privileged women are! They bring grace to their loves. Diogenes
explained to me that it was thus they disarmed morality, that power
dreaded by mankind, and whose aim is to prevent the extraction of
too much pleasure from life. Déidamie was taken away from me while
I still loved her. That is a good time to lose a woman. Regrets then
are transformed into pleasant memories, and one is spared satiety.
Diogenes had predicted that this would hardly last and that Déidamie,
being accustomed to feminine cajoleries, would soon weary, after the
first days of felicitous astonishment, of a being awkward in tender
adorations.
“You will not know,” he said, “how to feed the flame sleeping in her
soft eyes. Your bellows will extinguish instead of keeping it alive.”
And he continued:
“I know all about you, Satyros. You always excite curiosity and you
never fail to disappoint it. Your career consists of abduction, the
sudden surprise, the stupefaction.”
I wanted to reply that there was much truth in his judgment of my
character, but I remained silent, meditating on my companion’s wisdom
and perspicacity. Yet I thought of Cydalise, of whom he was ignorant.
I related the story to him and surprised him. After a moment’s
reflection, he confessed that to know and classify the types of women
was a vain and sorry task; some one would always turn up to contradict
and annihilate the most positive theories.
“What you tell me, Satyros, does not go against the grain, since it
instructs me. The science of men and women is composed of exceptions,
each one of which constitutes a rule. Thus the science is a very long
and laborious one. It thus resembles the Chinese language, which aged
men begin to master after sixty years of study and when they no longer
have either the strength or the inclination to discourse. The eyes
grow impaired in observing men, and it is quite other faculties that
are used in the company of women, without which, besides, they would
be equally spent. But you cannot understand this, you who were kneaded
out of an immortal clay, moulded so that you would never experience
exhaustion, and who are the image of a youthfulness whose illusions
should be realities.”
While saying this, Diogenes looked at me with an air of envy in which
was affection, that air carried by the poor in the presence of vases
filled with gold, such as I have seen in the street behind iron
railings. He continued, as though issuing from a dream:
“Are you truly immortal, Satyros? The great gods, your masters and the
masters of men, are dead....”
“Destiny has overlooked me, Diogenes, and besides, I believe that I
have brethren in the depths of every forest, in the grottos of every
mountain, in every dale. I have never seen, but I divine them. We are
the forces of nature and if we died, you would be condemned to death.”
“That is rather what _we_ are. I think you are confusing immortality
and perpetuity.”
I did not answer. I find it difficult to enter into subtleties. It
seems to me that my horns then begin to shoot out of my head. This time
he looked at me with pity:
“Hm! Satyr,” he said. “To return to a more sensible topic, since
Cydalise loves you, why do you not go to find her again?”
“And will you come with me, Diogenes?”
“Without a doubt. You spoke of destiny, and since it has placed in my
path a son, or even a grand-cousin of the immortal gods, do you suppose
that I can abandon him? You do not know friendship, Satyros. It is
man’s virtue.”
Thereupon, he delivered a long discourse which enchanted me by the
charmingly cadenced arrangement of its periods. I imagined myself
transported to the times of my childhood, I drank his eloquence like
my mother’s milk. I was stirred, I wept with emotion and I panted,
half-drowned under these harmonious waves. I am Greek and sensitive
to the felicities of rhetoric. Ah! had he spoken in Greek, I would
have offered to share my divinity with him, but I was thankful for his
discretion and embraced him. It was the time propitious for swearing
eternal friendship. I passed the remainder of the day congratulating
myself on the good fortune which had fallen to my lot among mankind. I
had a friend, and without understanding the joys that this should bring
me, I considered them great and equal to those painted by Diogenes in
his flowered discourse.
He came to live with me. He installed himself in an adjoining room
which I was happy to be able to offer him, as is fitting in true
friendship, and he did not hesitate to share my frugal repasts, with
which he was pleased to be contented. Then he spoke once more of
Cydalise, whose portrait arose from the depths of his memories. I
described her to him and he forthwith knew her. His talk afforded me
pleasure. To speak of her was to revive her under my very eyes, almost
under my lips. She was nearer to me, each time I pronounced her name
aloud, and it seemed to me that the door was about to open and reveal
her.
Cydalise had not returned for nearly a month and she had only written
me somewhat enigmatic letters which but half reassured me. The last
was a note so brief that I read it at a glance, as one drinks with
a single draught the water scooped into the palm of the hand. I had
been distracted from my uneasiness by Déidamie’s caprice, but now that
the little Phrygian had returned to her friend, I thought deeply of
Cydalise. It was easy for Diogenes to prevail on me to go and join her,
and as he wished to spare me all the inconveniences of the trip, our
departure was decided upon, following a new discourse which profoundly
stirred me to the depths of my heart and satisfied my last scruples. We
made our preparations. I did not forget the treasure with whose care I
was entrusted. Diogenes took charge of it.
You will know the consequences.
ANTIPHILOS,
_Satyr._
XII
THE CLUSTER OF GRAPES
XII
Monte-Carlo, September 20.
Consequently we left. Diogenes was in very good spirits and I a trifle
out of countenance by such a rapid decision, for he had hardly obtained
my consent than, our affairs in order, we were on our way.
“Perhaps,” I said, “Cydalise is returning at the very moment that I
leave. What will she think of me?”
But Diogenes seemed quite sure of the matter.
“Doubtless, at this very moment she is climbing the flight of stairs,
she knocks at the door, no one answers her, she grows perturbed,
she begins to make inquiries. This is possible since everything is
possible. But Cydalise is not one of those giddy, thoughtless persons
who arrive all of a sudden at the home of their lover, especially
when the lover goes by the name of Satyros. Life has given such a one
experience. Trust in me, my friend, and let us have no anxieties about
the matter.”
As I am always sensitive to the last impression which strikes me, I
easily agreed with the opinion of Diogenes and began to examine the
landscape which still possessed the richness of summer. Everywhere I
imagined I found once more the appearance of the Cogolin countryside
and the fragrance of its orange-trees. In vain did Diogenes endeavor
to put me right by informing me that we were quite remote from that
spot; still I saw the woods of the last days of my liberty, and I grew
enthusiastic as though they were about to return.
“Let us get off at this spot,” I would say each moment, “I feel that
happiness awaits me in these rocks. A woman has come for me in this
very place, she is looking for me, she believes she has spied me behind
each clump of arbutus. See, she turns round hopefully and scans the
autumn-hued land. Let us get off, let us get off!”
“It is a long time since you beheld the country fields, Satyros,”
Diogenes answered. “Your head is turned. What would you have us do
in this wild desert? It is nothing but a color, it is nothing but
imagination.”
The train slackened its speed and Diogenes had to stop me as I was
about to hurl myself through the carriage door. It opened at the same
moment and two women entered our compartment where we had been alone
up till now. Diogenes now knew that he need no longer watch me. From
his pocket he drew a newspaper and began to read tranquilly, confident
that I would not try to escape. In fact, I was quite at ease, quite
satisfied with the turn of affairs. Although the new arrivals afforded
no pleasure to my eyes, they were capable of occupying my imagination.
I recognized their coiffure. How many similar heads had I not pursued
in days of yore among the shadows of descending night, on the skirt of
the vineyards! They were not absolutely ugly and their eyes had even a
certain beauty; but what heaviness of outline, what disgracefulness of
forms! Certainly I had loved more than one with less comeliness. And
these were the types of conquests with which I had once been so elated,
those fruits of nature which I had devoured, those earthen urns out of
which I had quaffed my pleasures so boldly. These buxom daughters of
Pomona carried in each arm a basket of grapes, oranges and vegetables.
These they deposited near them, and as I looked at the contents of the
baskets more intently than at their owners, one of them addressed me in
a singing voice:
“Perhaps you would like to eat a bunch of grapes?”
I stretched my hand forward and she gracefully lifted her heavy basket
toward me. She was the less coarse of the two.
“I can only offer you,” I said, “a kiss.”
Both of them commenced to laugh and the other, in an engaging manner,
remarked:
“The baskets belong to the two of us.”
I kissed her on the cheek, and her companion on the corner of her
lips. I had once again become a faun; my contemptuous reflections had
counted for naught against the tempting odor of a market woman!
They laughed so loudly, to conceal their embarrassment, that they
failed to notice the train’s arrival at Arcs. Diogenes, whom the scene
had diverted from his newspaper, mentioned the fact aloud and the
countrywomen hastened to dismount. As I held out their baskets to them,
she whom I had touched with my desire bowed to me with a smile while
the other said:
“Shall we perhaps meet again?”
I had dominated my emotion. When the train started again, Diogenes
sententiously proferred these words which I was long in understanding:
“That is what one gets for having frequented the little courtesans of
Toulon.”
Noticing my astonishment, he added:
“Satyros is becoming farther and farther removed from nature. Perhaps
we shall be able to make something out of him.”
Diogenes’ perspicacity surprised and enchanted me at the same time. How
well the two propositions reunite and how faithfully they render my own
sentiment. But what could be the meaning of these words: “Perhaps we
shall be able to make something out of him. Am I then nothing, nothing
of consequence, nothing serious and true?”
“Diogenes,” I answered, “I understand your first thought; it answers to
mine; but what do you propose to make of me? This is vague.”
“A philosopher, Satyros, nothing more and nothing less, a philosopher
like myself, that is to say a man who is the dupe of nothing or who,
when he is a dupe, knows and enjoys his deception. It is a very rare
state of mind and surpasses even that of the Gods whom, if I am to
judge by yourself, are totally ignorant and always at the mercy of the
impressions of the moment. I was satisfied to notice with what an eye
you studied the rustics who tried their best little tricks upon you.
That is the first stage. One must know how to resist the passions. The
second consists in yielding to them. To be neither above nor below
human weakness, which the divine foibles greatly resemble, if once more
I can judge by yourself,—here you have the ideal position. Be always at
their level, always ready to respond to them.”
“Had I met them along some path, in the mountain, despite my repulsion
of the first moment I would not have been able to master my desire.”
“It is thus I understand the second stage,” answered Diogenes, “but
there is a third stage, which is still more advantageous. This takes
place when a person loves himself sufficiently, loves himself more than
the desires which make him leave his egoism. I am journeying toward
that condition, which I do not believe you will ever attain, Satyros.”
“No more do I myself believe it, Diogenes. If the nature of the
gods is hardly removed from that of men, it nevertheless differs in
this essential point: all poetry is forthwith incorporated with its
substance, effortlessly and by the very play of desire. I enrich myself
where you impoverish yourself, Diogenes.”
It was his turn to meditate upon the profundity of my words. He did
not know what to answer, doubtless, for on his face I read ennui
and sadness and envy perhaps. Diogenes is no longer very young. I
fear his philosophy is only a sort of insouciant resignation to the
fatality which weighs on mankind. I perceive—books have already taught
me this—that there are as many philosophies as there are ages and
temperaments. He has sufficiently outlined this for me by his theory
of the three stages. One desires to resist passions when they are so
weak that a little attention suffices to master them. One yields to
them when they are so strong that a struggle is grievous. One scorns
them on the day they become nerveless, when one no longer dare regret
the time of their heydey for fear of appearing in the attitude of a
vanquished person. That is the moment of virtue. According as young or
old men, the feeble or the strong govern society, the one or the other
spirit dominates the world. And I really believe that this applies to
all human inclinations. States fluctuate according as action or thought
and dream are held in higher repute. Ah! I understand why they laugh
in Olympus.
ANTIPHILOS,
_Satyr._
XIII
THE UNKNOWN WOMAN
XIII
Cannes, December 1.
Good friend, I have not told you what happened to us at Monte-Carlo
and it is with difficulty that I now recall it. At first it seemed
important and stirring, but I readily see that events have hardly any
interest outside of their novelty: this should teach us to view them
philosophically at the very moment when they appear most grievous. It
really seems to me that the adventure which befell Diogenes, and which
affected us both, might have turned out badly for both of us, at least
this is what he told me, but my insouciance did not linger on the
matter overlong and life soon put me to rights.
“Fortunate Antiphilos!” said Diogenes, gazing at me with an admiration
in which anger was mingled, “we are lost and he is as calm as a god!
Are you at least capable of giving me some advice? Divine animal, be
oracular, be Dodonian, pronounce a number!”
It is probable that I obeyed, for Diogenes manifested a sudden
contentment and disappeared, leaving me slightly bewildered by his
eccentricities, on one of the garden seats, in the dim shadow of the
palm trees. I was not long in finding tranquility, since the place was
propitious to peace. Young women passed by accompanied by aged men and
the same thoughts certainly did not inhabit their heads, for their
glances were unlike. The expressions on the men’s faces were dull, the
women looked stupid, and though some among them were quite pretty, they
did not inspire me with any desire.
Besides, I do not dispute a woman with any male. Only the rams, goats
and bulls intertwine their horns and battle for the conquest of
females. I, whose ways are peaceful, only attack unescorted women; it
is surer. Unless it be night, I even wait to see, in their eyes, near
the dwellings, the provocative little flame which my presence rarely
fails to light in their eyes. I do not put myself to any trouble,
unless I am sure of pleasing. Diogenes has told me that men are not
so constituted and that what often excites them in a woman is her
coldness, no less than the obstacles which shield her. On this subject
they use in their speech all sorts of images of warfare which make
veritable treaties of strategy of their books on love. It is a question
of siege, stratagems, skirmishes, attack, defeat, resistance, victory,
conquest. I do not understand all these things. Love is naught when it
is not the leaping of a twin desire. Yet I would not be worthy of my
name of Satyros did I not admit assault and abduction, the surprise
which satisfies desire lulled to sleep before it has had time to
awake. It is not perhaps the most beautiful side of my nature, but it
is such as the gods have made it and besides, neither women nor girls
have ever taken offense at it. I must confess that I have completely
leashed these habits since living, in the towns, a life similar to
that of other men. If I have not yet been able to understand that one
lays siege to woman, as Alexander laid siege to the city of Tyre, it
is perhaps due to the fact that I still rely more on the candor of
her desires than on a possession which, in the strategic system, one
generally owes to the weariness of the besieged, to the poliorcetic
science of the besieger.
“Satyros,” Diogenes suddenly cried out, “Satyros! You are the true God
or at least a true god!”
And, plunging a hand in his pocket, he drew it forth filled with gold
pieces.
“But let us be circumspect,” he continued. “One must no longer question
destiny. It has answered in no uncertain terms. Let us flee this town.
Take my arm on the side where I carry the gold and let us leave without
turning our heads.”
“You are wrong, monsieur,” a voice behind us answered. “One does not
thus break his lucky streak....”
The voice belonged to an extremely pretty woman who lacked neither
elegance nor distinction. Diogenes apostrophized her strongly:
“Are you the guardian dragon of these portals, recovering from mortals
the gold which destiny conceded them? Are you....”
“I am not even a dragon of virtue,” answered the young woman, smiling
pleasantly. “You are right. It is time to go and breakfast. I will show
you the way.”
I had the look of a schoolboy rescued from the perils of an adventure
by his elder brother and I found that Diogenes really protected my
virtue a little too carefully, for this woman decidedly pleased me. I
am ashamed to avow it, but I struggled an instant longer against my
desire, I was on the point of obeying Diogenes, my arm relaxed its
hold, I felt myself the docile son of the dreariest civilization, which
sits down at the roadside and watches its dream pass, without daring
to arrest them. But she turned her fair head, her clear eyes toward
me, our glances penetrated each other and I suddenly felt myself become
again the faun of the forests, the jovial, whinnying faun who can
overcome pitchfork blows, but not reasonings.
With a harsh burst of laughter, I scoffed at my hesitations. My
companion trembled and grasped my arm tighter. She led me away and I
imagined that I was carrying her off, for already I felt her limbs
tremble under my strength.
When Diogenes rejoined us in the rooms, to which he had the key, she
was already arranging her hair in front of the mirror, while glancing
at my reflection in one of its corners. She was murmuring:
“What a man! Amazing!”
He had the rudeness to come and behold us, then he shrugged his
shoulders and said:
“It might as well be this one as another. Besides, she is pretty, even
though she has blond hair. Satyros could not remain good very long. And
one must enliven the journey. We are going far, madam, and the caprices
of the gods are short-lived. I leave you, unless you are going to
invite me to the repast.”
The nymph was still dressing her hair. I reflected on the fortunate
state of women in being able to arrange their hair in delicate
situations. I myself did not know what to say, I did not know what to
do.
“What repast?” asked the lady. “It is finished,” she added with a happy
laugh. “At least, I believe so.”
“And are you ready?” questioned Diogenes.
“Who are you anyway?” she rejoined, almost angry. “Why do you come to
interfere?...”
“Madam, I am Satyros’ secretary, and as I fear that he does not know
the customs very well....”
“I understand. You imagine me venal? I am life’s slave, that is all.
I know how to enjoy, making allowances for my chain and its length,
the enchantments of the present moment, and I accept the disappointing
after-taste that follows. Leave me with my friend an hour, so that I
may gather, under my eyelids, tears for the moment he will quit me....
I have often seen love bud in eyes that followed me, but I have not
known how to make the bud thrive, how to keep it fresh, at least, like
a rose in a glass of water. When friends abandon me, they tear the rose
to bits and sneer, they throw it to the ground and trample it. Are you,
too, ashamed of your pleasures?”
“How well she speaks!” exclaimed Diogenes, who loves eloquence. “How I
love this flute player! And you say nothing, Satyros?”
But I spoke and she remained.
ANTIPHILOS,
_Satyr._
XIV
FLIGHT
XIV
Cannes.
A sage among civilized people, Diogenes tells me, decrees the uttering
of hypocritical compliments during the last days of the year, but this
does not suit me at all for several reasons. The first one is that
I am aware of the seasons, but not of the years, which have already
fallen on me in such numbers that I should be engulfed by them. Now it
is warm, now it is cold. The seasons alternate and do not accumulate.
The second, third and other reasons are that I have a profound disgust
for men and no longer wish to resemble them in anything. I am going
to leave, I shall return to the old, consecrated woods, to the fortune
awaiting me on the paths. I have engaged my passage on a vessel which
returns to the land of Theocritus, deprived of the citrons it brought.
Diogenes has pointed out to me that I would doubtless be very ill and
that I might be shipwrecked, but I believe he did it only to frighten
me, and besides I prefer risking every peril to becoming, in the end, a
man like yourself. I leave, I leave! Nothing shall hold me.
I flee a frightful evil, which reduces my strength, exhausts my
limbs, which might succeed in turning my skin white. Diogenes, who is
touched with the malady like myself, but less perhaps, supports it
merrily, laughs at me, swears that it is the common lot of mankind
and that I must learn to live with him. I already suffered an attack
and acquainted you with its nature, I believe, but this time it is
intolerable. This is boredom. Everything seems unprofitable. I have no
desire and life for me is vapid. Diogenes tells me that this seizure
will pass like the first one, but it is much stronger and I succumb to
it. I feel that solitude alone can cure me and I must apply myself to
seek it with the last ounce of energy left in me.
Cydalise has absolutely forgotten me. This caused me bitter pain, a
sentiment of which I am ashamed. Diogenes finds it an honorable one,
but happily I am not fashioned like you and find myself horrified at
the idea that a woman should have been able to reduce me to such a
degree of slavery that her forgetfulness would make me wretched. The
worst of it is that a part of me thinks like Diogenes. He has left
for a trip to Toulon. She has never returned. She has not written.
Finally, through a female companion, he learned that Cydalise had never
gone to Toulon; the informant added that we would perhaps have some
tidings before long. I would henceforth like to know only chance women
like the one I met in the gardens of Monte-Carlo. It is wrong for a
person to belie his own nature. I am pleased with those women who come
led by pure chance, and who pass.
I am leaving! Yet there is a consolation in those syllables which
I often repeat and which betoken my last days among men. Diogenes
does not try very hard to detain me. He sees my dejection and has
renounced the idea of conquering it. Besides, I believe he is feeling
the nostalgia of his libidinous life, the trip to Toulon awoke his
memories. I shall perhaps miss him. He is not at all ignorant of the
customs of the women of the country and I, who am almost totally
ignorant of them, enjoyed his bitter words which were yet full of
gayety.