In the days that followed, frequent downpours were produced as an effect of this disturbance of the elements.

Nevertheless the queen’s acute insanity intensified, hourly occasion­ing fresh calamities. The people were already despairing of the Federal when one morning, rooted in the palm of its right hand, the image displayed a small plant on the point of blossoming. Everyone, without hesitation, took this to be a remedy miraculously offered by the revered child to cure Duhl-Serul’s affliction.

Thanks to the alternation of rain and blazing sunshine, the plant grew rapidly and brought forth tiny flowers of a pale yellow color which, as soon as they were dry, were carefully collected and administered to the sovereign, then at the height of her derangement.

The long-overdue phenomenon took place instantly and Duhl-Serul at last obtained relief; she recovered her sanity and became once more benevolent and just.

Wild with joy, the people gave thanks to the Federal in an impressive ceremony, and, being anxious to forestall any subsequent fits, they resolved to cultivate the plant by watering it regularly, leaving it, out of superstitious reverence, in the statue’s hand and not daring to sow its seeds elsewhere. This mysterious flower, unknown in the land until then, permitted of only one explanation: a seed, carried through the air from some distant region by the hurricane, had fallen into the idol’s right hand where it had ripened in the loam regenerated by the rain. It was widely believed that the omnipotent Federal had himself unleashed the cyclone, brought the seed into his own hand and induced each germinative shower.

This was the explorer Echenoz’s favorite passage in ibn Batuta’s narrative and, once in Timbuktu, he made enquiries about the Federal. As a schism had arisen between the united tribes, the fetish, now deprived of all significance, had been banished from the main square and relegated to the status of a mere curiosity amongst the relics of the temple, where it had long been forgotten. Echenoz asked to see it. The famous plant was still standing in the hand of the smiling and undamaged child; though dry and stunted now, it had once — as the explorer managed to learn — dispelled each of Duhl-Serul’s attacks for several years, until she was completely cured. Echenoz, who possessed the smattering of botany demanded by his profession, recognized the ancient horticultural debris as a stump of artemisia maritima — and remembered that the dried flowers of this radiant did indeed constitute a very potent emmenagogue, when taken in minute quantities in the form of a yellowish medicine called santonica. And in fact this remedy, being available only from a single, meagre source, had always been administered to Duhl-Serul in weak doses.

Thinking that, in view of its present state of neglect, the Federal might well be purchasable, Echenoz offered a generous price which was at once accepted, then brought the remarkable statue back to Europe where its history aroused Canterel’s intense curiosity.

Echenoz had died not long before, bequeathing the Federal to his friend as a memento of his interest in this ancient African fetish.

∗ ∗ ∗

Our eyes, fixed on the symbolic child which, like the ancient plant, now had for us an air of the utmost fascination, were soon drawn to three rectangular high reliefs, cut into the very stone, in the base of the upright block from which the niche had been hollowed. The three subtly tinted works stretched out horizontally before us, one above the other, between the ground and the top of the platform upon which the Federal stood. They had become very worn in places and gave the impression of fabulous antiquity, as did the entire block of stone.

The first relief represented an enraptured young woman standing on a grassy plain. Her arms were laden with flowers she had picked and she was gazing at the word “NOW” traced in the sky by the slender cirrus clouds gently curved by the wind. Though faded, the variety of delicate hues had endured throughout, and were still vivid on the clouds suffused with rosy crepuscular light.

Lower down, the second sculpted scene showed the same mysterious girl seated in a sumptuous hall, extracting a one-eyed puppet dressed in pink from a gap in the seam of a richly embroidered blue cushion.

The third scene, nearest the ground, presented a one-eyed man arrayed in pink, the very image of the puppet, pointing out a fair-sized block of green veined marble to several bystanders. The upper surface of this block had a gold ingot half-embedded in it, and bore the word “Ego” very lightly engraved with a flourish and a date. In the background was a short tunnel with a closed iron gate inside, which seemed to lead into some enormous cavern scooped out of the side of a marmoreal green mountain. Some colors in the last two works retained a degree of freshness — particularly the blue, pink, green and gold.

On being questioned, Canterel gave us some particulars about this sculptural trilogy. About seven years earlier the professor had heard of the formation of a society to uncover the Breton town of Gloannic, which had been destroyed and buried by a terrible cyclone in the fifteenth century. Without any thought of gain, he had taken out a large number of shares, solely in order to support an ambitious project which he thought likely to produce fascinating results.

Through their representatives, the largest museums of Europe and America were soon arguing over the numerous precious objects which, as a result of skillful excavations conducted in the right spots, immediately started running the gauntlet of public auction in Paris.

One evening Canterel, who was present when each new consignment of antiquities arrived, noticed three painted reliefs adorning the front of the base of a large, empty niche that had recently been unearthed, and suddenly remembered the following Armorican legend which is included in the Arthurian Cycle.

Long ago, at his capital, Gloannic, Kourmelen, King of Kerlaguëzo — a wild region at the extreme western tip of France — felt that his health, which had long been precarious, was rapidly failing, though he was still young.

For five years Kourmelen had been a widower: Queen Pleveneuc had died giving birth to her first child, the little Princess Hello. Her fond father had several envious brothers who were intriguing for the throne, and was afraid that after his death, which was certainly near at hand, Hello, who by the law of the land was to be his only successor, would be exposed to many conspiracies on account of her tender years.

Kourmelen’s heavy golden crown, devoid of jewels, redeemed its plainness by its great antiquity. Known as “The Load,” it had encircled the brow of each sovereign of Kerlaguëzo from time immemorial, and had ultimately become the very essence of the absolute monarchy: without it no prince could have reigned a single day. This ardent fetishism was capable of overruling legitimate claims, and consequently the people would have recognized as their lord a pretender clever enough to get hold of this object, which was prudently secured in a safe place, guarded by sentinels.

In remote times, one of Kourmelen’s ancestors, Jouël the Great, had founded the kingdom of Kerlaguëzo and its capital, and he had been the first to wear the Load, made at his command. Jouël died nearly a hundred years old; deified in legend and transformed into a star in the heavens, he continued to watch over his people. Every inhabitant knew how to pick him out amongst the constellations, to address vows and prayers to him.

Wasted by his cares, Kourmelen put his trust in the supernatural power of his illustrious forebear and implored him to send some beneficent inspiration in a dream. Since the revered crown was indispensable to all enthronements, he had long considered sealing it up in some mysterious hiding place beyond his brothers’ reach, in order to deprive them of the least hope of success. But once Hello was old enough to defy her enemies it would be necessary for her to recover the antique band of gold in order to proclaim herself queen — and prudence forbade him to tell her the spot he had chosen, since secrets may easily be drawn from a child by force or guile. Obliged to take someone into his confidence, the King remained in a state of indecision, overwhelmed by the gravity of the problem.

Jouël heard his descendant’s prayer and visited him in a dream to impart a wise plan of conduct. From then on, Kourmelen did nothing but follow the instructions he had received. He had his crown melted down into an undistinguished, oblong ingot and visited Morne-Vert, an enchanted mountain made famous in the past by one of Jouël’s studious journeys.

Toward the end of his life, while he was traveling through his kingdom out of concern for his people’s welfare and in order to ascertain the honesty of his governors, Jouël had pitched camp one evening in a lonely region with which he was unfamiliar.