THE TEMPTATION OF LOVE AND POWER.
Then, a great shadow--more subtle than an ordinary shadow, from whose
borders other shadows hang in festoons--traces itself upon the ground.
It is the Devil, resting against the roof of the cell and carrying under
his wings--like a gigantic bat that is suckling its young--the Seven
Deadly Sins, whose grinning heads disclose themselves confusedly.
Antony, his eyes still closed, remains languidly passive, and stretches
his limbs upon the mat, which seems to him to grow softer every moment,
until it swells out and becomes a bed; then the bed becomes a shallop,
with water rippling against its sides.
To right and left rise up two necks of black soil that tower above the
cultivated plains, with a sycamore here and there. A noise of bells,
drums, and singers resounds at a distance. These are caused by people
who are going down from Canopus to sleep at the Temple of Serapis.
Antony is aware of this, and he glides, driven by the wind, between the
two banks of the canal. The leaves of the papyrus and the red blossoms
of the water-lilies, larger than a man, bend over him. He lies extended
at the bottom of the vessel. An oar from behind drags through the water.
From time to time rises a hot breath of air that shakes the thin reeds.
The murmur of the tiny waves grows fainter. A drowsiness takes
possession of him. He dreams that he is an Egyptian Solitary.
Then he starts up all of a sudden.
"Have I been dreaming? It was so pleasant that I doubted its reality. My
tongue is burning! I am thirsty!"
He enters his cell and searches about everywhere at random.
"The ground is wet! Has it been raining? Stop! Scraps of food! My
pitcher broken! But the water-bottle?"
He finds it.
"Empty, completely empty! In order to get down to the river, I should
need three hours at least, and the night is so dark I could not see well
enough to find my way there. My entrails are writhing. Where is the
bread?"
After searching for some time he picks up a crust smaller than an egg.
"How is this? The jackals must have taken it, curse them!"
And he flings the bread furiously upon the ground.
This movement is scarcely completed when a table presents itself to
view, covered with all kinds of dainties. The table-cloth of byssus,
striated like the fillets of sphinxes, seems to unfold itself in
luminous undulations. Upon it there are enormous quarters of flesh-meat,
huge fishes, birds with their feathers, quadrupeds with their hair,
fruits with an almost natural colouring; and pieces of white ice and
flagons of violet crystal shed glowing reflections. In the middle of
the table Antony observes a wild boar smoking from all its pores, its
paws beneath its belly, its eyes half-closed--and the idea of being able
to eat this formidable animal rejoices his heart exceedingly. Then,
there are things he had never seen before--black hashes, jellies of the
colour of gold, ragouts, in which mushrooms float like water-lilies on
the surface of a pool, whipped creams, so light that they resemble
clouds.
And the aroma of all this brings to him the odour of the ocean, the
coolness of fountains, the mighty perfume of woods. He dilates his
nostrils as much as possible; he drivels, saying to himself that there
is enough there to last for a year, for ten years, for his whole life!
In proportion as he fixes his wide-opened eyes upon the dishes, others
accumulate, forming a pyramid, whose angles turn downwards. The wines
begin to flow, the fishes to palpitate; the blood in the dishes bubbles
up; the pulp of the fruits draws nearer, like amorous lips; and the
table rises to his breast, to his very chin--with only one seat and one
cover, which are exactly in front of him.
He is about to seize the loaf of bread. Other loaves make their
appearance.
"For me! ... all! but----"
Antony draws back.
"In the place of the one which was there, here are others! It is a
miracle, then, exactly like that the Lord performed! ... With what
object? Nay, all the rest of it is not less incomprehensible! Ah! demon,
begone! begone!"
He gives a kick to the table. It disappears.
"Nothing more? No!"
He draws a long breath.
"Ah! the temptation was strong. But what an escape I have had!"
He raises up his head, and stumbles against an object which emits a
sound.
"What can this be?"
Antony stoops down.
"Hold! A cup! Someone must have lost it while travelling--nothing
extraordinary!----"
He wets his finger and rubs.
"It glitters! Precious metal! However, I cannot distinguish----"
He lights his torch and examines the cup.
"It is made of silver, adorned with ovolos at its rim, with a medal at
the bottom."
He makes the medal resound with a touch of his finger-nail.
"It is a piece of money which is worth from seven to eight drachmas--not
more. No matter! I can easily with that sum get myself a sheepskin."
The torch's reflection lights up the cup.
"It is not possible! Gold! yes, all gold!"
He finds another piece, larger than the first, at the bottom, and,
underneath that many others.
"Why, here's a sum large enough to buy three cows--a little field!"
The cup is now filled with gold pieces.
"Come, then! a hundred slaves, soldiers, a heap wherewith to buy----"
Here the granulations of the cup's rim, detaching themselves, form a
pearl necklace.
"With this jewel here, one might even win the Emperor's wife!"
With a shake Antony makes the necklace slip over his wrist. He holds the
cup in his left hand, and with his right arm raises the torch to shed
more light upon it. Like water trickling down from a basin, it pours
itself out in continuous waves, so as to make a hillock on the
sand--diamonds, carbuncles, and sapphires mingled with huge pieces of
gold bearing the effigies of kings.
"What? What? Staters, shekels, darics, aryandics! Alexander, Demetrius,
the Ptolemies, Caesar! But each of them had not as much! Nothing
impossible in it! More to come! And those rays which dazzle me! Ah! my
heart overflows! How good this is! Yes! ... Yes! ... more! Never enough!
It did not matter even if I kept flinging it into the sea; more would
remain. Why lose any of it? I will keep it all, without telling anyone
about it. I will dig myself a chamber in the rock, the interior of which
will be lined with strips of bronze; and thither will I come to feel the
piles of gold sinking under my heels. I will plunge my arms into it as
if into sacks of corn. I would like to anoint my face with it--to sleep
on top of it!"
He lets go the torch in order to embrace the heap, and falls to the
ground on his breast. He gets up again. The place is perfectly empty!
"What have I done? If I died during that brief space of time, the result
would have been Hell--irrevocable Hell!"
A shudder runs through his frame.
"So, then, I am accursed? Ah! no, this is all my own fault! I let myself
be caught in every trap. There is no one more idiotic or more infamous.
I would like to beat myself, or, rather, to tear myself out of my body.
I have restrained myself too long. I need to avenge myself, to strike,
to kill! It is as if I had a troop of wild beasts in my soul. I would
like, with a stroke of a hatchet in the midst of a crowd----Ah! a
dagger! ..."
He flings himself upon his knife, which he has just seen. The knife
slips from his hand, and Antony remains propped against the wall of his
cell, his mouth wide open, motionless--like one in a trance.
All the surroundings have disappeared.
He finds himself in Alexandria on the Panium--an artificial mound raised
in the centre of the city, with corkscrew stairs on the outside.
In front of it stretches Lake Mareotis, with the sea to the right and
the open plain to the left, and, directly under his eyes, an irregular
succession of flat roofs, traversed from north to south and from east to
west by two streets, which cross each other, and which form, in their
entire length, a row of porticoes with Corinthian capitals. The houses
overhanging this double colonnade have stained-glass windows. Some have
enormous wooden cages outside of them, in which the air from without is
swallowed up.
Monuments in various styles of architecture are piled close to one
another. Egyptian pylons rise above Greek temples. Obelisks exhibit
themselves like spears between battlements of red brick. In the centres
of squares there are statues of Hermes with pointed ears, and of Anubis
with dogs' heads. Antony notices the mosaics in the court-yards, and the
tapestries hung from the cross-beams of the ceiling.
With a single glance he takes in the two ports (the Grand Port and the
Eunostus), both round like two circles, and separated by a mole joining
Alexandria to the rocky island, on which stands the tower of the
Pharos, quadrangular, five hundred cubits high and in nine storys, with
a heap of black charcoal flaming on its summit.
Small ports nearer to the shore intersect the principal ports. The mole
is terminated at each end by a bridge built on marble columns fixed in
the sea. Vessels pass beneath, and pleasure-boats inlaid with ivory,
gondolas covered with awnings, triremes and biremes, all kinds of
shipping, move up and down or remain at anchor along the quays.
Around the Grand Port there is an uninterrupted succession of Royal
structures: the palace of the Ptolemies, the Museum, the Posideion, the
Caesarium, the Timonium where Mark Antony took refuge, and the Soma which
contains the tomb of Alexander; while at the other extremity of the
city, close to the Eunostus, might be seen glass, perfume, and paper
factories.
Itinerant vendors, porters, and ass-drivers rush to and fro, jostling
against one another. Here and there a priest of Osiris with a panther's
skin on his shoulders, a Roman soldier, or a group of negroes, may be
observed. Women stop in front of stalls where artisans are at work, and
the grinding of chariot-wheels frightens away some birds who are picking
up from the ground the sweepings of the shambles and the remnants of
fish. Over the uniformity of white houses the plan of the streets casts,
as it were, a black network. The markets, filled with herbage, exhibit
green bouquets, the drying-sheds of the dyers, plates of colours, and
the gold ornaments on the pediments of temples, luminous points--all
this contained within the oval enclosure of the greyish walls, under the
vault of the blue heavens, hard by the motionless sea. But the crowd
stops and looks towards the eastern side, from which enormous whirlwinds
of dust are advancing.
It is the monks of the Thebaid who are coming, clad in goats' skins,
armed with clubs, and howling forth a canticle of war and of religion
with this refrain:
"Where are they? Where are they?"
Antony comprehends that they have come to kill the Arians.
All at once, the streets are deserted, and one sees no longer anything
but running feet.
And now the Solitaries are in the city. Their formidable cudgels,
studded with nails, whirl around like monstrances of steel. One can hear
the crash of things being broken in the houses. Intervals of silence
follow, and then the loud cries burst forth again. From one end of the
streets to the other there is a continuous eddying of people in a state
of terror. Several are armed with pikes. Sometimes two groups meet and
form into one; and this multitude, after rushing along the pavements,
separates, and those composing it proceed to knock one another down. But
the men with long hair always reappear.
Thin wreaths of smoke escape from the corners of buildings. The leaves
of the doors burst asunder; the skirts of the walls fall in; the
architraves topple over.
Antony meets all his enemies one after another. He recognises people
whom he had forgotten. Before killing them, he outrages them. He rips
them open, cuts their throats, knocks them down, drags the old men by
their beards, runs over children, and beats those who are wounded.
People revenge themselves on luxury. Those who cannot read, tear the
books to pieces; others smash and destroy the statues, the paintings,
the furniture, the cabinets--a thousand dainty objects whose use they
are ignorant of, and which, for that very reason, exasperate them. From
time to time they stop, out of breath, and then begin again. The
inhabitants, taking refuge in the court-yards, utter lamentations. The
women lift their eyes to Heaven, weeping, with their arms bare. In order
to move the Solitaries they embrace their knees; but the latter only
dash them aside, and the blood gushes up to the ceiling, falls back on
the linen clothes that line the walls, streams from the trunks of
decapitated corpses, fills the aqueducts, and rolls in great red pools
along the ground.
Antony is steeped in it up to his middle. He steps into it, sucks it up
with his lips, and quivers with joy at feeling it on his limbs and under
his hair, which is quite wet with it.
The night falls. The terrible clamour abates.
The Solitaries have disappeared.
Suddenly, on the outer galleries lining the nine stages of the Pharos,
Antony perceives thick black lines, as if a flock of crows had alighted
there. He hastens thither, and soon finds himself on the summit.
A huge copper mirror turned towards the sea reflects the ships in the
offing.
Antony amuses himself by looking at them; and as he continues looking at
them, their number increases.
They are gathered in a gulf formed like a crescent. Behind, upon a
promontory, stretches a new city built in the Roman style of
architecture, with cupolas of stone, conical roofs, marble work in red
and blue, and a profusion of bronze attached to the volutes of
capitals, to the tops of houses, and to the angles of cornices. A wood,
formed of cypress-trees, overhangs it. The colour of the sea is greener;
the air is colder. On the mountains at the horizon there is snow.
Antony is about to pursue his way when a man accosts him, and says:
"Come! they are waiting for you!"
He traverses a forum, enters a court-yard, stoops under a gate, and he
arrives before the front of the palace, adorned with a group in wax
representing the Emperor Constantine hurling the dragon to the earth. A
porphyry basin supports in its centre a golden conch filled with
pistachio-nuts. His guide informs him that he may take some of them. He
does so.
Then he loses himself, as it were, in a succession of apartments.
Along the walls may be seen, in mosaic, generals offering conquered
cities to the Emperor on the palms of their hands. And on every side are
columns of basalt, gratings of silver filigree, seats of ivory, and
tapestries embroidered with pearls. The light falls from the vaulted
roof, and Antony proceeds on his way. Tepid exhalations spread around;
occasionally he hears the modest patter of a sandal. Posted in the
ante-chambers, the custodians--who resemble automatons--bear on their
shoulders vermilion-coloured truncheons.
At last, he finds himself in the lower part of a hall with hyacinth
curtains at its extreme end. They divide, and reveal the Emperor seated
upon a throne, attired in a violet tunic and red buskins with black
bands.
A diadem of pearls is wreathed around his hair, which is arranged in
symmetrical rolls. He has drooping eyelids, a straight nose, and a
heavy and cunning expression of countenance. At the corners of the dais,
extended above his head, are placed four golden doves, and, at the foot
of the throne, two enamelled lions are squatted. The doves begin to coo,
the lions to roar. The Emperor rolls his eyes; Antony steps forward; and
directly, without preamble, they proceed with a narrative of events.
[Illustration]
"In the cities of Antioch, Ephesus, and Alexandria, the temples have
been pillaged, and the statues of the gods converted into pots and
porridge-pans."
The Emperor laughs heartily at this. Antony reproaches him for his
tolerance towards the Novatians. But the Emperor flies into a passion.
"Novatians, Arians, Meletians--he is sick of them all!" However, he
admires the episcopacy, for the Christians create bishops, who depend on
five or six personages, and it is his interest to gain over the latter
in order to have the rest on his side. Moreover, he has not failed to
furnish them with considerable sums. But he detests the fathers of the
Council of Nicaea. "Come, let us have a look at them."
Antony follows him. And they are found on the same floor under a terrace
which commands a view of a hippodrome full of people, and surmounted by
porticoes wherein the rest of the crowd are walking to and fro. In the
centre of the course there is a narrow platform on which stands a
miniature temple of Mercury, a statue of Constantine, and three bronze
serpents intertwined with each other; while at one end there are three
huge wooden eggs, and at the other seven dolphins with their tails in
the air.
Behind the Imperial pavilion, the prefects of the chambers, the lords of
the household, and the Patricians are placed at intervals as far as the
first story of a church, all whose windows are lined with women. At the
right is the gallery of the Blue faction, at the left that of the Green,
while below there is a picket of soldiers, and, on a level with the
arena, a row of Corinthian pillars, forming the entrance to the stalls.
The races are about to begin; the horses fall into line. Tall plumes
fixed between their ears sway in the wind like trees; and in their leaps
they shake the chariots in the form of shells, driven by coachmen
wearing a kind of many-coloured cuirass with sleeves narrow at the
wrists and wide in the arms, with legs uncovered, full beard, and hair
shaven above the forehead after the fashion of the Huns.
Antony is deafened by the murmuring of voices. Above and below he
perceives nothing but painted faces, motley garments, and plates of
worked gold; and the sand of the arena, perfectly white, shines like a
mirror.
The Emperor converses with him, confides to him some important secrets,
informs him of the assassination of his own son Crispus, and goes so far
as to consult Antony about his health.
Meanwhile, Antony perceives slaves at the end of the stalls. They are
the fathers of the Council of Nicaea, in rags, abject. The martyr
Paphnutius is brushing a horse's mane; Theophilus is scrubbing the legs
of another; John is painting the hoofs of a third; while Alexander is
picking up their droppings in a basket.
Antony passes among them. They salaam to him, beg of him to intercede
for them, and kiss his hands. The entire crowd hoots at them; and he
rejoices in their degradation immeasurably. And now he has become one
of the great ones of the Court, the Emperor's confidant, first minister!
Constantine places the diadem on his forehead, and Antony keeps it, as
if this honour were quite natural to him.
And presently is disclosed, beneath the darkness, an immense hall,
lighted up by candelabra of gold.
Columns, half lost in shadow so tall are they, run in a row behind the
tables, which stretch to the horizon, where appear, in a luminous haze,
staircases placed one above another, successions of archways, colossi,
towers; and, in the background, an unoccupied wing of the palace, which
cedars overtop, making blacker masses above the darkness.
The guests, crowned with violets, lean upon their elbows on low-lying
couches. Beside each one are placed amphorae, from which they pour out
wine; and, at the very end, by himself, adorned with the tiara and
covered with carbuncles, King Nebuchadnezzar is eating and drinking. To
right and left of him, two theories of priests, with peaked caps, are
swinging censers. Upon the ground are crawling captive kings, without
feet or hands, to whom he flings bones to pick. Further down stand his
brothers, with shades over their eyes, for they are perfectly blind.
A constant lamentation ascends from the depths of the ergastula. The
soft and monotonous sounds of a hydraulic organ alternate with the
chorus of voices; and one feels as if all around the hall there was an
immense city, an ocean of humanity, whose waves were beating against the
walls.
The slaves rush forward carrying plates. Women run about offering drink
to the guests. The baskets groan under the load of bread, and a
dromedary, laden with leathern bottles, passes to and fro, letting
vervain trickle over the floor in order to cool it.
Belluarii lead forth lions; dancing-girls, with their hair in ringlets,
turn somersaults, while squirting fire through their nostrils;
negro-jugglers perform tricks; naked children fling snowballs, which, in
falling, crash against the shining silver plate. The clamour is so
dreadful that it might be described as a tempest, and the steam of the
viands, as well as the respirations of the guests, spreads, as it were,
a cloud over the feast. Now and then, flakes from the huge torches,
snatched away by the wind, traverse the night like flying stars.
The King wipes off the perfumes from his visage with his hand. He eats
from the sacred vessels, and then breaks them, and he enumerates,
mentally, his fleets, his armies, his peoples. Presently, through a
whim, he will burn his palace, along with his guests. He calculates on
rebuilding the Tower of Babel, and dethroning God.
Antony reads, at a distance, on his forehead, all his thoughts. They
take possession of himself--and he becomes Nebuchadnezzar.
Immediately, he is satiated with conquests and exterminations; and a
longing seizes him to plunge into every kind of vileness. Moreover, the
degradation wherewith men are terrified is an outrage done to their
souls, a means still more of stupefying them; and, as nothing is lower
than a brute beast, Antony falls upon four paws on the table, and
bellows like a bull.
He feels a pain in his hand--a pebble, as it happened, has hurt him--and
he again finds himself in his cell.
The rocky enclosure is empty. The stars are shining. All is silence.
"Once more I have been deceived. Why these things? They arise from the
revolts of the flesh! Ah! miserable man that I am!"
He dashes into his cell, takes out of it a bundle of cords, with iron
nails at the ends of them, strips himself to the waist, and raising his
eyes towards Heaven:
"Accept my penance, O my God! Do not despise it on account of its
insufficiency. Make it sharp, prolonged, excessive. It is time! To
work!"
He proceeds to lash himself vigorously.
"Ah! no! no! No pity!"
He begins again.
"Oh! Oh! Oh! Each stroke tears my skin, cuts my limbs. This smarts
horribly! Ah! it is not so terrible! One gets used to it. It seems to me
even ..."
Antony stops.
"Come on, then, coward! Come on, then! Good! good! On the arms, on the
back, on the breast, against the belly, everywhere! Hiss, thongs! bite
me! tear me! I would like the drops of my blood to gush forth to the
stars, to break my back, to strip my nerves bare! Pincers! wooden
horses! molten lead! The martyrs bore more than that! Is that not so,
Ammonaria?"
The shadows of the Devil's horns reappear.
"I might have been fastened to the pillar next to yours, face to face
with you, under your very eyes, responding to your shrieks with my
sighs, and our griefs would blend into one, and our souls would
commingle."
He flogs himself furiously.
"Hold! hold! for your sake! once more! ... But this is a mere tickling
that passes through my frame. What torture! What delight! Those are like
kisses. My marrow is melting! I am dying!"
And in front of him he sees three cavaliers, mounted on wild asses, clad
in green garments, holding lilies in their hands, and all resembling one
another in figure.
Antony turns back, and sees three other cavaliers of the same kind,
mounted on similar wild asses, in the same attitude.
He draws back. Then the wild asses, all at the same time, step forward a
pace or two, and rub their snouts against him, trying to bite his
garment. Voices exclaim, "This way! this way! Here is the place!" And
banners appear between the clefts of the mountain, with camels' heads in
halters of red silk, mules laden with baggage, and women covered with
yellow veils, mounted astride on piebald horses.
The panting animals lie down; the slaves fling themselves on the bales
of goods, roll out the variegated carpets, and strew the ground with
glittering objects.
A white elephant, caparisoned with a fillet of gold, runs along, shaking
the bouquet of ostrich feathers attached to his head-band.
On his back, lying on cushions of blue wool, cross-legged, with eyelids
half-closed and well-poised head, is a woman so magnificently attired
that she emits rays around her. The attendants prostrate themselves, the
elephant bends his knees, and the Queen of Sheba, gliding down by his
shoulder, steps lightly on the carpet and advances towards Antony. Her
robe of gold brocade, regularly divided by furbelows of pearls, jet and
sapphires, is drawn tightly round her waist by a close-fitting corsage,
set off with a variety of colours representing the twelve signs of the
Zodiac. She wears high-heeled pattens, one of which is black and strewn
with silver stars and a crescent, whilst the other is white and is
covered with drops of gold, with a sun in their midst.
Her loose sleeves, garnished with emeralds and birds' plumes, exposes to
view her little, rounded arms, adorned at the wrists with bracelets of
ebony; and her hands, covered with rings, are terminated by nails so
pointed that the ends of her fingers are almost like needles.
A chain of plate gold, passing under her chin, runs along her cheeks
till it twists itself in spiral fashion around her head, over which blue
powder is scattered; then, descending, it slips over her shoulders and
is fastened above her bosom by a diamond scorpion, which stretches out
its tongue between her breasts. From her ears hang two great white
pearls. The edges of her eyelids are painted black. On her left
cheek-bone she has a natural brown spot, and when she opens her mouth
she breathes with difficulty, as if her bodice distressed her.
As she comes forward, she swings a green parasol with an ivory handle
surrounded by vermilion bells; and twelve curly negro boys carry the
long train of her robe, the end of which is held by an ape, who raises
it every now and then.
She says:
"Ah! handsome hermit! handsome hermit! My heart is faint! By dint of
stamping with impatience my heels have grown hard, and I have split one
of my toe-nails. I sent out shepherds, who posted themselves on the
mountains, with their bands stretched over their eyes, and searchers,
who cried out your name in the woods, and scouts, who ran along the
different roads, saying to each passer-by: 'Have you seen him?'
"At night I shed tears with my face turned to the wall. My tears, in the
long run, made two little holes in the mosaic-work--like pools of water
in rocks--for I love you! Oh! yes; very much!"
She catches his beard.
"Smile on me, then, handsome hermit! Smile on me, then! You will find I
am very gay! I play on the lyre, I dance like a bee, and I can tell many
stories, each one more diverting than the last.
"You cannot imagine what a long journey we have made. Look at the wild
asses of the green-clad couriers--dead through fatigue!"
The wild asses are stretched motionless on the ground.
"For three great moons they have journeyed at an even pace, with pebbles
in their teeth to cut the wind, their tails always erect, their hams
always bent, and always in full gallop. You will not find their equals.
They came to me from my maternal grandfather, the Emperor Saharil, son
of Jakhschab, son of Jaarab, son of Kastan. Ah! if they were still
living, we would put them under a litter in order to get home quickly.
But ... how now? ... What are you thinking of?"
She inspects him.
"Ah! when you are my husband, I will clothe you, I will fling perfumes
over you, I will pick out your hairs."
Antony remains motionless, stiffer than a stake, pale as a corpse.
"You have a melancholy air: is it at quitting your cell? Why, I have
given up everything for your sake--even King Solomon, who has, no doubt,
much wisdom, twenty thousand war-chariots, and a lovely beard! I have
brought you my wedding presents. Choose."
She walks up and down between the row of slaves and the merchandise.
"Here is balsam of Genesareth, incense from Cape Gardefan, ladanum,
cinnamon and silphium, a good thing to put into sauces. There are within
Assyrian embroideries, ivories from the Ganges, and the purple cloth of
Elissa; and this case of snow contains a bottle of Chalybon, a wine
reserved for the Kings of Assyria, which is drunk pure out of the horn
of a unicorn. Here are collars, clasps, fillets, parasols, gold dust
from Baasa, tin from Tartessus, blue wood from Pandion, white furs from
Issidonia, carbuncles from the island of Palaesimundum, and tooth-picks
made with the hair of the tachas--an extinct animal found under the
earth. These cushions are from Emathia, and these mantle-fringes from
Palmyra. Under this Babylonian carpet there are ... but come, then!
Come, then!"
She pulls Saint Antony along by the beard. He resists. She goes on:
"This light tissue, which crackles under the fingers with the noise of
sparks, is the famous yellow linen brought by the merchants from
Bactriana. They required no less than forty-three interpreters during
their voyage. I will make garments of it for you, which you will put on
at home.
"Press the fastenings of that sycamore box, and give me the ivory casket
in my elephant's packing-case!"
They draw out of a box some round objects covered with a veil, and bring
her a little case covered with carvings.
"Would you like the buckler of Dgian-ben-Dgian, the builder of the
Pyramids? Here it is! It is composed of seven dragons' skins placed one
above another, joined by diamond screws, and tanned in the bile of a
parricide. It represents, on one side, all the wars which have taken
place since the invention of arms, and, on the other, all the wars that
will take place till the end of the world. Above, the thunderbolt
rebounds like a ball of cork. I am going to put it on your arm, and you
will carry it to the chase.
"But if you knew what I have in my little case! Try to open it! Nobody
has succeeded in doing that. Embrace me, and I will tell you."
She takes Saint Antony by the two cheeks. He repels her with
outstretched arms.
"It was one night when King Solomon had lost his head. At length, we had
concluded a bargain. He arose, and, going out with the stride of a
wolf ..."
She dances a pirouette.
"Ah! ah! handsome hermit! you shall not know it! you shall not know it!"
She shakes her parasol, and all the little bells begin to ring.
"I have many other things besides--there, now! I have treasures shut up
in galleries, where they are lost as in a wood. I have summer palaces of
lattice-reeds, and winter palaces of black marble. In the midst of
great lakes, like seas, I have islands round as pieces of silver all
covered with mother-of-pearl, whose shores make music with the beating
of the liquid waves that roll over the sand. The slaves of my kitchen
catch birds in my aviaries, and angle for fish in my ponds. I have
engravers continually sitting to stamp my likeness on hard stones,
panting workers in bronze who cast my statues, and perfumers who mix the
juice of plants with vinegar and beat up pastes. I have dressmakers who
cut out stuffs for me, goldsmiths who make jewels for me, women whose
duty it is to select head-dresses for me, and attentive house-painters
pouring over my panellings boiling resin, which they cool with fans. I
have attendants for my harem, eunuchs enough to make an army. And then I
have armies, subjects! I have in my vestibule a guard of dwarfs,
carrying on their backs ivory trumpets."
Antony sighs.
"I have teams of gazelles, quadrigae of elephants, hundreds of camels,
and mares with such long manes that their feet get entangled with them
when they are galloping, and flocks with such huge horns that the woods
are torn down in front of them when they are pasturing. I have giraffes
who walk in my gardens, and who raise their heads over the edge of my
roof when I am taking the air after dinner. Seated in a shell, and drawn
by dolphins, I go up and down the grottoes, listening to the water
flowing from the stalactites. I journey to the diamond country, where my
friends the magicians allow me to choose the most beautiful; then I
ascend to earth once more, and return home."
She gives a piercing whistle, and a large bird, descending from the sky,
alights on the top of her head-dress, from which he scatters the blue
powder. His plumage, of orange colour, seems composed of metallic
scales. His dainty head, adorned with a silver tuft, exhibits a human
visage. He has four wings, a vulture's claws, and an immense peacock's
tail, which he displays in a ring behind him. He seizes in his beak the
Queen's parasol, staggers a little before he finds his equilibrium, then
erects all his feathers, and remains motionless.
"Thanks, fair Simorg-anka! You who have brought me to the place where
the lover is concealed! Thanks! thanks! messenger of my heart! He flies
like desire. He travels all over the world. In the evening he returns;
he lies down at the foot of my couch; he tells me what he has seen, the
seas he has flown over, with their fishes and their ships, the great
empty deserts which he has looked down upon from his airy height in the
skies, all the harvests bending in the fields, and the plants that shoot
up on the walls of abandoned cities."
She twists her arms with a languishing air.
"Oh! if you were willing! if you were only willing! ... I have a pavilion
on a promontory, in the midst of an isthmus between two oceans. It is
wainscotted with plates of glass, floored with tortoise-shells, and is
open to the four winds of Heaven. From above, I watch the return of my
fleets and the people who ascend the hill with loads on their shoulders.
We should sleep on down softer than clouds; we should drink cool
draughts out of the rinds of fruit, and we gaze at the sun through a
canopy of emeralds. Come!"
Antony recoils. She draws close to him, and, in a tone of irritation:
"How so? Rich, coquettish, and in love?--is not that enough for you, eh?
But must she be lascivious, gross, with a hoarse voice, a head of hair
like fire, and rebounding flesh? Do you prefer a body cold as a
serpent's skin, or, perchance, great black eyes more sombre than
mysterious caverns? Look at these eyes of mine, then!"
Antony gazes at them, in spite of himself.
"All the women you ever have met, from the daughter of the cross-roads
singing beneath her lantern to the fair patrician scattering leaves from
the top of her litter, all the forms you have caught a glimpse of, all
the imaginings of your desire, ask for them! I am not a woman--I am a
world. My garments have but to fall, and you shall discover upon my
person a succession of mysteries."
Antony's teeth chattered.
"If you placed your finger on my shoulder, it would be like a stream of
fire in your veins. The possession of the least part of my body will
fill you with a joy more vehement than the conquest of an empire. Bring
your lips near! My kisses have the taste of fruit which would melt in
your heart. Ah! how you will lose yourself in my tresses, caress my
breasts, marvel at my limbs, and be scorched by my eyes, between my
arms, in a whirlwind----"
Antony makes the sign of the Cross.
"So, then, you disdain me! Farewell!"
She turns away weeping; then she returns.
"Are you quite sure? So lovely a woman?"
She laughs, and the ape who holds the end of her robe lifts it up.
"You will repent, my fine hermit! you will groan; you will be sick of
life! but I will mock at you! la! la! la! oh! oh! oh!"
She goes off with her hands on her waist, skipping on one foot.
The slaves file off before Saint Antony's face, together with the
horses, the dromedaries, the elephant, the attendants, the mules, once
more covered with their loads, the negro boys, the ape, and the
green-clad couriers holding their broken lilies in their hands--and the
Queen of Sheba departs, with a spasmodic utterance which might be either
a sob or a chuckle.
[Illustration]