The Little Prince - 4
Imperial Princess Is, formerly the empire's third prince Idris. She looked utterly relieved, as if she'd finally set down a crushing burden. Despite the nobility of her bloodline, she somehow seemed as pure and innocent as a country girl.
"Honestly, I should've done this ages ago! Handing everything over to Enoch is so freeing. Hehe. Now that I can come and go from the palace freely, I'll drop by often, okay?"
"Ah, yes…."
"Don't look so blatantly unhappy about it. It hurts my feelings…."
"No, that's not it. I'm just… a bit dazed, that's all…."
"Tch. Liar. Well, whatever. I'm busy sorting out family affairs anyway, so I won't be able to visit that often. Heck, I might not come at all while I'm teaching Enoch all sorts of things. There are rituals and procedures to handle, too."
"I see."
"You're not too thrilled about that, are you?"
"…A misunderstanding, Your Highness."
Princess Is gave me a sly smile, as if granting me one last chance, her gaze fixed on me. I couldn't help but avert my eyes. For a moment, I felt like a frog frozen before a snake. Like she might devour me. Her presence was that overwhelming.
"Anyway, seriously. How do you even live like that? No thirst for honor, no greed for money. You don't even show up in high society."
"Yes… My personality just doesn't suit those boisterous gatherings."
"Then why do you even live?"
"Pardon?"
"Oh, was that too aggressive? Ahem, I mean, what keeps you going in this world? What’s your fun in life! You strike me as some ascetic priest detached from worldly concerns. You know that?"
"I hear that sometimes."
"So, what’s your fun? You're this famous writer shaking up the empire, yet you hide your real name and face. You rake in fortunes from royalties and patronage, but you don't seem to spend it. Life like that must be so boring."
Princess Is's question was perfectly reasonable by this world's standards…. But from my perspective, few pursued worldly pleasures as obsessively as I did. After all, squeezing every memory from my past life to spread Earth's literature here was all just to read fun novels again.
So there was only one answer I could give.
"I live for the joy of reading books. Good ones, terrible ones, fun ones, obscure ones… They all have their own flavors, and savoring those differences is a delight."
"You're such a weirdo."
"Your Highness… Didn't you become my patron because you love reading books, too?"
"Love? Eh, more like it was my only option besides reading!"
Princess Is giggled, but a chill shadow lurked beneath her laughter. Sunlight filtering through the window dimmed slightly, as if clouds had passed overhead.
"When I was little, my mother used to read me fairy tale collections a lot. You know, the ones with knights and dragons, saving the princess locked in a tower."
"Yes."
"I was so jealous of that princess."
Princess Is's eyelids drooped slightly. A quiet sadness emanated from her. The snakelike intensity had vanished, leaving only a fragile girl before me. I suddenly realized how small she was. Her feet didn't quite reach the floor as she perched on the sofa, making her seem even tinier.
"Fairy tales always go like that. The king weeps and begs for someone to save the princess. Knights challenge the tower again and again. The people pray for her deliverance amid their grief. Everyone knows the princess is trapped in the tower. Everyone wants her freed and saved."
"……."
"I was jealous of that fairy tale princess… because no one ever tried to save me."
Princess Is's presence faded bit by bit, ethereal as if a breeze might scatter her away. I opened my mouth to speak, then closed it, listening silently to her voice.
"I'm not talking about palace life. My tower… my prison… was my own body. This noble, unblemished flesh bestowed by the Lord with an angel's blessing… I've been trapped in it since the moment the angel breathed life into the womb…."
"……."
"Unlike in fairy tales, no one in this little prison even thought I was trapped. No one tried to understand. Calling a sanctuary made by the Lord a prison would be the ultimate blasphemy. If praying for my sake mocked the divine, who would pray for me? No one. Really, no one."
"……."
"But, well, you know. Oh dear! I didn't mean to get into all this…. The mood's ruined now! Anyway, that's why I'm truly grateful to you. Really."
"……."
"…Huh? Are you crying? Because of me?"
"No. It's just… the ending of The Little Prince suddenly came to mind."
As she spoke of her body as a prison, I couldn't help recalling the Little Prince's ending. The tale of him shedding his mortal shell to return to his star.
"Don't follow me. It'll make the grown-up sad. I'll look like I'm dead… but I'm not really dying."
"My star is too far away for this body to reach. It's too heavy to fly there."
"I have a responsibility to my rose…."
The truly important things can't be seen with the eyes. The Little Prince lets a snake bite his ankle, shedding his worn-out shell of a body.
"When the grown-up looks at the night sky, one of those stars will be where I live. I'll laugh, too. Then all the stars will smile for you."
"You'll have lots of little stars that can laugh!"
The traveler never forgets the Little Prince. That was the story's ending. Owning a star that laughs in the night sky.
"Pfft, if you're crying over The Little Prince's ending, I guess I can't help it…."
"Yes."
"It's my first time having someone cry for me. Feels a bit strange… but happy, too."
"A misunderstanding."
It really was.
….
After Princess Is left, I felt drained and slumped against the sofa. Good thing I always carry a handkerchief. As I rested, President Dolling Kindersley soon entered the drawing room.
"President."
"Yes! Master Writer!"
"Could you show me some fan letters for The Little Prince?"
"Ah! Of course!"
The publishing house's secret vault was stuffed with fan letters for Homerus. The bulk of them were for The Little Prince.
I cried all day after reading The Little Prince. I bought it to read to my child, but… I was the one more moved. Thank you for writing this.
Thanks to you, Homerus, our orphanage kids are so happy these days. They say they can eat lots of delicious bread. Truly grateful!
I spent a long time reading the fan letters from readers of The Little Prince. Savoring each one quietly.
"Master Writer?"
"Ah, yes. President. Have I overstayed?"
"No, no! Stay as long as you like! Hehe. You must be really moved by the fan letters."
"Yeah, something like that…."
Truthfully, that wasn't why I was reading them. I'm just a plagiarist translator, after all, bringing past-life works into this world's tongue. No, I was pondering the next book to publish. One that could spark irreversible trouble if released to an immature audience.
"President."
"Yes! Master Writer!"
So I'd read the letters carefully….
"Let's prepare to publish the next work right away."
From them, I'd concluded it was finally safe.
"Yes! We'll be perfectly ready whenever you are!"
….
Grey, the beastkin shunned by the Lord yet clinging to human faith. Princess Is, who could only offer blasphemous prayers in solitude, understood by no one. Conversations with them brought a certain work to mind.
"Sion. Want to read this?"
"Oh, you're bringing out that one?"
I pulled a manuscript from the bedside table drawer. I'd sealed it in wax paper to keep even Sion from peeking. I'd written it back when preparing Don Quixote. Sion knew of it but hadn't read it, per my instructions.
"Yeah. Feels like it's time to publish this novel. I'd like your opinion first."
"To offer my thoughts to you, young master… What an honor…!"
Sion took the manuscript almost reverently. He carefully broke the wax seal, extracted the bundle, and opened the first page.
"It's not all that long."
Gauging the thickness, he began reading silently.
"……."
Sion's eyes raced across the text. A fast reader, he finished in under an hour. At last, he turned the final page and looked up.
"Hnnngh…."
Sion clutched his chest, face twisted in soul-wrenching agony.
"This is… too painful…. I think I understand why you kept this from me, young master…."
Romanticism is the soul of literature. And for it to emerge, this novel had to be published. Yet its influence had delayed it thus far.
I took the manuscript back from Sion. On the first page, in ornate script, was the title.
The Sorrows of Young Werther
The Sorrows of Young Werther. That was the title of the novel I would publish next.