his wings out, flung his beak raising it straight up to the sky, again giving that piercing whistle, and whistled as loud as he could, making her chortle. Oh, if he could put those feelings into words instead! Cosette, transfixed, watched as the booby tucked his beak against his breast plumage and carefully stepped closer, taking great care with the placement of those enormous blue feet. The booby was nearly touching her skirts by then, holding out first one foot and then the other; then again pausing to spread both wings and whistle.
How charming! Cosette thought. By now, they had passed through various grand halls, each one more magnificent than the previous; passing through curving, dark hallways and a series of chambers, each one grander than the last. First came a hall with a floor of white marble, hung with tapestries of crimson silk. Then a hall with a floor of pink marble, whose walls, decked in rose-coloured silk and satin embroidered with artificial flowers that covered the walls, were hung with paintings of such size and magnificence that the richness of the tints and the skill of the brush-strokes were admirable, until they reached a third hall, which had a floor of black and white marble laid in squares like a chessboard, and which was hung with mirrors in gilded frames. Thus they traversed a second and a third hall, each one more magnificent than the other. The halls were, all of them, each one more beautiful than the previous, though every room was decorated a different colour; crimson, then forest green, then regal purple, then midnight blue. The painted ceilings seemed to move in the light. Each hall was finer than the previous one, yes, it really took one’s breath away, and now they came to be in front of two big carved wooden doors with silver keyholes, inlaid with golden spirals; she had just opened the door to her panopticon bedchamber.
As Cosette was looking out the first window, her pet waddled closer, until he was next to her from behind, and ducked to hide under her petticoats and crinoline. There was not a trace of Marius to be seen. Thus, she kept on looking through each and every window in order, until the turn came to the twelfth one. Until then, she had seen neither hide nor hair of her suitor. So she looked through all twelve windows for a second time, then a third, but she saw him not! She was so racked with disappointment that she quivered in every limb, and was rather close to shattering every single windowpane in her bedchamber into thousands of shards. Her own keen eyes could not see what was right behind her and so close to her, and thus, waddling out of her crinoline-cage petticoats behind her back as she gave up entirely, Marius won the hand of Cosette. Now perched on the sill of the twelfth window, he flew high-diving as quickly as he could down all the étages and into the lily-pond, while Cosette reached out, shouting at her pet to wait, her arms hanging from the windowsill, while she was shedding tears of joy... and then, the booby resurfaced and waddled through the gardens, then flew over the garden wall, to Courfeyrac who was waiting by the wayside. Both of them hastened back to the spring, where the blue-footed booby took the plunge, and resurfaced as his true human self. The young lad thanked his patron with all his heart and soul: "The more lord of all boobies me compared to you; you sure know the score, that must be true!" While Courfeyrac gave a modest bow, Marius stormed back to the château as fast as he could; there he found Cosette, who had been desperately looking for him all over the estate grounds. They were invited over for tea by her guardian, and thus the whole story was revealed, though Marius did not tell anyone where he had hidden himself the third time, when he was in avian form, nor who had helped him on that endeavour. And thus, she believed that he had done it all by himself, by secret tricky means, and thought to herself than he knew more than she did.
"I surrender; you have won me fair and square," Cosette sighed and smiled. "Yours Truly is the far greater booby."
And Marius commenced another series of excited whistles, followed by a hoarse coughing fit as he swung his head from side to side.
Then there followed a most lively and interesting conversation, where every remark from one of the two fiancés drew a quick and easy, witty riposte from the other, usually embellished with a compliment; for he read as much as she did to keep herself informed; and she, just like he did, loved to learn and to read about all the things that other people had imagined, and was very passionate about her studies. What was most curious, however, was that he had not come to woo h
er and was not interested in having her to wife, but rather only to find out if she was as bright as he knew from hearsay and to hear her conversation, because he only felt curious about her knowledge. He liked it very well, and she liked him, and he was as pleased with her as she was with him. He found her charming, and she found him after her taste. Whenever he gave a quote from the classics in the original language, she always knew what to reply from the same book, and vice versa.
When he spoke, Cosette fell under his spell, won over through his clever liveliness in the fateful test-interview. But he wanted to hear what she had to say, too, which made her love him all the more.
Moreover, the translator had said that he did not want to live anywhere else than where she lived; and thus, M. Fauchelevent did not lose his adoptive daughter, and she had the chance to marry her intellectual equal, someone she was pleased with. So she entrusted her destiny to her fiancé with all her heart and soul. At their wedding, Courfeyrac was the best man, and both newlyweds live together at the château, and there they live still, and like each other very much.
All good stories, of course, must have a happy ending, and this one is no exception, but the important part, dear reader, is not that the heiress, and her husband, and her guardian, and the Gascon, lived happily ever after.
The important part, reader, is that, together or separately, they lived.
(a short afterword)
Cosette smiled as she brought the story to a close, bidding her young daughter to close her eyes and rest.
"Is that what really happened?" Catherine asked, being that she was never happy with endings.
"You will have to ask Courfeyrac next time he comes to visit us. Now you must sleep, my little booby."
Catherine Pontmercy closed her eyes and fell into dreams of blue ducklike feet and golden windows. And a world for playing hide-and-seek.
