He rose, gazed once more at Touni as she lifted up her great eyes to
him, and taking one of the two gold pins from her hair, he buried it in
her left breast.
CHAPTER IV
APHRODITE’S PEARLS
Yet this woman would have given him her comb and even her hair for love
of him.
It was simply a scruple which had prevented him asking her for it:
Chrysis had very clearly desired a crime and not the ancient ornament
from a young woman’s hair. That was the reason he believed it his duty
to take part in the shedding of blood.
He might have considered that oaths made to a woman during an access
of love can be forgotten afterwards without any great harm being done
to the moral worth of the lover who has sworn them, and that, if ever
this involuntary forgetfulness were excusable, it was so in the
circumstances when the life of another woman, who was quite innocent,
was being weighed in the balance. But Demetrios did not stay to reason
thus. The adventure he had undertaken seemed to him too curious to be
stayed by incidents of violence.
So after cutting off Touni’s hair and concealing the ivory comb in his
clothing, he without further reflection undertook the third of the
tasks ordered by Chrysis: the taking of the necklace of Aphrodite.
There was no question of entering the temple by the great door. The
twelve hermaphrodites who kept the door would no doubt have allowed
Demetrios to enter, in spite of the order which refused admission to
the unsanctified in the priest’s absence; but what was the use of thus
simply establishing his guilt for the future when there was a secret
entry leading to the sanctuary. Demetrios wended his way to a lonely
part of the wood where the necropolis of the High Priests of the
Goddess was situated. He counted the tombs, opened the door of the
seventh, and closed it behind him.
With great difficulty, for the stone was heavy, he raised a slab within
the tomb which disclosed a marble staircase and descended it step by
step.
He knew that it was possible to take sixty steps in a straight line and
then it was necessary to advance by feeling the wall to save falling
down the subterranean staircase of the temple.
The coolness of this deep passage gradually calmed him. In a few
minutes he reached the end of it, ascended steps and opened the door.
The night was clear in the open, but black in the holy place. When he
had cautiously closed the heavy door, he felt himself to be trembling
as if he had been gripped by the coldness of the stones. He dared not
lift his eyes. The black silence terrified him; the darkness seemed to
him alive with the unknown. He put his hand to his brow like a man who
did not desire to awaken lest he might find himself alive. At last he
had the courage to look.
In a gleam of bright moonlight the Goddess was visible upon a pedestal
of red stone loaded with hanging treasures. She was naked and tenderly
tinted like a woman; in one hand she held her mirror and with the other
she was adorning her beauty with a necklace of seven rows of pearls. A
pearl, larger than the rest, long and silvery, gleamed at her breast
like a crescent. These were the actual holy pearls.
Demetrios was lost in ineffable adoration. He believed in truth that
Aphrodite herself was there. He could no longer recognize his own work,
so deep was the abyss between that which it used to be and had become.
He extended his arms and murmured the mysterious words by which the
Goddess is addressed in the Phrygian ceremonies.
Supernatural, luminous, immaculate, nude and pure the vision seemed to
hover over the stone pedestal softly palpitating. He fixed his eyes
upon it, though he feared that the caress of his gaze would make this
feeble hallucination vanish in the air. He advanced slowly and touched
with his finger the rosy toe as if to assure himself of the existence
of the statue, and being incapable of stopping, so great was its
attraction for him, he mounted and stood by its side, placing his hands
upon the white shoulders and looking into the eyes.
He trembled, he faltered and began to laugh with joy. His hands
wandered over the bare arms, and he clasped the cold hard waist with
all his strength. He gazed at himself in the mirror, grasped the
necklace of pearls, took it off, made it gleam in the moonlight and
then fearfully replaced it. He kissed the hand, the round neck, the
undulating throat and the half-open marble mouth. Then he withdrew to
the edge of the pedestal and gazed tenderly at the lovely bowed head.
The hair of the statue had been arranged in the oriental fashion and
lightly veiled the forehead. The half-shut eyes were prolonged in a
smile. The lips were separated as if vanquished by a kiss.
He silently replaced the seven rows of round pearls upon the glorious
breast and descended to gaze upon the idol from a greater distance.
Then he seemed to awaken. He remembered his errand which he had up to
then failed to accomplish, and realized how monstrous a project it was.
He felt his blood burn to the temples.
The memory of Chrysis came to him like a common apparition. He
enumerated everything which was at all doubtful in the courtesan’s
beauty; her full lips, her dishevelled hair and her careless walk.
He had forgotten what her hands were like, but he imagined them to be
large in order to add an odious detail to the picture which he was
attempting to reject. His state of mind was like that of a man who had
been surprised at dawn by his dear mistress in the arms of a common
girl, and could offer no explanation to himself as to why he allowed
himself the previous evening to be tempted. He could find no excuse
for himself nor even a serious reason. Evidently during the day he had
suffered from a fit of passing madness, a physical trouble, a malady.
He felt himself to be cured but still intoxicated with stupefaction.
To complete the recovery of his senses he leant against the temple wall
and stood for a long time before the statue. The moonlight continued
to shine through the square opening in the roof; Aphrodite shone
resplendent; and as the eyes of the statue were in the shadow he tried
to catch their expression.
He spent the whole night like this. Then daylight came and the statue
in turn assumed the living rose colour of the dawn and the golden tint
of the sunlight.
Demetrios could no longer think. The ivory comb and the silver mirror
which he carried within his tunic had disappeared from his memory. He
gently abandoned himself to serene contemplation.
Outside the confused singing and twittering of the birds sounded in
the gardens. The talking and laughing of women’s voices could be heard
outside the walls. The life and movement of the morning was spreading
over the awakened land. Demetrios was full of pleasant ideas.
The sun was high and the shadow from the roof had moved before he heard
the confused sound of light footsteps on the outer staircase.
No doubt it was the prelude of a sacrifice to the Goddess by a
procession of young women, who came to perform their vows or to offer
up their prayers before the statue on the first day of the festival of
Aphrodite.
Demetrios wished to flee. The sacred pedestal opened at the back in a
way that only the priests and the sculptor knew. That was the position
occupied by the hierophant from which he recited to a young girl with a
clear strong voice the miraculous discourse which came from the statue
on the third day of the festival. From that place the gardens could
be reached. Demetrios entered and stood before a bronze-edged opening
which pierced the thick stone.
The two golden gates slowly opened. Then the procession entered.
CHAPTER V
DICE--THE VENUS THROW
About the middle of the night Chrysis was awakened by three knocks at
the door.
She was sleeping with her two friends Rhodis and Myrtocleia, and rising
cautiously she went down and half opened the door.
A voice came from without. “Who is it, Djala? Who is it?” she asked.
“Naucrates wishes to speak to you. I told him that you were engaged.”
“Oh, how foolish! Most certainly I will see him. I am not engaged. Come
in, Naucrates. I am in my chamber.”
She went back to bed. Naucrates remained for a moment at the door as if
he feared to be indiscreet. The two girls, who were musicians, opened
their sleepy eyes but could not rend themselves from their dreams.
“Sit down,” said Chrysis. “There need be no false modesty between us
two. I know that you have not come to see me. What do you want?”
Naucrates was a well-known philosopher who for more than twenty
years had been the lover of Bacchis and had not deceived her, though
more from indolence than fidelity be it said. His grey hair was cut
short, his beard was pointed after the manner of Demosthenes and his
moustaches were even with his lips. He wore a great white woollen robe.
“I have brought you an invitation,” he said. “Bacchis is giving a
dinner to-morrow to be followed by a fête. We shall be seven including
yourself. Be sure you come.”
“A fête? What is the occasion?”
“She has given freedom to her most beautiful slave Aphrodisia. There
will be dancers and musicians. I think your two friends are engaged
to be there, and ought not to be here now. They are at this moment
rehearsing at Bacchis’ house.”
“Oh! that is right,” Rhodis cried, “we had forgotten it. Arise, Myrto,
we are very late.”
But Chrysis declared--
“No! not yet! It is too bad to take away my friends. If I had suspected
I should not have admitted you. Oh! they are dressed already!”
“Our dresses are not very elaborate,” the girl answered. “We are not
beautiful enough to spend much time over our toilettes.”
“Shall I then see you at the temple at some hour to-morrow?” Chrysis
asked them.
“Yes, to-morrow morning, we shall take doves as our offering. I am
taking a drachma from your purse, Chrysis. We shall not otherwise have
the money to purchase them. Good-bye till to-morrow.”
They ran out. Naucrates gazed for some time at the door which had
closed behind them, then he rose, saying--
“Can I tell Bacchis that she may reckon upon you?”
“I will come,” Chrysis replied.
The philosopher bowed to her and slowly departed.
As soon as he had gone Chrysis clasped her hands and spoke aloud
although she was alone.
“Bacchis, Bacchis, he comes from her and does not know. Is the mirror
then still in her possession? Demetrios has forgotten me. If he has
hesitated on the first day, I am lost, he will do nothing. But it is
quite possible that he has obtained it. Bacchis has other mirrors which
she uses more often. Without a doubt she has not found out yet. Ye
Gods! Ye Gods! there is no way of finding out. Ah! Djala! Djala!”
The slave entered.
“Give me my dice. I wish to throw them,” Chrysis said.
She tossed in the air the four dice.
“Oh! oh! Djala, look!”
The throw had resulted in the dice each presenting a different face. It
was thirty-five chances to one against this happening and it was the
highest scoring throw of all.
Djala coldly observed--
“What did you wish?”
“Quite true,” Chrysis said in disappointed tones. “I forgot to utter a
wish. I thought of something but said nothing. Does not that count just
the same?”
“I don’t think so; you must start again.”
Chrysis made a second throw. This time the result was not decisive, it
resulted in both good and bad omens and required another throw to make
its meaning clear.
The third throw Chrysis made with one of the dice only, and when she
saw the result burst into tears.
Djala said nothing but was herself uneasy. Chrysis lay upon her bed
weeping with her hair in disorder. At last she turned round with an
angry movement.
“Why did you make me begin again? I am sure the first throw counted.”
“It would have done if you had expressed a wish, but you did not. You
are the only one who knows what your desire was.”
“Besides, dice prove nothing. It is a Greek game. I don’t believe in
it. I am going to try something else.”
She dried her tears and crossed the room. She took from the table a box
of white counters, selected twenty-two of them, and then with the point
of a pearl hook scratched one after the other the letters of the Hebrew
alphabet upon them.
“I rely upon this. It never deceives one,” she said. “Raise the front
of your robe, that shall be my bag.”
She threw the twenty-two counters into the slave’s tunic, repeating in
her mind--
“Shall I wear Aphrodite’s necklace? Shall I wear Aphrodite’s necklace?
Shall I wear Aphrodite’s necklace?”
She drew out the tenth arcanum which clearly meant--
“Yes.”
CHAPTER VI
THE ROSE OF CHRYSIS THE LOVELY
It was a white, blue, yellow, red and green procession.
Thirty courtesans advanced carrying baskets of flowers, snow-white
doves with red feet, veils of the most fragile azure and valuable
ornaments.
An old white-bearded priest, enveloped from head to foot in stiff
unbleached stuff walked in front of this procession of youth and guided
towards the stone altar the line of devout worshippers.
They sang, and their song rose and fell like the sound of the sea and
the winds. The first two carried harps, which they held in the palm of
their left hands and bent forward like sickles of slender wood.
One of them advanced and said--
“Tryperha, beloved Cypris, offers thee this blue veil which she has
spun herself so that thou mayst continue thy goodness to her.”
Another said--
“Mousairon lays at the feet of the Goddess of the beautiful crown,
these garlands and bouquets of flowers. She has worn them at the fête
and has invoked thy name in the intoxication of their perfumes. O
Conqueror, receive these spoils of love.”
Another one said--
“As an offering to thee, golden Cytheræ, Timo consecrates this sinuous
bracelet. Mayst thou entwine thy vengeance around the throat of the one
thou knowest, as this silver serpent entwined itself about these naked
arms.”
Myrtocleia and Rhodis advanced hand in hand.
“Here are two doves from Smyrna with wings as white as caresses and
feet as red as kisses. O double Goddess of Amathonte, accept them from
our joint hands if it is true that the fair Adonis did not satisfy thee
and a still more sweet embrace sometimes disturbed thy slumbers.”
A very young courtesan followed, saying--
“Aphrodite Peribasia receive my virginity with this stained tunic of
mine. I am Pannychis of Pharos; since last night I have vowed myself to
thy worship.”
Another said--
“Dorothea begs thee, charitable Epistrophia, to banish from her mind
the desire placed there by Eros or at least to inflame for her the
eyes of the lover who refuses her. She presents to thee this branch of
myrtle because it is the tree thou preferest.”
Another said--
“Upon thy altar, Paphia, Calliston places sixty drachmas of silver, the
balance of a gift she has received from Cleomenes. Give her a still
more generous lover, if the offering seems to thee acceptable.”
The only one left in front of the idol was a blushing child who had
taken the last place. She held in her hand nothing but a tiny garland
of flowers, and the priest treated her with contempt because of the
smallness of her offering.
She said--
“I am not rich enough to give thee pieces of gold, great Goddess.
Besides, what could I give thee which thou dost not already possess.
Here are green and yellow flowers woven as a garland for thy feet.”
The procession seemed to be at an end and the other courtesans were
about to retrace their steps when a woman was seen standing at the door.
She had nothing in her hand and seemed to have come to offer her beauty
to the Goddess. Her hair was like two waves of gold, two deep billows
full of shadow engulfing the ears and twisted in seven turns at the
throat. Her nose was fine, with expressive and palpitating nostrils,
and beneath it was a full and coral coloured mouth with rounded mobile
corners to it. The supple lines of the body undulated at each step she
took.
Her eyes were wonderful; they were blue but dark and gleaming as well,
and changed like moonstones, as she held them half closed beneath her
long lashes. The glances of those eyes were like the sirens’ songs.
The priest turned towards her and waited for her to speak.
She said--
“Chrysis offers up her prayer to thee, O Chrysea. Receive the paltry
offering she lays at thy feet. Hear and aid, love and solace her who
lives according to thy pattern and for the worship of thy name.”
She extended her hands golden with rings and bowed her knees before the
Goddess.
The vague chant recommenced. The sound of the harps ascended towards
the statue with the smoke of the incense which the priest was burning
in a swinging censor.
She slowly rose and presented a bronze mirror which had been hanging at
her girdle.
“To thee,” she said, “Astarte, Goddess of the Night, who minglest hands
and lips and whose symbol is like unto the footprint of the hinds upon
the earth of Syria, Chrysis consecrates her mirror. It has seen the
eyes and the gleam of love in them, the hair clinging to the temples
after the rites of thy ceremonial, O thou warrior with relentless hands
thou mingler of bodies and mouths.”
The priest placed the mirror at the foot of the statue. Chrysis drew
from her golden hair a long comb of red copper, the sacred metal of
the Goddess.
“To thee,” she said, “Anadyomene, who wast born of the blood-hued dawn
and the foaming smile of the sea, to thee, whose nakedness is like the
gleam of pearls, who fastenest thy moist hair with ribbons of seaweed,
Chrysis dedicates her comb. It has been plunged in her hair disordered
by movements in thy name.”
She handed the comb to the old man and leant her head to the right to
take off her emerald necklace.
“To thee,” she said, “O Hetaira, who wipest away the blushes of
shamefaced virgins and teaches them the immodest laugh, to thee, for
whom we barter our love, Chrysis dedicates her necklace. She received
it from a man whose name she does not know and each emerald represents
a kiss where thou hast dwelt for a moment.”
She bowed herself once again and for a longer space as she placed the
necklace in the priest’s hands and took a step as if to depart.
But the priest detained her.
“What do you ask from the Goddess in return for these precious
offerings?”
She smiled and shook her head, saying--
“I ask for nothing.”
Then she walked along the row of women, took a rose from a basket and
raised it to her lips as she went out.
One by one all the women followed her and the door closed upon an empty
temple.
* * * * *
Demetrios had remained alone concealed in the bronze pedestal.
He had not lost a gesture or a word of the whole of this scene, and
when it was ended he remained for a long while without moving, being
once again in a state of torment, passion and irresolution.
He had believed himself cured of the madness of the previous night and
thought that nothing could ever again hurl him into this shadow of the
unknown.
But he had reckoned without the woman.
Women! women! if you desire to be loved, show yourself, return, be
ever-present! The emotion he had felt at the entrance of the courtesan
was so overwhelming and complete that there could be no thought of
opposing it by an effort of the will. Demetrios was bound like a
barbarian slave to the conqueror’s chariot. The thought that he had
freed himself was a delusion. Without knowing it and quite naturally
she had placed her hand upon him.
He had seen her approach, for she wore the same yellow robe she had
done when he met her on the jetty. She walked with slow and graceful
steps with undulating motion of the hips. She had come straight towards
him as if she guessed he were concealed behind the stone.
From the first he realized that he had again fallen at her feet.
When she took from her girdle the mirror of shining bronze, she gazed
at herself in it for a time before handing it to the priest, and the
splendour of her eyes became dazzling. When to take her copper comb she
put her hand to her hair and lifted her bent arm, the beautiful lines
of her body were displayed beneath her robe and the sunlight glistened
upon the tiny beads of perspiration on her skin. When, last of all, to
unfasten and take off her necklace of heavy emeralds she put aside the
thick silk which shielded her breast and left but a little space full
of shadow with just room for the insertion of a bouquet, Demetrios felt
himself seized with frenzy.
But then she began to speak and each word of hers was suffering to him.
She, a beautiful vase, white as the statue itself and with gleaming
golden hair, seemed to insist upon pleasure. She told of her deeds in
the service of the Goddess. Even the ease with which her favours were
obtainable attracted Demetrios to her. How true it is that a woman is
not entirely seductive to her lover unless she gives him ground for
jealousy!
So, after presenting to the Goddess her green necklace in exchange for
the one for which she was hoping, when Chrysis returned to the city she
took with her a man’s will in her mouth with the little rose the stalk
of which she was biting.
Demetrios waited till he was alone in the holy place; then he emerged
from his retreat.
He looked at the statue in anguish expecting a struggle within him. But
being incapable of renewing, after so short an interval, such violent
emotion, he remained wonderfully calm and without any preliminary
remorse.
He carelessly ascended to the statue, took off the necklace of real
pearls from its bowed neck and concealed it within his raiment.
CHAPTER VII
QUEEN BERENICE
He walked very rapidly in the hope of overtaking Chrysis on the road
leading to the city, fearing if he lingered that he might become
cowardly and irresolute once again.
The road, white with heat, was so luminous that Demetrios closed his
eyes as if he had been in the midday sunlight. In that way he walked
without seeing where he was going, and he had only just escaped
colliding with four black slaves who were walking in front of a cortège
when a little musical voice softly said--
“Beloved! how glad I am!”
He lifted his head: it was Queen Berenice reclining in her litter.
She ordered the bearers to stop and stretched out her arms to her
lover.
Demetrios was much annoyed; but he could not refuse, so he slipped into
the litter, with a sullen air.
Then Queen Berenice was filled with joy and rolled upon her cushions
like a playful cat.
Now this litter was a room and twenty-four slaves carried it. Twelve
women could easily lie within amid its blue tapestry, cushions and
stuffs; and it was so lofty that it was not possible to touch the
ceiling even with a fan. It was greater in length than in breadth,
closed in front, but on the other three sides there were three very
light yellow curtains, through which the light came with dazzling
brightness. The floor was of cedar-wood covered with orange silk.
Within it a lighted lamp struggled with the daylight and its ever
changing shadows. Here Queen Berenice reclined between two Persian
slaves who gently fanned her with fans of peacock’s feathers.
She invited the young sculptor to her side with a look and repeated--
“Beloved, I am pleased.” She put her hand upon his cheek.
“I was seeking you, beloved. Where have you been? I have not seen you
since the day before yesterday. If I had not met you I should have
shortly died of grief. Alone in this great litter I was very dull. When
passing over the bridge of Hêrmes I threw all my jewels into the water
to make rings. You can see that I have neither rings nor necklaces now.
I am like a little pauper at your feet.”
She turned to him and kissed him upon the lips. The two fan-bearers
withdrew a little further, and when Queen Berenice began to speak in
a low voice they put their fingers in their ears to pretend that they
were not listening.
But Demetrios did not reply, for he hardly heard her and was quite
deranged. He could only see the young Queen’s smile on her red lips,
and the black cushion of her hair which was always loosely arranged to
serve as a pillow for her weary head.
She said--
“Beloved, I have wept during the night. My bed was cold. When I
awakened, I stretched out my naked arms on each side of my body and I
did not touch you, nor could my hand find this hand of yours I am now
embracing. I expected you in the morning and since the full moon you
have not come. I sent my slaves into every quarter of the city and I
condemned them to death when they returned without you. Where have you
been? Were you at the Temple? You were not in the gardens with the
foreign women? No, I can see from your eyes that you were not. Then
what were you doing so long away from me? Were you before the statue?
Yes, I am sure you were there. You love it more now than you love me.
It is very like me, it has my eyes, my mouth, my breasts; but that is
what you seek. As for me I am poor and forlorn. You are weary of me and
I can see it clearly. You think of your marble and your ugly statues as
if I were not more beautiful than all of them, as well as being alive,
loving, good, ready to give all that you will accept and resigned to
your refusals. But you will have nothing. You would not be king, you
would not be a god and worshipped in a temple of your own. You will
hardly, even, consent to love me now.”
She withdrew her feet beneath her and leant upon her hand.
“I would do anything in the world to see you at the palace, beloved.
If you no longer desire me tell me who attracts you and she shall be
my friend. The women of my court are beautiful. I have twelve who
from their birth have been kept in my gynæceum and are ignorant that
men exist. They shall all be your mistresses if you come and see me
after them. Others I have with me who have had more lovers than the
sacred courtesans and are expert in love. Say one word. I have, too, a
thousand foreign slaves: those you desire shall be given to you. I will
dress them like myself, in yellow silk, gold and silver.
“No, you are the handsomest and coldest of men. You love no one,
you lend yourself simply out of charity for those whom your eyes
have filled with love. You allow me to obtain my happiness from your
presence, but only in the way a beast allows itself to be led, looking
elsewhere. You are full of condescension. Ye Gods! Ye Gods! I shall
end by separating from you, young coxcomb whom all the city adores
and no one can make weep. I have others besides women at the palace.
I have strong Ethiopians who have chests of bronze and arms knotted
with muscles. I shall soon forget you. But the day I am sure that your
absence no longer makes me suffer, that I have replaced you, I will
send you from the top of the bridge of Hêrmes to join my necklaces and
rings like a jewel I have worn too long. Ah! what it is to be a queen!”
She raised herself and seemed to be waiting for an answer. But
Demetrios still remained impassible and made no more movement than if
he had not heard.
“Do you not understand?”
He nonchalantly leant upon his elbow as he said in a very unconcerned
way--
“I have just had an idea for a story.
“Long ago before Thrace was conquered by your father’s ancestors it was
overrun by wild animals and a few timid men dwelt there as well.
“The animals were very fine; there were lions red as the sun, tigers
streaked like the evening and bears black as night.
“The men were small and flat-nosed, clad in old hairless skins, and
armed with big spears and clumsy bows. They hid themselves in mountain
caves, behind huge blocks of stone which they moved with the greatest
difficulty. Their life was spent in hunting. There was blood in the
forests.
“The land was so mournful that the Gods had deserted it. When at the
break of day Artemis left Olympus his path was never towards the north.
The wars there never disturbed Ares. The absence of flutes and citharas
turned away Apollo from it. The triple Hecate shone there alone like
the face of a Medusa upon a petrified land.
“Now a man came there to dwell; a man of a more fortunate race, who did
not walk about clad in skins like the savages in the mountains.
“He wore a long white robe which trailed behind him a little. Through
the beautiful glades of the forest he loved to wander at night in the
moonlight holding in his hand a little lute with three silver strings.
“When his fingers touched the strings delightful music came from them,
music sweeter than the sound of the springs or the whispers of the wind
in the trees or the noise of grass shaken by the wind. The first time
he began to play three sleeping tigers awakened, and so charmed were
they that they did him no injury but came as near as possible to him
while he was playing and afterwards withdrew. The next day still more
animals came to listen, wolves, hyænas and serpents upright upon their
tails.
“After a very short time the animals themselves came and asked him to
play to them. It often happened that a bear came to him alone and went
away satisfied with three marvellous chords. In return for his kindness
the beasts gave him his food and protected him against men.
“But he wearied of this fastidious life. He became so sure of his
genius and of the pleasure he gave the beasts that he no longer
troubled to play well. The animals were always satisfied as long as he
played to them. Soon he even refused to give them this pleasure, and
through idleness ceased to play to them at all. The whole of the forest
was sad, but the morsels of food and tasty fruits did not cease to be
brought to the musician’s door. They continued to feed him and loved
him all the more. After this fashion are the hearts of animals made.
“Now one day while he was leaning at his open door and watching the sun
sink behind the motionless trees a lioness passed near him. He made a
movement as if to go inside as if he expected a request which would
displease him. The lioness took no notice of him and quietly passed on.
“Then he asked her in surprise: ’Why do you not ask me to play?’ She
replied that she did not care for it. He said: ’Do you not know me?’
She replied: ’You are Orpheus.’ He went on; ’And you do not desire to
hear me?’ She repeated: ’I do not.’ ’Oh!’ he cried, ’Oh! how greatly I
am to be pitied! It is to you alone I always wished to play. You are
much more beautiful than the others and you would understand so much
better! If you will only listen to me for one hour, I will procure
for you everything you have ever desired to possess.’ She replied: ’I
order you to steal the fresh food belonging to the men of the plains.
I command you to assassinate the first one you meet. I command you to
steal the victims they have offered to their Gods and lay them at my
feet.’ He thanked her for not demanding more and did as she required.
“For an hour he played to her; but afterwards he broke his lute and
lived as if he were dead.”
The Queen sighed.
“I never understand allegories. Explain it to me, beloved. What does it
mean?”
He rose.
“I did not tell it for you to understand. I told you a story to calm
you a little. Now it is late. Adieu, Berenice.”
She began to weep.
“I was sure of it! I was sure of it!”
He laid her like a child upon her soft bed of silky stuffs; with a
smile placed a kiss upon her tearful eyes then calmly descended the
steps of the great litter.
THE ARTIST TRIUMPHANT
_TRANSLATOR’S NOTE_
_TO_
_THE ARTIST TRIUMPHANT_
_Parrhasius, the great painter, son of Evenor of Ephesus, lived
about four hundred years before Christ. He was a mighty master of
his profession, and particularly excelled in strongly expressing the
violent passions. He was blessed with wondrous genius and invention,
and was particularly happy in his designs. He acquired great reputation
by his pieces, but by none more than that in which he allegorically
represented the people of Athens with all the injustice, the clemency,
the fickleness, timidity, the arrogance and inconsistency which so
eminently characterized that amazing nation. He once entered the lists
against Zeuxis, and when they had produced their respective pieces,
the birds came to pick, with the greatest avidity, the grapes which
Zeuxis had painted. Parrhasius immediately exhibited his piece, and
Zeuxis said, “Remove your curtain, that we may see the painting.” The
curtain was the painting. Zeuxis acknowledged himself conquered by
exclaiming, “Zeuxis has deceived birds, but Parrhasius has deceived
Zeuxis himself.” Parrhasius grew so vain of his art, that he clothed
himself in purple and wore a crown of gold, calling himself the king of
painters. He was lavish in his own praises, but by his vanity too often
exposed himself to the ridicule of his enemies._
G. F. M.
CHAPTER I
In the green gardens of white Ephesus we were two young learners, or
apprentices, with the aged Bryaxis, the sculptor. He was sitting upon
a seat made of stone as pallid as his face. He did not speak, but
lightly struck the earth with the end of his staff. Out of respect for
his great age and his greater glory we stood patiently before him.
Our backs leaned against two dark cypress trees. We did not talk, but
eagerly listened for him to speak. Motionless we studied him with
homage of which he appeared to be conscious. We knew that he had
survived all those whom we had longed to know. We loved him to reveal
his spirit to us, for we were simple-hearted children, born too late
to have heard the voices of heroes. We sought to trace the almost
invisible bonds that united him to his striking, astonishing lifework.
That brow had conceived, that hand had helped to model a frieze and
twelve figures for the tomb of Mausolus, the King of Caria, whose tomb
was a wonder of the world: the five Colossi erected in front of the
town of Rhodes, the Bull of Pasiphæ, that made women dream strange
dreams, the formidable Apollo of bronze, and the Seleucus Triumphant.
The more I contemplated their author, the more it seemed to me that the
Gods must have fashioned with their own hands this sculptor, in order
that he might be the means of revealing them to men!
All at once a rush of feet, a whistle, and a cry of a gay heart; the
young Ophelion bounded among us.
“Bryaxis,” cried he, “hear what all the city knows already. If I am the
first to tell thee I will make an offering to Artemis. But first let
us make our salute: I had forgot.” He now looked towards us, as if to
say, “Prepare yourselves well for what I am about to tell you.” Then he
began thus: “You know, revered one, that Clesides painted the portrait
of the Queen?”
“People have spoken about it to me.”
“But the end of the story ... has that also been told to you?”
“Is there indeed a story then to tell?”
“Is there a story?... You are ignorant of it all! Listen. Clesides
came expressly from Athens. They took him to the Palace. The Queen was
not yet ready; she permitted herself to be late. Finally she presented
herself, scarcely saluting her artist, and then posed--if one could
call it posing. It now seems that she continually moved, under the
pretext that Love had given her a cramp. Clesides drew in a very bad
humour, as you may imagine. His rough sketch was not even finished,
and lo! the Queen wishes to pose for her back....”
“Without a reason?”
“For the reason that--so she said--her back was as perfect as the
rest of her body, and must appear in the picture. Clesides might well
protest that he was a painter and not a sculptor, that one does not
turn a picture to see its back; that one cannot draw a woman seen from
every side upon the one flat plane of a picture.... The Queen merely
responded that it was her will; that the laws of art were not her laws;
that she had seen the portrait of her sister as Persephone, of her
mother as Demeter; and that she, Queen Stratonice, by her sole self,
wished to pose for the ’Three Graces.’”
“That was not such a stupid idea of hers.”
Our comrade appeared to take umbrage at this remark.
“Supposing that Clesides had replied, ’No’? He was free to do so, one
would think. It is not the custom to give orders to the artist. Such a
thing as that we could _not_ support. Never would her father Demetrius
have done such a thing. Why, when he laid siege to Rhodes, where at the
time Protogenes was at work, Demetrius refused to fire that part of the
city where the sculptor worked.”
“I know that story. Continue,” said Bryaxis.
“Very well; I will be short with it. Clesides was very angry, but did
not show it. He finished his study of the back, and the Queen rose,
asking him to return on the morrow; he accepted, and left. Very good.
On the morrow what awaited him? A servant, saying that the Queen
Stratonice was fatigued, and would not pose any more. The servant was
to pose for her until the portrait was finished. _That_ was what the
Queen had desired!”
We shook with mirth, and Bryaxis joined us therein.
Ophelion then continued gaily--
“The slave was not badly made. Clesides gave her the same reason to be
cramped that her mistress had, and then said in a dry way that he did
not want her any more, and took himself and his drawings home.”
“He certainly did right that time,” I said. “The Queen was merely
mocking him all the while.”
“Well, on the way home, as he passed near the port, he saw a mariner
whom some one had told him the Queen had given herself to--though there
was no proof of it. The man was Glaucon--you know him well by sight.
Clesides got the fellow to come home with him, and pose for four days.
At the end of that time he had finished painting two scandalous little
pictures, representing the Queen in the arms of the sailor, firstly
facing the beholder, and then with the back showing. These pictures
he fastened at night to the wall of the Palace of Seleucus. He then
doubtless fled, after this public vengeance, on some vessel, for there
is said to be no trace of him. The Queen knows of it already, and if
she is furious at heart she hides it marvellously.
“During the whole of the morning an enormous crowd defiled before
these scandalous paintings. Stratonice was told of it, and desired
to see them herself. Accompanied by twenty-five people of her court,
she stopped before the two subjects, approaching and then retreating
as though the better to judge of their artistic or truthful aspect in
detail and in general. I was there, and as I followed her glances with
a feeling of horror, wondering whom she was going to slay when her
anger reached its highest point, she said: “I do not know which is the
best; both are excellent!”
* * * * *
Bryaxis, in the midst of our exultation, lifted merely his eyebrows,
and so gave to his face the fine old lines that denoted surprise.
“She proved that she is not less witty than impudent,” said he. “The
whole story is very curious; but why do you seem to be so proud of or
pleased with its hero? It seems to me that the part played by the model
is a very important one.”
“If the Queen had dared,” said Ophelion, “she would have pursued
Clesides even to the far-off seas, and there have had him killed as one
might kill a dog. But then, through all the violet land of Greece she
would have been considered none other than a barbarian woman--she who
wishes to be thought a thorough Athenian. Stratonice holds Asia in her
hand as though it were a fly, and she has drawn back before a man who
has for weapon only a tablet and stylus.... Hereafter the Artist is the
king of kings, the sole inviolable being living under the sun. Now you
see why it is that we are so proud!”
The elder man made a very disdainful movement of the mouth.
“Thou art young,” he replied. “In my time we said the same thing, and
perhaps with greater reason. When Alexander timidly tried to explain
why such and such a picture seemed to be fine, my friend Apelles caused
him to be silent by saying that he was making the boys laugh who ground
up the colours; and Alexander made his excuses! Ah, well! I do not
believe that such tales really repay one for telling them. Whatever
may be the attitude--the respect or arrogance--of the King towards
contemporary painters, the pictures are not any the better, or any the
worse, for it all. It is a matter of indifference. On the other hand,
it may be good, and even noble, for an artist to dare and to be able to
put himself _not_ above the King marching with an army near the walls
of his home, but above all human laws, or even divine laws, when the
Muses, his inspiring spirits, sway him.”
Bryaxis was now standing. We murmured in wonder--
“But who has done that? Of whom do you speak?”
“None, perhaps,” came the answer of the older man, and there was in his
eyes the hazy look of the dreamer, “unless the great Parrhasius.... Did
he do wisely, I wonder? I used to believe so, but to-day I doubt and
know not what to think about it.”
Ophelion flung me an astonished look, but I could not enlighten him in
any way as to the meaning behind the words of the aged artist.
“We do not understand you, Bryaxis,” he said.
He hinted, to put us upon the right way, “The Prometheus of Parrhasius.”
“Yes; what can you tell us of that?”
“Do you not know how Parrhasius painted the Prometheus of the
Acropolis?”
“No. We have not been told how it was done.”
“You do not know of that amazing scene--the deathly tragedy and alarums
from whence that picture emerged, bloodstained?”
“Speak. Tell us all the scene; we know nought of it.”
For an instant Bryaxis let his regards rest upon our young faces, as
if he hesitated to burden our spirits with such a memory. Then he said
with decision--
“Very good. I will tell you all.”
CHAPTER II
That which I am going to relate to you took place in the year in which
Plato died. I was then in Halicarnassus engaged upon my part of the
labour that was to produce at last the great tomb of King Mausolus the
Long-haired. It was a thankless task if ever there was one. Scopas,
who directed all of us, had decided to decorate the whole of the
eastern front of the monument himself, so that from the early morning
sunrise when they made the sacrifices the marbles of our master were
resplendent in the full light and, truly, people saw little of the
other work.
To his comrade of the chisel, Timotheus, he had given the lateral face
of the monument, south; less interesting and more extended. Leochares
was entrusted with the western front. As for me, I had taken that side
others had not wished for--the northern, an enormous piece of work
perpetually in the shadow.
(Pithis was also employed in raising a pyramid over this stately
monument and the top was adorned by a chariot harnessed to four horses.
The expenses of this edifice were immense, and this gave an occasion to
the philosopher Anaxagoras to exclaim when he saw it: “How much money
changed into stones!”)
During five years I sculptured Victories and Amazons that looked, in
the sun, like living women; but each time it became necessary for me
to fix one for ever in the shadow of the monument it seemed to me that
the look of life died out of the stone form, and then my tears came. At
last my task came to an end. I occupied myself with preparations for
returning into Attica. In that year, as to-day, the Ægean Sea was not
very safe. War everywhere and strife between one city and another.
Athens besides was vanquished. The day upon which I wished to take my
departure I could not find a ship-master, or owner of a privateer, who
had any desire to go to the Piræus. The people of Caria, good dealers,
turned towards the vanquisher, and from the time that the taking of
Olynthus had let Chalcis fall into the hands of the Macedonians, all
the merchants of Halicarnassus filled out their sails for Eubœa in
order to sell there silken robes of Cos to the courtesans of Cnidus,
where Venus was the chief deity.
I also departed for Chalcis. The voyage by sea was unpleasant to me.
I was not treated well even in the little corner of the vessel that I
professed to be satisfied with. My name in those days had not the same
sound and fame as it has to-day and the great monument to Mausolus was
too new and too near to men’s minds. The other voyagers upon the ship
contented themselves with knowing that I was a citizen of Athens. That
quite sufficed and they mocked, for Athens then was an unfortunate
city. One morning when the sun was high we landed at Chalcis in the
midst of an immense crowd in which I lost myself, and with pleasure.
In questioning some one I learnt that there was outside the gates an
extraordinary market. Philip, at the fall of Olynthus after having
destroyed the city had led into captivity and slavery the whole of the
population.
There were about forty-five thousand people. The slave-market to
dispose of these had been on about two days and might last for three
months. Also the city was thronged, full of strangers--purchasers and
people suffering from curiosity. My interlocutor who was a dealer in
wines did not complain, but he confided to me that his neighbour who
sold slaves as a rule very dear was ruined. I heard the tavern-keeper
say with many gestures: “Consider, a Thracian of twenty years of age
one knows what he is worth, by all the Gods. When one has bought twelve
to cultivate land one counts twelve bags of gold. Now mark the price,
it has fallen to fifty drachmas. Judge of the others by that only. Such
a thing has never been heard of. There are three thousand virgins for
sale. They will go for twenty-five drachmas apiece, and please do not
think that I speak rashly on the subject. Perhaps a few drachmas more
may be got for those of the whitest skins. Ah! Philip is a great king
indeed!”
This man wearied me and I separated from him and followed the multitude
beyond the open gates of the city to the vast stretch of country where
the Olynthians were camped. With great pains I wore myself a way
through the many groups in movement. Suddenly I saw pass near me a
procession that was extravagant and majestical. Before it the crowds
parted to left and right.
Six Sarmatian slaves advanced in pairs, armed. Behind them a little
Ethiopian held horizontally a long cross of cedar decorated with gold.
It was the stick of the Master. Finally, gigantic and heavy, crowned
with flowers, the beard impregnated with perfumes and clad in an
enormous purple robe, I saw Parrhasius himself. He walked as though he
scorned and spurned the earth beneath his feet. Each arm was around the
shoulders of a beautiful girl. He was like the Indian Bacchus.
His eyes fell upon me and he said--
“If you are not Bryaxis who gave you permission to bear his face?”
“And you. If you are not the son of Semele who has given you that
Dionysiac stature and that robe of purple woven by the Graces of Naxos?”
He then smiled upon me, and without lifting his arms away from their
charming supports he seized and shook my hand, pressing it against the
bared breast of one of his companions.
“Chariclo,”--this to the young girl upon his right,--“take an arm of my
friend and let us continue our promenade. Soon the sun will become too
fierce to be pleasant.”
We therefore as he wished went on enlaced. Parrhasius walked with
a grand heavy balancing of the body, measured and pompous as an
hexameter, the little steps of the women were as a dactyl. In a few
words he inquired of my works and my life. At each of my responses he
said with vivid words, “Yes. I understand perfectly.” He wished to cut
short any lengthy speech. Then he began to speak of himself.
“Clearly understand that I have taken you under my protection,” said
he. “For not one citizen of Athens, save myself alone, is out of danger
when near the Macedonian. If the least little trouble had brought you
before their Court of Justice I would not have given two copper coins
for the value of your liberty. But now, maintain a tranquil mind.”
“I am not,” I responded, “of a fearsome nature, but here in the shadow
of your mighty name----”
“Yes,” said Parrhasius. “When Philip knew that I was going to honour
his new city he sent forward upon my route an officer of the palace.
This man brought me royal presents, among others the six colossal men
slaves and the two beautiful girls that you have seen. That is to say
Force to open my path before me and Beauty to grace my person.”
“Girls of Macedonia?” I questioned.
“Macedonians of Rhodes,” came the laughing answer.
And then Parrhasius with a generous gesture of gift said--
“They shall both brighten your bed this night. As for me I have others
left with my valuables. But you are alone, friend. Accept these rosy
flowers of flesh from my hands. Their bright youthful skins will be
strikingly beautiful contrasted with a couch of sombre purple....”
We approached the great market. He stopped and regarded me.
“Indeed, you do not even ask me what it is that I come here to seek!”
“I would not dare.”
“Can you divine it?”
“No; certainly not. I do not think you can want slaves, for Philip
gives you his own. Nor girls, since as you say....”
“I have come from Athens to Chalcis to find a model, my friend. Now you
seem to be surprised.”
“A model for you. Are there not any then between the Academe and the
Piræus?”
“Yes: about half a million--for me,” he said majestically. “All Athens.
And yet I seek a model at the sale of the Olythians. You shall hear
why, and you will comprehend.”
Here he drew himself up proudly--
“I shall make a Prometheus.”
In saying this his face expressed the horror that the subject of
Prometheus would have.
“There is a Prometheus (of some sort or the other) under every portico,
as you know. Timagoras made and sold one; Apollodorus has attempted
another. Zeuxis has believed that he has the power to ... but why bring
back to our memory so much piteous painting. _The_ Prometheus has never
yet been given to the world.”
“That I fully believe,” I replied to the Master.
“They have represented peasants naked and attached to rocks made of
wood. Their faces were distorted by a grimace of some sort, a mere
face-ache. But, Prometheus the forger of fire, and creator of the man
and his struggle with the eagle-god.... Ah! No one has yet created
that, Bryaxis. Such a Prometheus, one of the greatest grandeur, I see
as plainly before me, created by my brain, as I see your face. That
is the type of Prometheus that I wish to nail to the walls of the
Parthenon.”
Saying that he quitted the support of his girl companion, took his wand
of wood and gold, and traced great waves of outline in the air.
“For two months I have worked upon my great scheme. I have found
splendid rocks in the domain of Crates, at the Promontory of Astypolus.
All these studies were finished, the foundation of my picture ready,
the line of the figure in its place. All at once I find my way barred
before me. I fail to find a head. If it was merely a question of a
Hêrmes, an Apollo or Pan, all the citizens of Athens would be proud to
pose before me. But to take for model a man whose face is shining with
genius and to tie, or bind, him by the ankles, the hands, no, you can
see that is not possible. One cannot dislocate his limbs like the limbs
of a slave. We lack slaves who have the heads of freeborn Greeks. Ah,
well, Philip brings us some like that, and I come to buy where Philip
comes to sell.”
I shuddered.
“An Olynthian. One of the vanquished. But where do you intend to finish
this picture?”
“At Athens.”
“Upon the soil of Athens your slave will be free.”
“He will be--when I wish it, and not before.”
“But then, if you treat your captive so, have you no fear whatever of
what the laws will say?”
“The laws?” questioned Parrhasius with a smile. “The laws are in the
hollow of my hand, even as are the folds of this mantle that I now
throw over my shoulder, behind me!”
And with a magnificent movement he seemed at the same time to enwrap
himself with purple and with the sun.
CHAPTER III
The market for the sale of the Olynthians now stretched before us.
As far as one could see, and forming in a straight line six large
parallel ways, platforms of planks were erected upon tressels at a
height of about a yard from the ground. The population of an entire
city was there exposed before the population of another city: the one
as merchandise, the other as purchaser. Twenty-five thousand men, women
and children, their hands bound behind the back, the ankles shackled
with loose cords, waited, for the most part standing--waited the
unknown master who was yet to come, purchase, and lead them to some,
to them, unknown place on Grecian soil. One soldier guarded forty;
servants in crowds circulated with the bread and water needed for
the sustenance of such a host of slaves. A great and murmurous noise
perpetually ascended to the sky. It was like the sound of a great feast.
Parrhasius penetrated into the principal “street” of slaves, where were
exposed for sale young men and young girls who appeared for one reason
or another to be of the sort that would command a high price. To my
great astonishment I did not catch in their eyes any great expression
of sadness. They seemed merely curious. Human sadness and misery, for
youth that is, has its certain measure, and they saw their sorrows were
about to pass or be moderated by the care of a master. From the time of
the ruin of their homes these beautiful beings had experienced to the
full all that could give days and nights of despair. The young men no
doubt had regained hope of their future escape: the young girls perhaps
dreamed of a love that might partly release them. By bravado or by
sheer ignorance of the fate in store they all showed a certain good
humour. The crowd pressed around them, examining and uncertain before
making a purchase. Few could have decided quickly in the midst of such
a vast choice. Often they handled the slaves. Hands tested the muscles
of a leg, the delicacy of a skin, the firmness of a breast. Then the
intending purchasers passed on hoping to find better bargains.
Parrhasius halted an instant before a girl whose tall white form was a
harmony of lines.
“Behold,” he said, “this is a beautiful child.”
A seller at once came forward and cried--
“She is the most beautiful one offered for sale, my lord. See how
straight she is and white. Sixteen years old yesterday.”
“Eighteen years,” rectified the young girl.
“You lie, by Zeus! She is but sixteen years, my lord; do not credit
her when she says otherwise. Look at her black locks lifted up by this
comb. When she uncoils her hair it falls to the knees. Look at her
long white fingers, untouched by any labour. She is the daughter of a
senator.”
“Speak not of my father,” said the girl gravely.
“She is beautiful as a water-nymph, supple as a sword, and a virgin--as
at her birth.”
The man disrobed her with cynical hands, but Parrhasius struck the
earth with his stick, and muttered--
“Virgin, you say? I care not whether she be a virgin or not, but merely
whether she be beautiful enough. Take away her shackles, that she may
robe herself properly. I will purchase her. What is her name?”
“Artemidora,” said she.
“Ah, good. Then know, Artemidora, that you are for the future in the
suite of Parrhasius.”
She opened her great eyes wide, hesitated charmingly, and then said--
“You are the Parrhasius who....”
“Yes, I am Parrhasius,” came the reply.
Then, handing her to the care of his guard, he again walked on.
Presently he deigned to explain to me--
“Bound to the Caucausus that young girl would look charming!
Nevertheless, she will not be my Prometheus. She will serve me as model
for certain little erotic pictures with which I ease my toils during
hours of leisure--pictures that are not, however, the least noble part
of my lifework.”
We walked on. The crowd had greatly increased. The sun became more
terrible in the midst of that vast plain, without a shadow, and in the
midst of a great and mixed concourse of people.
Artemidora was dressed in a white tunic, girdle, and veil. She often
turned to look at us, and it seemed to me that when properly robed she
seemed to be another person. Her face acquired another expression, and
she seemed anxious to glean from one of us which was to be the man
she was fated to surrender to. Already we had been through half the
principal street when Parrhasius stopped, and said--
“No. That for which I seek is not here. The youth of the body and the
beauty of the face are not found together. I have more chance, I think,
of finding my man among slaves of the second class.”
Scarcely had we gone three more paces when he extended his hand, and
cried out, “Behold him!”
I drew near and gazed with curiosity. The man whom he pointed to
was about fifty years of age. Of a fine, tall figure and excellent
proportions, he had a large face; the arch of the brows was powerful
and muscular, the nose and ears were correctly modelled, hair grey, but
beard brown and brindled. The strong muscles of the neck formed a sort
of pedestal to his fine head, and gave it a pose of authority.
Parrhasius questioned him. “What do you call yourself?”
“Outis.”
“I do not ask you for anything, my brave man, but the name that you
received from your father.”
“For a month past I have called myself Outis. If I have ever borne
another, older name it does not please me to tell you.”
“Why not?”
“It does not please me to tell you why, Son of a Dog.”
Parrhasius became maddened with anger. The seller of the slaves,
alarmed, advanced with suppliant arms.
“Do not listen to him, my lord. He speaks as one who has lost his
senses. It is pure malice on his part, for he has more brain-power than
I have. He is a physician. For science and cleverness he had not his
equal in all Olynthus. I say what all the world would repeat, for he
was celebrated even in Macedon. People have told me that during thirty
years he has cured more Olynthians than we were able to kill when we
took their city. This will be a precious slave when he is chained and
has felt the rod. He plays the insolent, but he will change his tone,
as all the others will or have done. Then, if you lead him away with
you, Death will not come to you till your hundredth winter! Give me
thirty drachmas, and this Nicostratus will be your thing for ever.”
“Nicostratus,” repeated Parrhasius to me; “as a poet I know one of that
name. My indifference is total towards the science of medicine.”
Turning towards the seller he ordered--
“Remove his clothes.”
Nicostratus let this be done, powerless and yet disdainful. Parrhasius
continued to command that the captive take up first one position and
then another. At last the bargain was struck. Parrhasius then said,
“Superb!”
But I did not reply, for I felt almost envious.
Fifty years have passed--the space of a human life. I have seen
hundreds and hundreds of models, but never one worthy to be compared
with that Nicostratus the Olynthian. He was the Statue of the Man in
all his grandeur at the full age of force and power. I never had him as
a model for anything of mine; the unfortunate being only posed once,
and you shall learn how.
CHAPTER IV
I returned upon horseback to my own place going through Attica. During
my five years of absence creditors had sold the few poor goods I
possessed, and I put up very simply at a hostelry of Athens for many
weeks. Parrhasius followed after an interval of a few days. Hearing of
my modest lodging, he at once offered me hospitality. I went to him at
once to thank him and decline. He then lived near the Academy, in a
palace of marble and metal, near to the little house that Plato lived
in.
The gardens extended to the river, and the house was surrounded by much
pomp of trees.
By some feebleness of the intellect that is difficult to understand
in a man of such strength and value, Parrhasius positively adored
ostentation and every show of wealth. His fortune was immense, and he
did not permit any one to think otherwise. With marble, silk, gold,
and beauteous women, his abode had the air of a palace of Artaxerxes.
He greeted me upon the threshold of the chamber that served him for a
studio. Standing robed in red silk and crowned like an Olympian god,
he opened his large arms to me. I then penetrated by his side into the
famous salon that had been the matrix of so many masterpieces.
“My Prometheus?” he said, in answer to my question. “No; I am yet
meditating upon that. In a few days I shall see it all clearer. Come;
look at this little thing. It is wonderful. I have never done a more
beautiful thing.”
It was a picture of a sleeping nymph and two satyrs. I saw, near, the
lovely Artemidora and two of the Sarmatians, and at once divined that
they had posed for the picture.
He ordered the pose to be again taken, and continued the painting
before me.
CHAPTER V
I remained an entire month at Athens, occupied with my own personal
affairs; and these did not allow me time to return to the house of
the great painter. Athens was truly in mourning since the fall of the
Olynthians. The slave-market at Chalcis, the sale of a people, such a
scandal and insult was the subject on all tongues, and the dream of all
those who were silent.
One day it was known that in Athens a citizen held captive an Olynthian
woman. The citizen was condemned and executed.
Alarmed, I hastened to Parrhasius, and my entreaties gained me
admission to him.... Never shall I forget the regard, slow and grave,
with which Parrhasius greeted me when I entered. He was standing,
painting. Then, following his further glances, I saw, nude and bound
to an actual rock, Nicostratus the Olynthian.
“Cry out!” shouted Parrhasius to him; and his awesome captive did,
cursing, foaming, and raging.
The face of Parrhasius did not alter one line. He said to a Sarmatian
slave: “Upon his right; touch lightly, without penetrating.”
Nicostratus saw the man advance, and soon his eyes swooned and a sweat
of agony came to his temples. Moans came to the lips; then a sob,
like that of a child. Parrhasius, impassible, studied the face; then
suddenly cried out: “The imbecile! He has died too soon.”
* * * * *
When it was known how Parrhasius had painted his Prometheus the people
stormed his house, crying out for death to the murderer. At last
Parrhasius appeared in all his pomp and faced the crowd and all its
cries. Then, slowly lifting his painting, as though offering something
sacrosanct, he showed the Athenian people the Prometheus.
An awesome shudder of amazement, of wonderment at its highest, came to
the populace who saw the great picture--the picture of human anguish
and final defeat by death. The summit, the uttermost, of tragic
grandeur seemed to be unveiled there for the first time.... Silence,
as of a temple, held the people for a time; then some hostile cries
broke out afresh. But they were futile, and died, lost in the splendid
thunder of glory.
THE HILL OF HORSEL
In the month of August eighteen ninety-one, shortly after I had heard,
at Bayreuth, _Tannhäuser_, _Tristan_ and _Parsifal_, for the ninth
time, I spent a fortnight in the verdant Marienthal near the ancient
city of Essenach.
The room I occupied looked out on the west upon the lofty Wartburg, and
on the east upon Mount Horsel, that peak which used to be called by
priests and poets the Venusberg. The star of Wolfram appeared in the
bright sky of this land of Wagner.
I was then so prone to sun that after leaning my elbows once upon the
sill of the western window before Luther’s towers I determined never to
return there even in my dreams. The Venusberg attracted me to it.
Alone, among all the neighbouring peaks which with their coverings of
black firs or fertile meadows formed a garment for the earth, the
Venusberg was bare and like a woman’s swelling breast. Sometimes the
rosy dawn cast purple flesh-like tints upon it. It palpitated; truly at
certain hours of the evening it seemed to live, and then it appeared
as if Thuringia, like a divinity reclining in a green and black tunic,
allowed the blood of her desires to mount to the summit of her bare
breast.
Throughout the long evenings of each day I watched the transfiguration
of the hill of Venus. I gazed at it from afar. I did not approach it.
It pleased me not to believe in its natural existence, for exquisite
is the pleasure of simplifying realities into the pure aspect of their
symbols, and remaining at such a distance that the eye is not forced
to see things as they are. I was afraid that once for all the illusion
would vanish never to return on the day when I set my foot upon the
mountain itself.
Yet one morning I started. At first I followed the Gotha Road, which
is intersected by bridges and streams overgrown with verdure; then a
path through the fields. I had not lifted my eyes from the meadows when
three hours later I reached the end of it. Then I looked before me.
Seen from near at hand, Mount Horsel was bare and reddish, without
earth, verdure, or water upon it; it appeared to be burned up by an
internal fire as if the legendary curse continued to arrest at its base
all the fresh vegetation which gave life to the other mountains. The
path I followed was made of stones and dead lichen, and was sometimes
quite indistinct amid a stony desert, while at other times it was
narrowly enclosed between high and rusty rocks. It ascended to the
summit, where a little grey house had been built with thick walls to
stand against the violence of the wind.
I entered the house and discovered that I could lunch there. Lunch
upon the Venusberg! That would be the last step to my disenchantment.
I accepted the idea, to my shame, willingly enough, for in spite of
everything I was hungry.
The two daughters of the inn-keeper, who was absent, served me upon
a little table a Wiener Schnitzl, which was perhaps more Saxon than
Austrian, and a bottle of Niersteiner. This was reality indeed. The
clean, light dining-room, the white curtains at the windows, the
freshly-cleaned floor, a light bedroom visible through an open door,
all succeeded in convincing me that I was not lunching with magicians,
as for a moment, alas! I had hoped. The two young girls were two good
spirits who would take no part in the damnation of the country.
It is true that at the conclusion of the meal the elder discreetly
retired and the younger one gave me a smile of invitation which proved
her natural goodness; but at German inns the servants hardly fix any
precise limits to the kindness they bestow upon young travellers, and
that fact does not generally mean that they have made a compact with a
goddess of darkness.
We talked. She was obliging enough to understand my German, though I
spoke it something like a negro from the Cameroons. I asked her for
some topographical information of the country. She gave it to me with a
very good grace.
“Don’t forget,” she said, “to visit the grotto.”
“What grotto?”
“The Venushoehle.”
“Is there a grotto of Venus?”
“Yes! that is its name; I don’t know why; you must not go down the
mountain without seeing it.”
Uneasy and almost jealous, I wanted to know whether many strangers came
to see this grotto, whose name alone had made me quiver.
The young girl sadly replied--
“No one! You see the mountain is not lofty enough to tempt climbers,
and it is too high for walkers. Occasionally at very distant intervals
a sportsman from Essenach comes to lunch or to spend the night here;
but you are the first Frenchman I have seen since my birth.”
“Which is the way to the grotto?”
“Take the path to the left. You will get there in five minutes. Perhaps
you will find at the entrance a man seated upon a stone. Pay no
attention to what he says: he is mad.”
So there was a grotto of Venus in the flanks of the Horselberg! But
then the country of Tannhäuser had retained the whole of its terrible
legend.
The grotto of the Goddess was really there. And the man was there too.
It was small, elliptical at the top, crowned with fine dark briars,
and appeared as the necessary symbol of the mountain, as another
justification of the old German tale still more striking than the
carnal aspect of the Venusberg on the horizon. The interior, into which
I gazed, was dark, narrow and low. Pools of water and dark recesses
made up its dark floor. It was difficult to enter without becoming
mud-stained, but some incomprehensible charm attracted me into the
humid darkness.
“Where are you going?” the man said shortly.
“To the bottom of the grotto.”
“To the bottom of the grotto? But there is no bottom to it, sir. It is
the mouth of the earth.”
“Good,” I said patiently. “I will not go far. I shall soon return.”
His hollow cheeks grew purple. He hit his stick with his fist.
“Ah! you will soon be back! Ha! ha! you think you can go in and out
of there at will. Do you think this grotto is a lift or a geological
curiosity? Are you a Cook’s tourist, or do you come from a natural
history museum? Have you come to write your name upon the rock, or to
gather stones for your collection? You think you are about to discover
here subterranean lakes, blind fish, architectural stalactites and
rocky arches covered with crystals! You are going to study the geology
of the Venushoehle. Ha! ha! that is admirable! Are you, too, a madman
like the others? You, also, do not understand. You then are not aware
that Venus is there in the flesh with millions of her nymphs around her
and they are more living than you are, since they are immortal.”
“Sir,” I said, “I believe what you tell me; but you very much misjudge
me if you think that the presence of Venus will prevent me from
entering here.”
“Hell!” he cried.
“I should not be displeased to earn it as the price of her favours.”
The madman made a gesture which evidently meant: “You do not
understand me at all.” Then he put his hands to his forehead and began
to speak.
“Horselberg! or rather Hoelenberg, the Mountain of Hell! they come to
thee without being warned of thy eternal horrors, thou who waitest for
the pure, punishest the chaste, and will consume in eternity the wicked
misers of the flesh. They will have lived their lonely lives as rebels
to the great law divine, and they will not know thy atrocious burning
till the day when, by the power of the Sword, the Harbinger of Souls
will plunge them into the abyss. They have eyes and they see not, ears
have they and they hear not, they have mouths and they do not.... My
God, they are mad! mad! mad!”
Suddenly turning to me he shouted--
“How can you think that the Venusberg can become a place of damnation
when it is hell itself.”
I made a movement.
“Alas!” he groaned. “Alas! My God!” (his hands fell from his eyes to
his beard) “Alas! shall I be the only living person to know the truth,
the truth, the truth. Will it be all in vain that the patriarchs
have placed Venus as the terrible antithesis of God, and will no one
understand that she is Satan? Is it all in vain that ancient tradition
has painted the satyrs with horns, black tail, goat’s legs and cloven
hoofs: will no one realize that they are demons? With regard to the
flames of hell, will no one in the world understand that they are
thousands of naked women dancing ...” (he struck the earth) “there
beneath our feet!”
He shuddered.
“Ever since man has thought, written and learned, he has said, repeated
and cried out that there is no worse torture than love. How is it he
has not foreseen that in the world of eternal torture that punishment
alone will be inflicted upon him! What other could he imagine more
terrible than it?”
He then assumed a position as if he were gazing into the distance and
waved his hand.
“Yes,” he said, “it is there ... it is there.... On the day when we
shall be nothing but rotting corpses and souls maddened by terror,
there we shall go in crowds, all of us, all sinners, to burn in
that horrible fire which is Lust. Every day and every hour we shall
experience desire, even to the extent of suffering, for more and more
beautiful women, and at the moment of possession we shall see them, as
on earth, vanish in smoke. But that which is here a spasm, a fear, a
cry, a sob,--which suffices to prepare the curse of a human life--will
be there a perpetual tremor, uninterrupted anguish, and the punishment
of years, of centuries and of centuries. Ah! God! such is the destiny
which awaits me.”
His eyes became fixed upon a stone on the ground. Nodding his head he
went on in a strangely changed voice--
“I have lived an evil life, sir; this is the reason. I was born of
Protestant parents in the Mountain of Wartburg, that same one where
Luther, more than three centuries ago, taught his evil doctrine. I
spent my youth in piety, and led a noble and austere life. But from
my fourteenth year I could not look at a woman without being assailed
by terrible desire. I curbed it, after fierce struggles which left me
in the morning with a forehead bathed in sweat and trembling face. I
thought I could remain pure by living without love, mad that I was,
and blind to my own interests. To remain pure I would have killed
myself with my own hand before committing any sin. Those who have not
experienced nightly combats between religious duty and the frantic
desires of the body have not known sorrow. I struggled thus for a
shadow, and now I know that I struggled against God. And later I got
married, sir, but married only in the eyes of the world. The woman and
I had sworn only to unite our souls. That was how, little by little,
I was damned for my fault of lying every day to the law of life; and
afterwards there was not time for me to follow the path I had missed in
my youth. Ah! cursed be virgins! for the love they have repulsed during
their brief existence will justly be their punishment in their future
state.”
He seized me by the arm.
“Listen! The sun is sinking. Now is the time. Every evening I come
here, and sweetly the Goddess sings. She calls me from afar; she
attracts me. I come just as at the day of my death, at the day of my
fall into the Venushoehle. Ah! do not say a word. She is about to speak
to us.”
I do not know whether it was these last few words, the man’s
expression, or the grasp of his hand which persuaded me that he was
speaking truly--but tremors ran through me and I listened.
I expected, not as an accident, but with the absolute exactness of
prevision, the event predicted by the madman.
I can only compare my state of mind to that of a traveller who, after
seeing the lightning, and knowing how far the storm is, waits for the
thunder.
The time which separated me from the prodigy decreased first by a
quarter, then a half, then three-quarters, and at the precise moment
which I had anticipated as the end of my waiting, _a breath of perfumes
carried up to us the languishing echo of a ... Voice_!
* * * * *
Here ends the Book of Seven Stories by Pierre Louÿs.
_Explicit Laus Veneris._
_Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay._
* * * * *
Transcriber’s note:
Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Other
variations in spelling and punctuation remain unchanged.