BALTHASAR
And Other Works
By Anatole France
Translated by Mrs. John Lane
Edited by Frederic Chapman
London: John Lane: MCMIX
CONTENTS;
Balthasar
The Curé’s Mignonette
M. Pigeonneau
The Daughter Of Lilith
Laeta Acilia
The Red Egg
Balthasar
TO THE VICOMTE EUGÈNE MELCHIOR DE VOGUE
“Magos regos fere habuit Oriens."{*}
--Tertullian.
I.
In those days Balthasar, whom the Greeks called Saracin, reigned in
Ethiopia. He was black, but comely of countenance. He had a simple
soul and a generous heart.
The third year of his reign, which was the twenty-second of his age,
he left his dominions on a visit to Balkis, Queen of Sheba. The mage
Sembobitis and the eunuch Menkera accompanied him. He had in his train
seventy-five camels bearing cinnamon, myrrh, gold dust, and elephants’
tusks.
As they rode, Sembobitis instructed him in the influences of the
planets,{*} as well as in the virtues of precious stones, and Menkera
sang to him canticles from the sacred mysteries. He paid but little heed
to them, but amused himself instead watching the jackals with their ears
pricked up, sitting erect on the edge of the desert.
* The East commonly held kings versed in magic.
At last, after a march of twelve days, Balthasar became conscious of the
fragrance of roses, and very soon they saw the gardens that surround
the city of Sheba. On their way they passed young girls dancing under
pomegranate trees in full bloom.
“The dance,” said Sembobitis the mage, “is a prayer.”
“One could sell these women for a great price,” said Menkera the eunuch.
As they entered the city they were amazed at the extent of the sheds and
warehouses and workshops that lay before them, and also at the immense
quantities of merchandise with which these were piled.
For a long time they walked through streets thronged with chariots,
street porters, donkeys and donkey-drivers, until all at once the marble
walls, the purple awnings and the gold cupolas of the palace of Balkis,
lay spread out before them.
The Queen of Sheba received them in a courtyard cooled by jets of
perfumed water which fell with a tinkling cadence like a shower of
pearls.
Smiling, she stood before them in a jewelled robe.
At sight of her Balthasar was greatly troubled.
She seemed to him lovelier than a dream and more beautiful than desire.
“My lord,” and Sembobitis spoke under his breath, “remember to conclude
a good commercial treaty with the queen.”
“Have a care, my lord,” Menkera added. “It is said she employs magic
with which to gain the love of men.”
Then, having prostrated themselves, the mage and the eunuch retired.
Balthasar, left alone with Balkis, tried to speak; he opened his mouth
but he could not utter a word. He said to himself, “The queen will be
angered at my silence.”
But the queen still smiled and looked not at all angry. She was the
first to speak with a voice sweeter than the sweetest music.
“Be welcome, and sit down at my side.” And with a slender finger like
a ray of white light she pointed to the purple cushions on the ground.
Balthasar sat down, gave a great sigh, and grasping a cushion in each
hand he cried hastily:
“Madam, I would these two cushions were two giants, your enemies; I
would wring their necks.”
And as he spoke he clutched the cushions with such violence in his hands
that the delicate stuff cracked and out flew a cloud of snow-white down.
One of the tiny feathers swayed a moment in the air and then alighted on
the bosom of the queen.
“My lord Balthasar,” Balkis said, blushing; “why do you wish to kill
giants?”
“Because I love you,” said Balthasar.
“Tell me,” Balkis asked, “is the water good in the wells of your
capital?”
“Yes,” Balthasar replied in some surprise.
“I am also curious to know,” Balkis continued, “how a dry conserve of
fruit is made in Ethiopia?”
The king did not know what to answer.
“Now please tell me, please,” she urged.
Whereupon with a mighty effort of memory he tried to describe how
Ethiopian cooks preserve quinces in honey. But she did not listen. And
suddenly, she interrupted him.
“My lord, it is said that you love your neighbour, Queen Candace. Is she
more beautiful than I am? Do not deceive me.”
“More beautiful than you, madam,” Balthasar cried as he fell at the feet
of Balkis, “how could that possibly be!”
“Well, then, her eyes? her mouth, her colour? her throat?” the queen
continued.
With his arms outstretched towards her, Balthasar cried:
“Give me but the little feather that has fallen on your neck and in
return you shall have half my kingdom as well as the wise Sembobitis and
Menkera the eunuch.”
But she rose and fled with a ripple of dear laughter.
When the mage and the eunuch returned they found their master plunged
deep in thought which was not his custom.
“My lord!” asked Sembobitis, “have you concluded a good commercial
treaty?”
That day Balthasar supped with the Queen of Sheba and drank the wine of
the palm-tree.
“It is true, then,” said Balkis as they supped together, “that Queen
Guidace is not so beautiful as I?”
“Queen Candace is black,” replied Balthasar.
Balkis looked expressively at Balthasar.
“One may be black and yet not ill-looking,” she said.
“Balkis!” cried the king.
He said no more, but seized her in his arms, and the head of the queen
sank back under the pressure of his lips. But he saw that she was
weeping. Thereupon he spoke to her in the low, caressing tones that
nurses use to their nurslings. He called her his little blossom and his
little star.
“Why do you weep?” he asked. “And what must one do to dry your tears? If
you have a desire tell me and it shall be fulfilled.”
She ceased weeping, but she was sunk deep in thought He implored her a
long time to tell him her desire. And at last she spoke.
“I wish to know fear.”
And as Balthasar did not seem to understand, she explained to him that
for a long time past she had greatly longed to face some unknown danger,
but she could not, for the men and gods of Sheba watched over her.
“And yet,” she added with a sigh, “during the night I long to feel the
delicious chill of terror penetrate my flesh. To have my hair stand up
on my head with horror. O! it would be such joy to be afraid!”
She twined her arms about the neck of the dusky king, and said with the
voice of a pleading child:
“Night has come. Let us go through the town in disguise. Are you
willing?”
He agreed. She ran to the window at once and looked though the lattice
into the square below.
“A beggar is lying against the palace wall. Give him your garments and
ask him in exchange for his camel-hair turban and the coarse cloth girt
about his loins. Be quick and I will dress myself.”
And she ran out of the banqueting-hall joyfully clapping her hands one
against the other.
Balthasar took off his linen tunic embroidered with gold and girded
himself with the skirt of the beggar. It gave him the look of a real
slave. The queen soon reappeared dressed in the blue seamless garment of
the women who work in the fields.
“Come!” she said.
And she dragged Balthasar along the narrow corridors towards a little
door which opened on the fields.
II.
The night was dark, and in the darkness of the night Balkis looked very
small.
She led Balthasar to one of the taverns where wastrels and street
porters foregathered along with prostitutes. The two sat down at a table
and saw through the foul air by the light of a fetid lamp, unclean human
brutes attack each other with fists and knives for a woman or a cup
of fermented liquor, while others with clenched fists snored under
the tables. The tavern-keeper, lying on a pile of sacking, watched the
drunken brawlers with a prudent eye. Balkis, having seen some salt fish
hanging from the rafters of the ceiling, said to her companion:
“I much wish to eat one of these fish with pounded onions.”
Balthasar gave the order. When she had eaten he discovered that he had
forgotten to bring money. It gave him no concern, for he thought that
he could slip out with her without paying the reckoning. But the
tavern-keeper barred their way, calling them a vile slave and a
worthless she-ass. Balthasar struck him to the ground with a blow of
his fist. Whereupon some of the drinkers drew their knives and flung
themselves on the two strangers. But the black man, seizing an enormous
pestle used to pound Egyptian onions, knocked down two of his assailants
and forced the others back. And all the while he was conscious of the
warmth of Balkis’ body as she cowered close against him; it was this
which made him invincible.
The tavern-keeper’s friends, not daring to approach again, flung at
him from the end of the pot-house jars of oil, pewter vessels, burning
lamps, and even the huge bronze cauldron in which a whole sheep was
stewing. This cauldron fell with a horrible crash on Balthasar’s
head and split his skull. For a moment he stood as if dazed, and then
summoning all his strength he flung the cauldron back with such force
that its weight was increased tenfold. The shock of the hurtling metal
was mingled with indescribable roars and death rattles. Profiting by the
terror of the survivors, and fearing that Balkis might be injured,
he seized her in his arms and fled with her through the silence and
darkness of the lonely byways. The stillness of night enveloped
the earth, and the fugitives heard the clamour of the women and the
carousers, who pursued them at haphazard, die away in the darkness. Soon
they heard nothing more than the sound of dripping blood as it fell from
the brow of Balthasar on the breast of Balkis.
“I love you,” the queen murmured.
And by the light of the moon as it emerged from behind a cloud the
king saw the white and liquid radiance of her half-closed eyes. They
descended the dry bed of a stream, and suddenly Balthasar’s foot slipped
on the moss and they fell together locked in each other’s embrace.
They seemed to sink forever into a delicious void, and the world of
the living ceased to exist for them. They were still plunged in the
enchanting forgetfulness of time, space and separate existence, when at
daybreak the gazelles came to drink out of the hollows among the stones.
At that moment a passing band of brigands discovered the two lovers
lying on the moss.
“They are poor,” they said, “but we shall sell them for a great price,
for they are so young and beautiful.”
Upon which they surrounded them, and having bound them they tied them to
the tail of an ass and proceeded on their way.
The black man so bound threatened the brigands with death. But Balkis,
who shivered in the cool, fresh air of the morning, only smiled, as if
at something unseen.
They tramped through frightful solitudes until the heat of mid-day made
itself felt. The sun was already high when the brigands unbound their
prisoners, and, letting them sit in the shade of a rock, threw them some
mouldy bread which Balthasar disdained to touch but which Balkis ate
greedily.
She laughed. And when the brigand chief asked why she laughed, she
replied:
“I laugh at the thought that I shall have you all hanged.”
“Indeed!” cried the chief, “a curious assertion in the mouth of a
scullery wench like you, my love! Doubtless you will hang us all by aid
of that blackamoor gallant of yours?”
At this insult Balthasar flew into a fearful rage, and he flung himself
on the brigand and clutched his neck with such violence that he nearly
strangled him.
But the other drew his knife and plunged it into his body to the very
hilt. The poor king rolled to earth, and as he turned on Balkis a dying
glance his sight faded.
III
At this moment was heard an uproar of men, horses and weapons, and
Balkis recognised her trusty Abner who had come at the head of her
guards to rescue his queen, of whose mysterious disappearance he had
heard during the night.
Three times he prostrated himself at the feet of Balkis, and ordered
the litter to advance which had been prepared to receive her. In the
meantime the guards bound the hands of the brigands. The queen turned
towards the chief and said gently: “You cannot accuse me of having made
you an idle promise, my friend, when I said you would be hanged.”
The mage Sembobitis and Menkera the eunuch, who stood beside Abner, gave
utterance to terrible cries when they saw their king lying motionless on
the ground with a knife in his stomach. They raised him with great care.
Sembobitis, who was highly versed in the science of medicine, saw that
he still breathed. He applied a temporary bandage while Menkera wiped
the foam from the king’s lips. Then they bound him to a horse and led
him gently to the palace of the queen.
For fifteen days Balthasar lay in the agonies of delirium. He raved
without ceasing of the steaming cauldron and the moss in the ravine, and
he incessantly cried aloud for Balkis. At last, on the sixteenth day,
he opened his eyes and saw at his bedside Sembobitis and Menkera, but he
did not see the queen.
“Where is she? What is she doing?”
“My lord,” replied Menkera, “she is closeted with the King of Comagena.”
“They are doubtless agreeing to an exchange of merchandise,” added the
sage Sembobitis.
“But be not so disturbed, my lord, or you will redouble your fever.”
“I must see her,” cried Balthasar. And he flew towards the apartments
of the queen, and neither the sage nor the eunuch could restrain him. On
nearing the bedchamber he beheld the King of Comagena come forth covered
with gold and glittering like the sun. Balkis, smiling and with eyes
closed, lay on a purple couch. “My Balkis, my Balkis!” cried Balthasar.
She did not even turn her head but seemed to prolong a dream.
Balthasar approached and took her hand which she rudely snatched away.
“What do you want?” she said.
“Do you ask?” the black king answered, and burst into tears.
She turned on him her hard, calm eyes.
Then he realised that she had forgotten everything, and he reminded her
of the night of the stream.
“In truth, my lord,” said she, “I do not know to what you refer. The
wine of the palm does not agree with you. You must have dreamed.”
“What,” cried the unhappy king, wringing his hands, “your kisses, and
the knife which has left its mark on me, are these dreams?”
She rose; the jewels on her robe made a sound as of hail and flashed
forth lightnings.
“My lord,” she said, “it is the hour my council assembles. I have not
the leisure to interpret the dreams of your suffering brain. Take some
repose. Farewell.”
Balthasar felt himself sinking, but with a supreme effort not to betray
his weakness to this wicked woman, he ran to his room where he fell in a
swoon and his wound re-opened.
IV
For three weeks he remained unconscious and as one dead, but having
on the twenty-second day recovered his senses, he seized the hand of
Sembobitis, who, with Menkera, watched over him, and cried, weeping:
“O, my friends, how happy you are, one to be old and the other the same
as old. But no! there is no happiness on earth, everything is bad, for
love is an evil and Balkis is wicked.”
“Wisdom confers happiness,” replied Sembobitis. “I will try it,” said
Balthasar. “But let us depart at once for Ethiopia.” And as he had lost
all he loved he resolved to consecrate himself to wisdom and to become
a mage. If this decision gave him no especial pleasure it at least
restored to him something of tranquillity. Every evening, seated on the
terrace of his palace in company with the sage Sembobitis and Menkera
the eunuch, he gazed at the palm-trees standing motionless against the
horizon, or watched the crocodiles by the light of the moon float down
the Nile like trunks of trees.
“One never wearies of admiring the beauties of Nature,” said Sembobitis.
“Doubtless,” said Balthasar, “but there are other things in Nature more
beautiful even than palm-trees and crocodiles.”
This he said thinking of Balkis. But Sembobitis, who was old, said:
“There is of course the phenomenon of the rising of the Nile which I
have explained. Man is created to understand.”
“He is created to love,” replied Balthasar sighing. “There are things
which cannot be explained.”
“And what may those be?” asked Sembobitis.
“A woman’s treason,” the king replied.
Balthasar, however, having decided to become a mage, had a tower built
from the summit of which might be discerned many kingdoms and the
infinite spaces of Heaven. The tower was constructed of brick and rose
high above all other towers. It took no less than two years to build,
and Balthasar expended in its construction the entire treasure of the
king, his father. Every night he climbed to the top of this tower and
there he studied the heavens under the guidance of the sage Sembobitis.
“The constellations of the heavens disclose our destiny,” said
Sembobitis.
And he replied:
“It must be admitted nevertheless that these signs are obscure. But
while I study them I forget Balkis, and that is a great boon.”
And among truths most useful to know, the mage taught that the stars
are fixed like nails in the arch of the sky, and that there are five
planets, namely: Bel, Merodach, and Nebo, which are male, while Sin and
Mylitta are female.
“Silver,” he further explained, “corresponds to Sin, which is the moon,
iron to Merodach, and tin to Bel.”
And the worthy Balthasar answered: “Such is the kind of knowledge I
wish to acquire. While I study astronomy I think neither of Balkis nor
anything else on earth. The sciences are benificent; they keep men from
thinking. Teach me the knowledge, Sembobitis, which destroys all feeling
in men and I will raise you to great honour among my people.”
This was the reason that Sembobitis taught the king wisdom.
He taught him the power of incantation, according to the principles of
Astrampsychos, Gobryas and Pazatas. And the more Balthasar studied the
twelve houses of the sun, the less he thought of Balkis, and Menkera,
observing this, was filled with a great joy.
“Acknowledge, my lord, that Queen Balkis under her golden robes has
little cloven feet like a goat’s.”
“Who ever told you such nonsense?” asked the King.
“My lord, it is the common report both in Sheba and Ethiopia,” replied
the eunuch. “It is universally said that Queen Balkis has a shaggy leg
and a foot made of two black horns.”
Balthasar shrugged his shoulders. He knew that the legs and feet of
Balkis were like the legs and feet of all other women and perfect in
their beauty. And yet the mere idea spoiled the remembrance of her whom
he had so greatly loved. He felt a grievance against Balkis that her
beauty was not without blemish in the imagination of those who knew
nothing about it. At the thought that he had possessed a woman who,
though in reality perfectly formed, passed as a monstrosity, he was
seized with such a sense of repugnance that he had no further desire
to see Balkis again. Balthasar had a simple soul, but love is a very
complex emotion.
From that day on the king made great progress both in magic and
astrology. He studied the conjunction of the stars with extreme care,
and he drew horoscopes with an accuracy equal to that of Sembobitis
himself.
“Sembobitis,” he asked, “are you willing to answer with your head for
the truth of my horoscopes?”
And the sage Sembobitis replied:
“My lord, science is infallible, but the learned often err.”
Balthasar was endowed with fine natural sense. He said:
“Only that which is true is divine, and what is divine is hidden from
us. In vain we search for truth. And yet I have discovered a new star
in the sky. It is a beautiful star, and it seems alive; and when it
sparkles it looks like a celestial eye that blinks gently. I seem to
hear it call to me. Happy, happy, happy is he who is born under this
star, See, Sembobitis, how this charming and splendid star looks at us.”
But Sembobitis did not see the star because he would not see it. Wise
and old, he did not like novelties.
And alone in the silence of night Balthasar repeated: “Happy, happy,
happy he who is born under this star.”
V.
The rumour spread over all Ethiopia and the neighbouring kingdoms that
King Balthasar had ceased to love Balkis.
When the tidings reached the country of Sheba, Balkis was as indignant
as if she had been betrayed. She ran to the King of Comagena who was
employing his time in forgetting his country in the city of Sheba.
“My friend,” she cried, “do you know what I have just heard? Balthasar
loves me no longer!”
“What does it matter,” said the King of Comagena, “since we love one
another?”
“But do you not feel how this blackamoor has insulted me?”
“No,” said the King of Comagena, “I do not.”
Whereupon she drove him ignominiously out of her presence, and ordered
her grand vizier to prepare for a journey into Ethiopia.
“We shall set out this very night. And I shall cut off your head if all
is not ready by sundown.”
But when she was alone she began to sob.
“I love him! He loves me no longer, and I love him,” she sighed in the
sincerity of her heart.
And one night, when on his tower watching the miraculous star,
Balthasar, casting his eyes towards earth, saw along black line
sinuously curving over the distant sands of the desert like an army
of ants. Little by little what seemed to be ants grew larger and
sufficiently distinct for the king to be able to recognise horses,
camels and elephants.
The caravan having approached the city, Balthasar distinguished the
glittering scimitars and the black horses of the guards of the Queen
of Sheba. He even recognised the queen herself, and he was profoundly
disturbed, for he felt that he would again love her. The star shone in
the zenith with a marvellous brilliancy. Below, extended on a litter of
purple and gold, Balkis looked small and brilliant like the star.
Balthasar was conscious of being drawn towards her by some terrible
power. Still he turned his head away with a desperate effort, and
lifting his eyes he again saw the star. Thereupon the star spoke and
said: “Glory to God in the Heavens and peace on earth to men of good
will!
“Take a measure of myrrh, gentle King Balthasar, and follow me. I will
guide thee to the feet of a little child who is about to be born in a
stable between an ass and an ox.
“And this little child is the King of Kings. He will comfort all those
who need comforting.
“He calls thee to Him, O Balthasar, thou whose soul is as dark as thy
face, but whose heart is as guileless as the heart of a child.
“He has chosen thee because thou hast suffered, and He will give thee
riches, happiness and love.
“He will say to thee: ‘Be poor joyfully, for that is true riches.’
He will also say to thee: ‘True happiness is in the renunciation of
happiness. Love Me and love none other but Me, because I alone am
love.’”
At these words a divine peace fell like a flood of light over the dark
face of the king.
Balthasar listened with rapture to the star. He felt himself becoming a
new man.
Prostrate beside him, Sembobitis and Menkera worshipped, their faces
touching the stone.
Queen Balkis watched Balthasar. She realised that never again would
there be love for her in that heart filled with a love divine. She
turned white with rage and gave orders for the caravan to return at once
to the land of Sheba.
As soon as the star had ceased to speak, Balthasar and his companions
descended from the tower.
Then, having prepared a measure of myrrh, they formed a caravan and
departed in the direction towards which they were guided by the star.
They journeyed a long time through unknown countries, the star always
journeying in front of them.
One day, finding themselves in a place where three roads met, they saw
two kings advance accompanied by a numerous retinue; one was young and
fair of face. He greeted Balthasar and said:
“My name is Gaspar. I am a king, and I bear gold as a gift to the child
that is about to be born in Bethlehem of Judea.”
The second king advanced in turn. He was an old man, and his white beard
covered his breast.
“My name is Melchior,” he said, “and I am a king, and I bring
frankincense to the holy child who is to teach Truth to mankind.”
“I am bound whither you are,” said Balthasar. “I have conquered my lust,
and for that reason the star has spoken to me.”
“I,” said Melchior, “have conquered my pride, and that is why I have
been called.”
“I,” said Gaspar, “have conquered my cruelty, and for that reason I go
with you.”
And the three mages proceeded on their journey together. The star which
they had seen in the East preceded them until, arriving above the place
where the child lay, it stood still. And seeing the star standing still
they rejoiced with a great joy.
And, entering the house they found the child with Mary his mother, and
prostrating themselves, they worshipped him. And opening their treasures
they offered him gold, frankincense and myrrh, as it is written in the
Gospel.
THE CURÉ’S MIGNONETTE
TO JULES LEMAÎTRE
In a village of the Bocage I once knew a curé, a holy man who denied
himself every indulgence and who cheerfully practised the virtue of
renunciation, and knew no joy but that of sacrifice. In his garden he
cultivated fruit-trees, vegetables and medicinal plants, but fearing
beauty even in flowers, he would have neither roses nor jasmine. He only
allowed himself the innocent luxury of a few tufts of mignonette whose
twisted stems, so modestly flower-crowned, would not distract his
attention as he read his breviary among his cabbage-plots under the sky
of our dear Father in Heaven.
The holy man had so little distrust of his mignonette that he would
often in passing pick a spray and inhale its fragrance for a long time.
All the plant asked was to be permitted to grow. If one spray was cut,
four grew in its place. So much so, indeed, that, the devil aiding, the
priest’s mignonette soon covered a vast extent of his little garden. It
overflowed into the paths and pulled at the good priest’s cassock as he
passed, until, distracted by the foolish plant, he would pause as often
as twenty times an hour while he read or said his prayers.
From springtime until autumn the presbytery was redolent of mignonette.
Behold what we may come to and how feeble we are! Not without reason do
we say that all our natural inclinations lead us towards sin! The man
of God had succeeded in guarding his eyes, but he had left his nostrils
undefended, and so the devil, as it were, caught him by the nose. This
saint now inhaled the fragrance of mignonette with avidity and lust,
that is to say, with that sinful instinct which makes us long for the
enjoyment of natural pleasures and which leads us into all sorts of
temptations.
Henceforth he seemed to take less delight in the odours of Paradise and
the perfumes which are our Lady’s merits. His holiness dwindled, and
he might, perhaps, have sunk into voluptuousness and become little by
little like those lukewarm souls which Heaven rejects had not succour
come to him in the nick of time.
Once, long ago, in the Thebaid, an angel stole from a hermit a cup of
gold which still bound the holy man to the vanities of earth. A similar
mercy was vouchsafed to this priest of the Bocage. A white hen scratched
the earth about the mignonette with such good-will that it all died.
We are not informed whence this bird came. As for myself, I am inclined
to believe that the angel who in the desert stole the hermit’s cup
transformed himself into a white hen on purpose to destroy the only
obstacle which barred the good priest’s path towards perfection.
M. PIGEONNEAU
TO GILBERT AUGUSTIN-THIERRY
I have, as everybody knows, devoted my whole life to Egyptian
archaeology. I should be very ungrateful to my country, to science, and
to my-self, if I regretted the profession to which I was called. In my
early youth and which I have followed with honour these forty years.
My labours have not been in vain. I may say, without flattering myself,
that my article on _The Handle of an Egyptian mirror in the Museum of
the Louvre_ may still be consulted with profit, though it dates back to
the beginning of my career.
As for the exhaustive studies which I subsequently devoted to one of
the bronze weights found in 1851 in the excavations at the Serapeium, it
would be ungracious for me not to think well of them, as they opened for
me the doors of the Institute.
Encouraged by the flattering reception with which my researches of this
nature were received by many of my new colleagues, I was tempted for a
moment to treat in one comprehensive work of the weights and measures
in use at Alexandria in the reign of Ptolemy Auletes (80-52). I soon
recognised, however, that a subject so general could not be dealt with
by the really profound student, and that positive science could not
approach it without running a risk of incurring all sorts of mischances.
I felt that in investigating several subjects at once I was forsaking
the fundamental principles of archaeology. If to-day I confess my
mistake, if I acknowledge the incredible enthusiasm with which I was
inspired by a far too ambitious scheme, I do so for the sake of the
young, who will thus learn by my example to conquer their imagination.
It is our most cruel foe. The student who has not succeeded in stifling
it is lost for ever to erudition. I still tremble to think in what
depths I was nearly plunged by my adventurous spirit. I was within an
ace of what one calls history. What a downfall! I should have sunk into
art. For history is only art, or, at best, a false science. Who to-day
does not know that the historians preceded the archaeologists, as
astrologers preceded the astronomers, as the alchemists preceded the
chemists, and as the monkeys preceded men? Thank Heaven! I escaped with
a mere fright.
My third work, I hasten to say, was wisely planned. It was a monograph
entitled, _On the toilet of an Egyptian lady of the Middle Empire from
an unpublished picture_. I treated the subject so as to avoid all side
issues, and I did not permit any generalising to intrude itself. I
guarded myself against those considerations, comparisons and views with
which certain of my colleagues have marred the exposition of their most
valuable discoveries. But why should a work planned so sanely have met
with so fantastic a fate? By what freak of destiny should it have
proved the cause of the monstrous aberration of my mind? But let me not
anticipate events nor confuse dates. My dissertation was intended to be
read at a public sitting of the five academies, a distinction all the
more precious, as it rarely falls to the lot of works of this character.
These academic gatherings have for some years past been largely attended
by people of fashion.
The day I delivered my lecture the hall was crowded by a distinguished
audience. Women were there in great numbers. Lovely faces and brilliant
toilettes graced the galleries. My discourse was listened to with
respect. It was not interrupted by those thoughtless and noisy
demonstrations which naturally follow mere literary productions. No, the
public preserved an attitude more in harmony with the nature of the work
presented to them. They were serious and grave.
As I paused between the phrases the better to disentangle the different
trains of thought, I had leisure to examine behind my spectacles the
entire hall. I can truly say that not the faintest smile could be seen
on any lips. On the contrary, even the freshest faces wore an expression
of austerity. I seemed to have ripened all their intellects as if by
magic. Here and there while I read some young people whispered to their
neighbours. They were probably debating some special point treated of in
my discourse.
More than that, a beautiful young creature of twenty-two or twenty-four,
seated in the left corner of the north balcony, was listening with great
attention and taking notes. Her face had a delicacy of features and a
mobility of expression truly remarkable. The attention with which she
listened to my words gave an added charm to her singular face. She was
not alone. A big, robust man, who, like the Assyrian kings, wore a long
curled beard and long black hair, stood beside her and occasionally
spoke to her in a low voice. My attention, which at first was divided
amongst my entire audience, concentrated itself little by little on the
young woman. She inspired me, I confess, with an interest which certain
of my colleagues might consider unworthy of a scientific mind such as
mine, though I feel sure that none of them under similar circumstances
would have been more indifferent than I. As I proceeded she scribbled
in a little note-book; and as she listened to my discourse one could
see that she was visibly swayed by the most contradictory emotions; she
seemed to pass from satisfaction and joy to surprise and even anxiety.
I examined her with increasing curiosity. Would to God I had set eyes on
her and her only that day under the cupola!
I had nearly finished; there hardly remained more than twenty-five or
thirty pages at most to read when suddenly my eyes encountered those of
the man with the Assyrian beard. How can I explain to you what happened
then, seeing that I cannot explain it to myself? All I can say is
that the glance of this personage put me at once into a state of
indescribable agitation. The eye-balls fixed on me were of a
greenish colour. I could not turn my own away. I stood there dumb and
open-mouthed. As I had stopped speaking the audience began to applaud.
Silence being restored, I tried to continue my discourse. But in spite
of the most violent efforts, I could not tear my eyes from those two
living lights to which they were so mysteriously riveted. That was
not all. By a more amazing phenomenon still, and contrary to all the
principles of my whole life, I began to improvise. God alone knows if
this was the result of my own freewill!
Under the influence of a strange, unknown and irresistible force
I delivered with grace and burning eloquence certain philosophical
reflections on the toilet of women in the course of the ages; I
generalised, I rhapsodised, I grew eloquent-God forgive me-about the
eternal feminine, and the passion which glides like a breath about those
perfumed veils with which women know how to adorn their beauty.
The man with the Assyrian beard never ceased staring steadily at me.
And I still continued to speak. At last he lowered his eyes, and then I
stopped. It is humiliating to add that this portion of my address, which
was quite as foreign to my own natural impulse as it was contrary to the
scientific mind, was rewarded with tumultuous applause. The young woman
in the north balcony clapped her hands and smiled.
I was followed at the reading-desk by a member of the Academy who seemed
visibly annoyed at having to be heard after me. Perhaps his fears were
exaggerated. At any rate he was listened to without too much impatience.
I am under the impression that it was verse that he read.
The meeting being over, I left the hall in company with several of my
colleagues, who renewed their congratulations with a sincerity in which
I try to believe.
Having paused a moment on the quay near the lions of Creuzot to exchange
a few greetings, I observed the man with the Assyrian beard and his
beautiful companion enter a _coupé_. I happened accidentally to be
standing next to an eloquent philosopher, of whom it is said that he is
equally at home in worldly elegance and in cosmic theories. The young
lady, putting her delicate head and her little hand out of the carriage
door, called him by name and said with a slight English accent:
“My dear friend, you’ve forgotten me. That’s too bad!”
After the carriage had gone I asked my illustrious colleague who this
charming person and her companion were.
“What!” he replied, “you do not know Miss Morgan and her physician
Daoud, who cures all diseases by means of magnetism, hypnotism, and
suggestion? Annie Morgan is the daughter of the richest merchant in
Chicago. Two years ago she came to Paris with her mother, and she has
had a wonderful house built on the Avenue du Bois-de-Boulogne trice. She
is highly educated and remarkably clever.”
“You do not surprise me,” I replied, “for I have reason to think that
this American lady is of a very serious turn of mind.”
My brilliant colleague smiled as he shook my hand.
I walked home to the Rue Saint Jacques, where I have lived these last
thirty years in a modest lodging from which I can just see the tops
of the trees in the garden of the Luxembourg, and I sat down at my
writing-table.
For three days I sat there assiduously at work, before me a little
statuette representing the goddess Pasht with her cat’s head. This
little monument bears an inscription imperfectly deciphered by Monsieur
Grébault I was at work on an adequate interpretation with comments. The
incident at the institute had left a less vivid impression on my mind
than might have been feared. I was not unduly disturbed. To tell the
truth, I had even forgotten it a little, and it required new occurrences
to revive its remembrance.
I had, therefore, leisure during these three days to bring my version
of the inscription and my notes to a satisfactory conclusion. I only
interrupted my archaeological work to read the newspapers, which were
loud in my praise.
Newspapers, absolutely ignorant of all learning, spoke in praise of
that “charming passage” which had concluded my discourse. “It was a
revelation,” they said, “and M. Pigeonneau had prepared a most agreeable
surprise for us.” I do not know why I refer to such trifles, because,
usually I am quite indifferent as to what they say about me in the
newspapers.
I had been already closeted in my study for three days when a ring at
the door-bell startled me. There was something imperious, fantastic, and
strange in the motion communicated to the bell-rope which disturbed me,
and it was with real anxiety that I went myself to open the door. And
whom did I find on the landing? The young American recently so absorbed
at the reading of my treatise. It was Miss Morgan in person.
“Monsieur Pigeonneau?”
“Yes.”
“I recognised you at once, though you are not wearing your beautiful
coat with the embroidery of green palm-leaves. But, please don’t put it
on for my sake. I like you much better in your dressing-gown.”
I led her into my study. She looked curiously at the papyri, the prints,
and odds and ends of all kinds which covered the walls to the ceiling,
and then she looked silently for some time at the goddess Pasht who
stood on my writing-table. Finally she said:
“She is charming.”
“Do you refer to this little monument, Madam? As a matter of fact, it
is distinguished by an exceptional inscription of a sufficiently curious
nature. But may I ask what has procured for me the honour of your
visit?”
“O,” she cried, “I don’t care a fig for its remarkable inscriptions.
There never was a more exquisitely delicate cat-face. Of course you
believe that she is a real goddess, don’t you, Monsieur Pigeonneau?”
I protested against so unworthy a suspicion.
“To believe that would be fetichism.”
Her great green eyes looked at me with surprise.
“Ah, then, you don’t believe in fetichism? I did not think one could
be an archaeologist and yet not believe in fetichism. How can Pasht
interest you if you do not believe that she is a goddess? But never
mind! I came to see you on a matter of great importance, Monsieur
Pigeonneau.”
“Great importance?”
“Yes, about a costume. Look at me.”
“With pleasure.”
“Don’t you find traces of the Cushite race in my profile?”
I was at loss what to say. An interview of this nature was so foreign to
me.
“Oh, there’s nothing surprising about it,” she continued. “I remember
when I was an Egyptian. And were you also an Egyptian, Monsieur
Pigeonneau? Don’t you remember? How very curious. At least, you don’t
doubt that we pass through a series of successive incarnations?”
“I do not know.”
“You surprise me, Monsieur Pigeonneau.”
“Will you tell me, Madam, to what I am indebted for this honour?”
“To be sure. I haven’t yet told you that I have come to beg you to
help me to design an Egyptian costume for the fancy ball at Countess
N------‘s. I want a costume that shall be absolutely accurate and
bewilderingly beautiful. I have been hard at work at it already, M.
Pigeonneau. I have gone over my recollections, for I remember very well
when I lived in Thebes six thousand years ago. I have had designs sent
me from London, Boulak and New York.”
“Those would, of course, be more reliable.” “No, nothing is so reliable
as one’s intuition. I have also studied in the Egyptian Museum of the
Louvre. It is full of enchanting things. Figures so slender and pure,
profiles so delicate and clear cut, women who look like flowers, but, at
the same time, with something at once rigid and supple. And a god, Bes,
who looks like Sarcey! My goodness, how beautiful it all is!”
“Pardon me, but I do not yet quite understand----”
“I haven’t finished. I went to your lecture on the toilet of a woman of
the Middle Empire, and I took notes. It was rather dry, your lecture,
but I grubbed away at it. By aid of all these notes I have designed a
costume. But it is not quite right yet. So I have come to beg you to
correct it. Do come to me to-morrow! Will you? Do me that honour for the
love of Egypt! You will, won’t you? Till to-morrow, I must hurry off.
Mama is in the carriage waiting for me.”
She disappeared as she said these last words, and I followed. When I
reached the vestibule she was already at the foot of the stairs and from
here I heard her clear voice call up:
“Till to-morrow. Avenue du Bois-de-Boulogne, at the corner of the Villa
Saïd.”
“I shall not go to see this mad creature,” I said to myself.
The next afternoon at four o’clock I rang the door-bell. A footman led
me into an immense, well-lighted hall crowded with pictures and statues
in marble and bronze; sedan chairs in _Vernis Martin_ set with porcelain
plaques; Peruvian mummies; a dozen dummy figures of men and horses in
full armour, over which, by reason of their great height, towered a
Polish cavalier with white wings on his shoulders and a French knight
equipped for the tournament, his helmet bearing a crest of a woman’s
head with pointed coif and flowing veil.
An entire grove of palm-trees in tubs reared their foliage in this hall,
and in their midst was seated a gigantic Buddha in gold. At the foot of
the god sat a shabbily dressed old woman reading the Bible.
I was still dazzled by these many marvels when the purple hangings
were raised and Miss Morgan appeared in a white _peignoir_ trimmed with
swans-down. She was followed by two great, long-muzzled boarhounds.
“I was sure you would come, Monsieur Pigeonneau.”
I stammered a compliment.
“How could one possibly refuse anything to so charming a lady?”
“O, it is not because I am pretty that I am never refused anything. I
have secrets by which I make myself obeyed.”
Then, pointing to the old lady who was reading the Bible, she said to
me:
“Pay no attention to her, that is mama. I shall not introduce you.
Should you speak she could not reply; she belongs to a religious sect
which forbids unnecessary conversation. It is the very latest thing in
sects. Its adherents wear sackcloth and eat out of wooden basins. Mama
greatly enjoys these little observances. But you can imagine that I did
not ask you here to talk to you about mama. I will put on my Egyptian
costume. I shan’t be long. In the meantime you might look at these
little things.”
And she made me sit down before a cabinet containing a mummy-case,
several statuettes of the Middle Empire, a number of scarabs, and some
beautiful fragments of a ritual for the burial of the dead.
Left alone, I examined the papyrus with the more interest, inasmuch as
it was inscribed with a name I had already discovered on a seal. It was
the name of a scribe of King Seti I. I immediately applied myself to
noting the various interesting peculiarities the document exhibited.
I was plunged in this occupation for a longer time than I could
accurately measure, when I was warned by a kind of instinct that
some one was behind me. I turned and saw a marvellous being, her head
surmounted by a gold hawk and the pure and adorable lines of her young
body revealed by a clinging white sheath. Over this a transparent
rose-coloured tunic, bound at the waist by a girdle of precious stones,
fell and separated into symmetrical folds. Arms and feet were bare and
loaded with rings.
She stood before me, her head turned towards her right shoulder in
a hieratic attitude which gave to her delicious beauty something
indescribably divine.
“What! Is that you, Miss Morgan?”
“Unless it is Neferu-Ra in person. You remember the Neferu-Ra of Leconte
de Lisle, the Beauty of the Sun?”
“‘Pallid and pining on her virgin bed,
Swathed in fine lawns from dainty foot to head.’{*}
* “Voici qu’elle languit sur son lit virginal,
Très pâle, enveloppée avec des fines toiles.”
“But of course you don’t know. You know nothing of verse. And yet verses
are so pretty. Come! Let’s go to work.”
Having mastered my emotion, I made some remarks to this charming young
person about her enchanting costume. I ventured to criticise certain
details as departing from archaeological accuracy. I proposed to replace
certain gems in the setting of the rings by others more universally in
use in the Middle Empire. Finally I decidedly opposed the wearing of
a clasp of _cloisonné_ enamel. In fact, this jewel was a most odious
anachronism. We at last agreed to replace this by a boss of precious
stones deep set in fine gold. She listened with great docility, and
seemed so pleased with me that she even asked me to stay to dinner. I
excused myself because of my regular habits and the simplicity of my
diet and took my leave. I was already in the vestibule when she called
after me:
“Well, now, is my costume sufficiently smart? How mad I shall make all
the other women at the Countess’s ball!”
I was shocked at the remark. But having turned towards her I saw her
again, and again I fell under her spell.
She called me back.
“Monsieur Pigeonneau,” she said, “you are such a dear man! Write me a
little story and I will love you ever and ever and ever so much!”
“I don’t know how,” I replied.
She shrugged her shoulders and exclaimed:
“What is the use of science if it can’t help you to write a story! You
must write me a story, Monsieur Pigeonnneau.”
Thinking it useless to repeat my absolute refusal I took my leave
without replying.
At the door I passed the man with the Assyrian beard, Dr. Daoud, whose
glance had so strangely affected me under the cupola of the Institute.
He struck me as being of the commonest class, and I found it very
disagreeable to meet him again.
The Countess N------‘s ball took place about fifteen days after my
visit. I was not surprised to read in the newspaper that the beautiful
Miss Morgan had created a sensation in the costume of Neferu-Ra.
During the rest of the year 1886 I did not hear her mentioned again.
But on the first day of the New Year, as I was writing in my study, a
manservant brought me a letter and a basket.
“From Miss Morgan,” he explained, and went away. I heard a mewing in the
basket which had been placed on my writing table, and when I opened it
out sprang a little grey cat.
It was not an Angora. It was a cat of some Oriental breed, much more
slender than ours, and with a striking resemblance, so far as I could
judge, to those of his race found in great numbers in the subterranean
tombs of Thebes, their mummies swathed in coarse mummy-wrappings. He
shook himself, gazed about, arched his back, yawned, and then rubbed
himself, purring, against the goddess Pasht, who stood on my table in
all her purity of form and her delicate, pointed face. Though his colour
was dark and his fur short, he was graceful, and he seemed intelligent
and quite tame. I could not imagine the reason for such a curious
present, nor did Miss Morgan’s letter greatly enlighten me. It was as
follows:
“Dear Sir,
“I am sending you a little cat which Dr. Daoud brought back from Egypt,
and of which I am very fond. Treat him well for my sake, Baudelaire, the
greatest French poet after Stéphane Mallarmé, has said:
“The ardent lover and the unbending sage,
Alike companion in their ripe old age,
With the sleek arrogant cat, the household’s pride,
Slothful and chilly by the warm fireside.’{*}
* “Les amoureux fervents et les savants austères
Aiment également, dans leur mûre saison,
Les chats puissants et doux, orgueil de la maison,
Qui comme eux sont frileux et comme eux sédentaires.”
“I need hardly remind you that you must write me a story. Bring it on
Twelfth Night. We will dine together.
“Annie Morgan.
“P.S.--Your little cat’s name is Porou.”