diff options
Diffstat (limited to '78206-h/78206-h.htm')
| -rw-r--r-- | 78206-h/78206-h.htm | 6100 |
1 files changed, 6100 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/78206-h/78206-h.htm b/78206-h/78206-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..96f865e --- /dev/null +++ b/78206-h/78206-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6100 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Mr. Antiphilos, Satyr | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; + text-indent: 1em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} +table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } + +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} +.tdc {text-align: center;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; + color: #A9A9A9; +} /* page numbers */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-size: 90%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +/* Poetry */ +/* uncomment the next line for centered poetry */ +.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + +.fs80 {font-size: 80%} +.fs90 {font-size: 90%} +.fs120 {font-size: 120%} +.fs150 {font-size: 150%} +.fs200 {font-size: 200%} +.fs300 {font-size: 300%} + +.no-indent {text-indent: 0em;} +.bold {font-weight: bold;} +.wsp {word-spacing: 0.3em;} + +p.drop-cap { + text-indent: 0em; +} +p.drop-cap:first-letter +{ + float: left; + margin: 0em 0.1em 0em 0em; + font-size: 250%; + line-height:0.85em; +} + +.upper-case +{ + text-transform: uppercase; +} + +/* Poetry indents */ +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3.0em;} +.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: -2.0em;} +.poetry .indent5 {text-indent: -0.5em;} + +.pageborder {width: 450px; border: 6px double; padding: 10px; margin: auto;} + +img.drop-cap +{ + float: left; + margin: 0em 0.5em 0.0em 0em; +} + +p.drop-cap:first-letter +{ + color: transparent; + visibility: hidden; + margin-left: -1.5em; +} + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78206 ***</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 85%"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> +</div> + + +<h1> +MR. ANTIPHILOS, SATYR +</h1> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter pageborder"> +<p class="center no-indent wsp"> + <span class="fs200 bold">MR. ANTIPHILOS, SATYR</span><br> + <br> + <span class="fs150">By REMY DE GOURMONT</span></p> + + <div class="figcenter" style="width: 5%"> + <img src="images/i_215a.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> + </div> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp"> + TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH<br> + <em>By</em> <span class="smcap">John Howard</span><br> + <br> + WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY<br> + <span class="smcap">Jack Lewis</span></p> + <br> + <br> + + <div class="figcenter" style="width: 25%"> + <img src="images/i_215b.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> + </div> + <br> + <br> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp"> + NEW YORK<br> + <span class="fs120">LIEBER & LEWIS</span><br> + <em>MCMXXII</em> +</p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center no-indent wsp"> + Copyright, 1922,<br> + By LIEBER & LEWIS<br> + <br> + <br> + <span class="fs80">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</span> +</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <div class="figcenter" style="width: 75%"> + <img src="images/i_005.jpg" alt="Contents"> + </div> +</div> +<br> + +<table class="autotable" style="width: 50%"> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="2"> +MR. ANTIPHILOS, SATYR +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Introduction +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_9">9</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +To the Amazon +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_25">27</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Apparition +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_41">43</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +La Fosca +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_55">57</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +The Afternoon of a Faun +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_71">73</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Cydalise +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_83">85</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Metamorphosis +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_93">95</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +The Cell +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_105">107</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +The Satyr! The Satyr! +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_117">119</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Fennel Water +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_129">131</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Erebus +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_141">143</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Diogenes +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_153">155</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Déidamie +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_165">167</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +The Cluster of Grapes +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_177">179</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +The Unknown Woman +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_191">193</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Flight +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_203">205</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="2"> +<br>COLORS +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Blue +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_217">219</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Zinzoline +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_237">239</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +White +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_257">259</a> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="INTRODUCTION"> + INTRODUCTION + </h2> +</div> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_009.jpg" width="50" height="50" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">In</span> an age when democratic ideas, +levelling processes and the popularization +of thought are in +vogue, the phenomenon of a Remy de +Gourmont emphasizing the aristocratic +virtues, drawing attention to the perfect +detachment demanded by literature and +art, makes one pause as though transported +to a different world, to a less +nervous existence.</p> + +<p>Gourmont, the aristocrat of letters, the +thinker who could shrug his shoulders +amusedly at current acceptances of progress, +modernity and evolution, never for +an instant ceased battling for a more discriminate +attitude towards life and letters. +He permitted none of his carefully +reared mansions of the intellect to be +sullied by aught that could not pass the +tests of “relative” truth and sincerity,—the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span>very truth and sincerity which the +delightful dissociator of ideas loved to +mock, when the whim seized him. His +was the mechanism of a brain “heedless +to please other than by the originality of +thought and charm of style.”</p> + +<p>It matters not what subject Gourmont +attacks or woos. He can be depended +upon to take a view the opposite of the +conventionally accepted one. Whether +the subject under treatment be women, +art, religion, style or customs, his piercing +mind shrewdly discovers the accumulations +of prejudice and stupidity, scrapes +off the patina of rust from the medals +of time.</p> + +<p>He has said: “I do not love prisons +of any sort.” His whole life was a fight +for intellectual freedom, waged in the +seclusion of his study with his army of +ideas continually engaged against the +enemy. He early found that the only +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span>fruitful research was the research of the +non-true. This quest occupied him during +his lifetime.</p> + +<p>He achieved this by the methods of +paradox and dissociation. Yet, after having +seen himself praised or blamed for +this first quality, he felt free to disclaim +the gift. “I have done wrong,” he writes, +“to give the impression to the malicious +that my mind has a turn for the paradox. +I never pursued it deliberately. Besides, +I do not pretend to dictate judgments +concerning me. A mind of any toughness +will always seem paradoxical to +timorous spirits.”</p> + +<p>Gourmont’s individualism was pronounced +to an unusual degree. Individualism +with most men is usually a +rhetorically graceful gesture, a toying attitude, +a hesitant attempt at sincerity +hindered by the fear of public opprobrium; +there are always the consequences +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span>of social ostracism or worse. It leads +effectually to antinomianism, the violation +of ethical codes. It becomes a harmless +pose, belied by the very words or +acts of those who profess it as the basis +of their lives. Gourmont’s sincerity is +testified by the tough boldness, the crystal +consistency of his writings. The best +way, he always believed, to ennoble the +world is by self-development. “True +charity is the act of the conscious man +living according to his own personality +and the rules of his inner and individual +logic. Such a man gives what he has +and is.... He offers only the natural +opulence of a generous egotism, conforming +to the divine rhythm and adequate to +the divine movements.” And the world +would be much better for all, he writes +elsewhere, if one admitted the idea that +society is made for the individual and not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span>the individual for society. “The individual +is the important thing.”</p> + +<p>The rich diversity of life made him +realize how useless it was to attempt to be +oracular, to utter the indisputable, final +truths of the master. No two leaves are +alike; no two human beings are alike. +This premise led to his indifference to absolutes, +to the doctrines with which men +like to be fooled and entertained. He began +and ended with the idealistic, Schopenhaurian +formula: “the world is my +representation.” Not what is, but what +seems to be, seen through the lens of my +mind, is what I can depend upon. It followed, +as a matter of course, that he could +be lenient toward many points of view, +and his Catholicism of mind is seen to advantage +in <cite>The Book of Masks</cite> where he +has enthusiastic, appreciative words for +writers united by nothing but the name +of “Symbolisme.” A further corollary +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span>was the need of tolerance to other men’s +truths. But some truths are absurd. +Shall I, Remy de Gourmont, be receptive +to ugliness and hypocrisy? A puzzling +problem! Either I must be receptive +to all perceptions, good or bad, all +beliefs, sincere or dissembled, or I must +be suspicious of everything. Irony and +pity are the roads to freedom. What is +the use of being bellicose and vengeful +toward what, in the end, does not matter? +So, in his most serious onslaughts, there +is something of the amused playboy.</p> + +<p>One cannot help admiring his eclecticism. +He saw that symbolism was but +a loose name joining many diverse talents. +He took pains to show that the +popularly accepted meaning of decadence +is pure trash, since it is applied to writers +whose virtues of originality and creativeness +contradict the true meaning of a +down-hill movement, of imitation and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span>conceited artificiality. He had a good +word, the proper word invariably, for the +mysticism of Maeterlinck, the obscurity +of Mallarmé’s ineffable poems, the clanging +strength of Verhaeren, the velvety +dreaminess of Samain, the startling genius +of Rimbaud, the anti-democratic +idealism of Villiers de l’Isle-Adam, the +paganism of Louys, the jeweled fatuity +of Montesquiou. He permitted no hard +and fast rules to interfere with the sensitive +apparatus of his mind. Receptivity +was a prerequisite. As a result, he is a +critic sympathetic to the core, appreciative +of all works partaking of distinction +and charm.</p> + +<p>He has given French literature something +new. Never before has there been +anything like his novels, where the brilliant +youths “denude themselves with a +proud candor.” All his characters are +expressions of the complete life of a superior +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span>brain; they have one thing in common, +scepticism. But as André de Fresnois +says, it is “a scepticism necessitated +by the richness of an infinitely supple +sensibility, and not the frozen scepticism +of a worldly lecturer; a scepticism that is +disdain, pity, intelligence especially, and +not impotence.”</p> + +<p>Amy Lowell speaks of his preoccupation +with sex which has robbed his books, +she thinks, of the large view they might +have had, and says that he is therefore +one for whom English readers will have +little sympathy. Whether true or not, +it is beside the question of art. Sincerity +first, is his credo. In a brief essay on +“The Role of Art,” he writes:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="fs90">“Art has a special and altogether egotistic end: +it is an end in itself. It does not willingly assume +any mission, whether religious, social, or moral. +It is humanity’s supreme game; it is the sign of +man; it affirms the divine; it tends to depart from +contingencies; it desires to be free, useless, absurd, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span>that is to say in disaccord with the very forces of +nature which hold man in a narrow servitude.”</p> +</div> + +<p>And as “art is not made for the people +nor the people for art,” and further, as +“art is a perpetual exception,” he felt +himself free to create men who console +themselves for their inability to harmonize +their thoughts with the workaday world, +by trifling, delicate love affairs. But his +characters turn away weariedly even +from their <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">amours</i>. That is a preoccupation +with coarseness which his sensitive +creations cannot long endure. They are +martyrs to their ideas, men who have +sought happiness so long and uselessly +that they abandon the quest as hopeless +and betake themselves to art and <em>café</em> +conversations. His men reflect so much +that they cannot act. Gourmont makes +one of his persons say: “Although I may +be the dupe of my pride, I much prefer +this to being the dupe of my feelings.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span></p> + +<p>They have personality, but no character, +amoral beings reflecting the complexity +of Gourmont himself. “I do not +wish to believe, to suffer, to be happy, +to be duped. I regard, I observe, I +judge, I smile.” Yes, it is a tired smile +his imaginary personages have, a smile +of disillusionment from knowing too +much, a smile of mingled helplessness +and power. It is because they live in +their fortresses of thought and are so +helpless when they wish to transfer their +ideas to life. Each one, like his creator, +inhabits a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tour d’ivoire</i>. Thought is so +fertile in possibilities that his characters +live a complete life within their brains, +and like Des Esseintes, in Huysman’s +<cite>A Rebours</cite>, have a contemptuous disgust +for the compromises of the world. But +unlike Des Esseintes, they <em>will</em> wander +from their elaborately constructed esthetic +prisons. The Gourmontian characters +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span>are strong when detached from +life and the need to act; they have recourse +to brilliant talk that scintillates +with cynicism and conceals their childish +incapacity to meet the world on its own +terms.</p> + +<p>His men are hurled into abysms of +doubt through their superior sophistication. +Hubert D’Entragues devotes himself +by taste, rather than need, to the +craft of letters, and spends his mornings +developing elaborate sequence poems after +the manner of the medieval latinists, +inventing situations for imaginary characters, +constructing a symbolistic novel +to parallel his futile love affair with Sixtine, +the young widow. He lives for +himself; the world does not exist; like +Gourmont, he is a philosophic idealist. +But the ghost of contradiction leaves its +shroud and haunts the exquisite scorner. +He confides his doubts to a friend:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="fs90">“We are not mummers and applause does not +make us blush with joy. But if we write neither +for universal suffrage nor to earn money, we become +truly incomprehensible.”</p> + +<p class="fs90">“Write for your mistress.”</p> + +<p class="fs90">“I have none.”</p> + +<p class="fs90">“Write for Botticelli’s Madonna.”</p> + +<p class="fs90">“That is what I am doing.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Truly an unsatisfactory conclusion, +this writing for the Madonna of Botticelli, +but following logically from the +axiom that art is the mark of intellectual +disinterestedness. The audience is +to be scorned since art and the people +are incompatible. Another retrenchment +in the solid ivory tower, but not without +its loneliness. This engenders a cynicism: +no laws are valid other than those I +choose to make. So the divine sanction +of love vanishes, the state and the validity +of all ethics made by society. To be spiritual +in matters of the body is a confession +of adolescence or of a warped mind. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span>The characters of Gourmont consider +women as flowers of the hedge to be +plucked for their beauty and fragrance, +to be inserted in one’s buttonhole while +the day is still delightful, and to be replaced +by another flower on the morrow. +But women, more gifted than the eglantine, +have a choice: “They can wield the +menace of their thorns, if they are averse +to be plucked,” Diomède says. In love, +his men are gentle cynics, a little tired +and moody and speculative, and the +women, when not <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">jeunes filles</i>, follow +their whims, finding sufficient excuse, in +the pleasures of the flesh, for the act of +surrender. Love is not transcendental, +according to Gourmont, it is a divine +exercise of the senses. “The soul is body +and the body is spirit. The existence or +the permanence of the one depends upon +the indestructibility of the other.” Soul, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span>what we call soul, becomes a blend of +dream and act, thought and sensuality.</p> + +<p>All this can be seen to advantage in +<em>Mr. Antiphilos, Satyr</em>. The unbelievably +naive creature of wood and dell is brought +to civilization. He is Desire, its purest +essence. He knows only hunger, fear of +peasants’ pitchforks, weariness, sexual +desire. Life is these things and they +represent life. Happiness comes with +satisfaction of these needs; misery from +lack of satisfaction. Here is the epitome +of our animal natures. It is the animal +in us,—the healthy, normal animal. +Whatever is added is superfluous; the +addition is civilization. Gourmont, himself +so sophisticated, ever turns a loving, +kindly eye to men who are insistently +natural, that is to say animal in their +outlook, and who are brave or simple +enough to consider the other sex in this +light. Antiphilos has a try at civilization, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span>and the result disgusts him; we +see in his abnegation the shrug of mild +disgust with which his creator views the +world of men and women. Here, too, +his women are personifications of instinct, +without mixture of reason and restraint.</p> + +<p>To every department of literature +which Gourmont essayed, he brings his +supple intelligence, lighting up his subject +with a clear brilliance. Irony he +used as a surgical instrument to lance +the sores of society. In his study, isolated +and removed from the bustle of +Parisian life, he boldly dispelled the mists +of ridicule and slander with which the +young writers were covered. A great +master, his influence on French literature +was tremendous. The high standards +Gourmont demanded of himself and +others, his cultivated taste are required +wherever there is a tendency to the facile +and the common. His Olympian serenity, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span>too, is a needed antidote to the febrile, +nervous note. To read him critically +is to renounce forever the false gods +which are being worshipped in literature. +He gives one a delicious draught of sanity; +he is pure mind, unadulterated by +muddy emotionalism or didacticism. The +things he attacked are not dead; there +remain the same problems of art and +morality. Gourmont, the supremely civilized +man, brings a cynicism, a perfect +detachment and poise to the task of analyzing +current and eternal values; he +helps us to understand and solve these +problems.</p> + +<p class="right"> + <em>J. L.</em> +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="TO_THE_AMAZON"> + TO THE AMAZON + </h2> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span></p> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_027.jpg" width="50" height="50" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">When</span> you accepted the dedication +of this strange story, Amazon, +you did not ask me what I had +meant by it. This did not at all surprise +me, for you often know my intentions +better than I do, and you are ever ready +to attribute the most favorable and ingenious +ones to me. Ah, my friend, I am +not always the man of intentions, plans +and projects; I like to obey whatever +the gods suggest and to place my trust, +so far as execution is concerned, in that +logic which dwells deep in my brain and +which reassures me about the sequence of +any of my rambling stories. Though the +chain of causes necessitated a lapse of several +years between the writing of the first +letters and the others, and though the +latter were produced at irregular intervals,—beside +the fact that my mind, in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span>the course of this novel, experienced certain +modifications—I have sought to have +them conserve a sufficiently apparent +unity of tone in their ensemble. Yet I +fear, though this will be quite transitory, +lest any one feel a little of the weariness, +towards the end, which the monotonous +psychology of my horned character gave +me. Nothing is more difficult than the +study of an elementary creature whose +naiveté puts to rout our sham or civilized +habits, who advances as a matter of +course into the frankest of vices, who is +not even astonished at our astonishment.</p> + +<p>What most amuses us in our pleasant +games is that they are forbidden. Now, +that is a quality of pleasure he cannot +relish. He cannot grasp the idea of a +person not naturally attracted to whatever +is pleasurable to him, though he too +enjoys, like others, the charm of obstacles +surmounted and difficulties vanquished. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span>What amused me, in writing +this story, was to take the side of the +instinctive creature against the creature +of reason, whose reason is so transitory a +thing; but whatever may have been my +sympathy for the brazen-faced satyr, +I could not procure for him the contentment +of living in a strait-laced society +whose finesses he would have had to learn +before accommodating himself to them. +He lacks too many things ever to succeed +in cutting much of a figure in this world. +What sort of being is he, ignorant of the +value of money and, first of all, possessing +none? I even doubt whether he will +extract deep satisfactions from a more +fastidious, delicate world he may later +chance to frequent. Just behold the simplicity +of his heart! He falls in love with +a worthless woman, and he is not in the +least ashamed, understanding nothing of +her trade: but even if he did understand +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>it, I do not know whether or not he would +blush with shame. He has not yet shown +his fullest capacities. He would need +a vaster theatre. Antiphilos might go +far in the world of the unconscious.</p> + +<p>Do not believe, moreover, that in making +him relate the beginning of his human +adventures, I had any deep satirical intentions. +To criticize the manners of +men:—that would need more naiveté than +I possess. To tell the truth, I find that +they do well when following their pleasures; +they alone are not dupes of our +extraordinary moral organization. But +let us not judge men, and still less +women, after ourselves. Most people +are very well satisfied with their slavery, +to the point where their virtue suffers +at the wretched state of all who have +liberated themselves. They do everything +in their power to recapture the +emancipated, to fasten collars on their +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span>necks: “You do not know happiness, our +happiness. Come and we will share it +with you.” There are unfortunate souls +who let themselves be taken in with this +sort of talk. Others are seized by force, +when that is possible.</p> + +<p>The police, or some of those charitable +persons of whom there are too many, once +found a nest of felicity in a hovel of the +Saint-Sulpice section. An extremely +young pair of hand-to-mouth tatterdemalions +lived there. The boy might have +been fifteen years old,—even less if I +remember correctly—and the girl was +twelve. No one knew on what they +lived—doubtless on pickings, refuse and +water. When their roamings in search +of food exhausted them, they returned +to their garret and fell asleep in each +other’s arms, for they were in love. Their +naive love consoled them for having, too +often, to go hungry, and those who discovered +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span>them found them happy in their +animal-like innocence. It created a terrible +scandal, still discussed, perhaps, by +devout persons and others of the neighborhood. +Naturally they were separated, +although they cried hard; the boy was +sent to a home, while the girl had to +follow the skirts of some good nun. And +everybody thought this was as it should +be. I, too. I was compelled, so as not +to be treated with contempt, and you +would have done likewise, my friend,—would +you not? to preserve the esteem +of respectable people. Is it right, in +fact, that children should begin to live +in a state of nature, here in Paris, in a +decent section, several steps away from +a church, the Luxembourg Gardens and +the Senate? The matter of the pickings +might have been passed by, but the love! +Is it not true that such perversity, manifested +so precociously, is disconcerting? +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span>Antiphilos would have been affected by +this story, but Antiphilos is very much +suspected and he is at home only in natural +ethics. He practices it without +knowing its theory.</p> + +<p>You do not know, Amazon, how grateful +I am that you loved this uncertain +little book and that you did not reprove +its tendencies! I am grateful to the point +of being tempted to say that you have +loved it more than it deserved. Besides, +is this not what I think of nearly all of +my writings? There is hardly one which +has wholly satisfied me. That is why +I decided never to correct them when +they were being printed or reprinted, for +I am always tempted to throw them into +the printing press and have their dried +ink replaced by new ink. This you know +well, you who have wrested one of my +books from my hands. I am haunted +by the technique of the unknown masterpiece. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>But I practice too well the philosophy +of detachment even to yield to +such naivetés of conceit, and I resign myself +to the displeasure which my writings +cause me, while dreaming of the marvelous +books I shall never write. Ah! +how I envy those authors who admire +themselves in their works and who do +not see the approaching oblivion into +which their works will sink with them. +I envy them, but I smile with a touch of +irony, perhaps, for all this has really +little importance. Yet one must love, +and to do so it is necessary to hold firmly +to some support, along the stream which +sweeps everything forward, like the castaways +that we are. The feeling that you +please those very persons whom you +would have chosen to please, and the +feeling that you displease others whom +you would have willingly designated for +this service, sometimes suffices to keep +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span>you in balance, to fortify heart and +hands. One of these comforts only +affects the pride and has but negative +effects on the pleasure of living; but the +other, which stirs every fibre of sympathy, +can alone confer the joy that is +complete. Why, through what cowardice +place these necessary terms in the plural? +A beautiful tenderness has achieved +its end. Amazon, I really believe that +without you I should no more love myself +very much; I no longer would have +a deep confidence in life or in myself. +So again I thank you for having taken +Antiphilos under your protection. Of +his destiny among humans I am reassured, +since you have smiled upon him, +dear friend.</p> + +<p class="right"> + <em>Remy de Gourmont.</em> +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="MR_ANTIPHILOS_SATYR"> + MR. ANTIPHILOS, SATYR + </h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span></p> + + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: 1.0em;">...Fugiunt per devia Nymphae:</span><br> + Has agitant Satyri per juga quaeque leves,<br> + Nec fuit in sylvis arbos nec rupibus antrum<br> + Sub quo non illic pressa puella foret. +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="right"><em>B. P. PRIGNANUS, Mutinensis,<br> +<span style="padding-right: 1em">De imperio cupidinis. Lib. I.</span></em></p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="I"> + I + <br> + APPARITION + </h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center no-indent"> + I<br> + <br> + Etang de Saint-Cucufa, June 3. +</p> +</div> +<br> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_043.jpg" width="50" height="50" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">A sense</span> of keen injustice +prompts this letter: <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Indignatio +facit versum</i>, as they used to say +good old days. You know that +I can neither read nor write, but sometimes +a tiny obliging mouth tries to make +me spell out of an old newspaper stained +with fat and wine. Today, the friendly +little hand of a schoolgirl, equipped with +everything needed for writing, transfers +my thought with a charming dexterity. +My shaggy knees, of which she is not +afraid, serve as a table. Now, therefore, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span>I am going to tell you my story and +register my protest.</p> + +<p>You must know, first of all, that it +was the little one now writing to you who +advised me to address you. “He is a +man who wrote, I am told, a story which +is really my life. But I was eighteen +and not so complex.” Yesterday, her +memory was refreshed by a paper she +read to me: “Virginal! My virgin heart! +That’s it.” She stamped her foot at the +thought. Although I have been roving +in fields and near towns for about eight +thousand and nine hundred years, I still +do not know women very well. I have +known more women than there are stars +in the sky, and the last one remains as +new and mysterious as the first. All +this, to tell you that I do not know how +her virgin heart could have interested +her.—Now she is smiling, holding her +tongue in the corner of her mouth.—Perhaps +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span>she is thinking of the moment +when she will once more turn maiden, +quite naturally, for the convenience of +social ways.—I hear her sing out: +“Why, of course!”—They are surprising.</p> + +<p>But I am coming to the matter of importance. +You see my innocence. I protest, +then, with all the strength of an +honest, though libertine satyr, against +the use of the term ‘satyr’ by your newspapers, +which apply it to men,—yes, to +men, by Jupiter, who kidnap young girls, +rip their bellies, slice them to pieces! A +satyr would never do such idiotic things. +Violate, when one has but to open the +arms to desire? Grasp these fresh, yielding +little necks with a brutal hand? Tear +this soft flesh and cause these unripe +bodies to bleed, cut the bud where the +woman already is developing and dreaming? +For what do you take us, stupid +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span>journalists? For men? Be undeceived. +We are gods.</p> + +<p>My history, which is very long, is obscure, +but two episodes peculiarly dignify +it. I was born in Phrygia of the loves +of Hermes and an elegant Dryad, whom +I greatly loved, for she was tender and +pretty. She had ardent passions and the +shepherds, no less than the gods, attracted +but did not hold her caprice. I +grew up, I exercised at hazard my curiosity, +which discovered odd things at all +the fords and on all the paths. Dionysius, +whom you call Bacchus, brought me +into his cortège and I knew, under torrid +skies, women more melting than your +grapes, more wanton than your goats. I +passed into Greece, on my return, but +men were already beginning to wage +war; they locked up their women and +enclosed their fields with fences. The +golden age had ended:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="fs90 no-indent"> + Regrettez-vous le temps où le ciel sur la terre<br> + Marchait et respirait dans un peuple de dieux? +</p> +</div> + +<p>I regret it so much and so often that +I am filled with an unconquerable melancholy. +The great gods no longer descending +to an earth soiled by war, ownership, +gold and those human laws which +so badly translate the gentle divine laws, +we remain the sole immortals that a +herdsman can chance on at the fall of +day, as he walks along the path. We +were loved, and we were also feared. We +were given milk, cakes and honey, and +this was pleasant; but more than once +a peevish peasant used to pursue me with +a pitchfork, forcing me to run to the +shelter of a wood. I am peaceable and +vulnerable. I am a god, but a churl might +easily cripple me. They say the golden +age will return. Let us hope so.</p> + +<p>Do not think of ancient Greece as a +place where good fortune held sway. Love +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span>was there esteemed only under a form +that always excited my disgust. Few +joys: an escaped female slave, an eager +peasant woman. Had I not had my +sisters, the nymphs, I should have died +of boredom; but nymphs have less variety +than women, though prettier, and +their pride is terrible. The disgusting +teachings of a certain Socrates, that motley +apostle of virtue, enemy of women +and gods, hastened my flight. I made +for Italy, where once more I found a certain +state of nature and human customs. +To refrain from astonishing people, I +called myself Faun, like my Italian +brothers.</p> + +<p>It is in Italy that I have spent the +best part of my life. There I found the +graces of Asia, with less effeminacy, +much curiosity at once erotic and passionate, +and that delicious precociousness +which causes young flowers, in their innocent +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>ardor, to outstrip the spring and +break their corslets at the sun’s first appearance. +I enjoyed seasons worthy of +Apollo. My snub nose gleamed in the +fairest of eyes. The repeated sound of +my feet on the rocky side of a hill awoke +still slumbering desires in the vague +breasts of latin maidens. Pardon my +emotion at these brilliant memories. I +still have days; I hardly have seasons +any longer, and my eternal youth is often +forced to dwell on the past: the time of +gleaning has long since succeeded the +period of abundance. Remember that +in those days I perhaps fled as often as +I pursued. I was weary of love, weary +of opening new paths. For an instant, +I thought of remaining on a piece of +cleared ground; I was going to become +domesticated.—The family of Faunus, +look at the pretty little Atellanian girl!—Alas! +I did not have time for this.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span></p> + +<p>One day we found ourselves surrounded +by a troop of peasants armed +with sharp staffs, as though for a boar +hunt. They were led by a sort of sorcerer +with a head-dress similar to the Gauls; +this man brandished a piece of wood +shaped like a crutch head; with his other +hand he dipped a branch of box into a +little bottle, held by a slave, and +sprinkled the ground. I would have liked +to laugh, had the danger not been so +great. My companion had left to gather +grass. “They are coming to look for +her,” I reflected. “They will do <em>her</em> no +hurt. But if they get <em>me</em>, beware of the +boar-spears!” I rushed away and, springing +over a precipice, was soon free from +harm. I have not been able to recross +this precipice for nearly twelve hundred +years.</p> + +<p>What centuries! I lived amid wild +goats and only from time to time did an +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span>imprudent peasant girl, who happened +to be good-looking, fall into my traps. +One of them told me that I no longer +was called Faunus, but Diabolo, and +that I was considered the enemy of the +human species, the creature who had +caused man to fall into sin. I had seduced +a woman under a serpent’s form! +I believed that people had become as +crazy as they were wicked, and I grieved, +musing on my sad immortality. Yet, +as the woman stroked my beard and +kissed my snub nose and moist lips, while +calling me monster, I decided that this +was a mitigated extravagance which left +a little hope, at least with a half of +humanity.—Here, my little friend sticks +out her tongue at me and says: “Ah! so +it is you they call the devil?”</p> + +<p>A noise of hunting one day awoke me. +They were blowing through horns which +gave a sound like those of my sea brothers, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span>the Tritons. Hounds rent the air with +harsh and violent barking. The gallop +of horses rang against the firm ground +like a Virgilian verse.—O days when +shepherds repeated the songs of the Mantuan +Shepherd!—Made more bold for +some time past, I was loitering in the +heath, chasing grasshoppers and lizards. +The hunt drew near. I did not have +time enough to leap on a rock; and, as +I watched the spectacle before leaping +higher and disappearing, I heard a clear +voice cry, with an accent of surprise and +joy: “Ecco il Fauno!” I, too, was satisfied, +for I knew that this beautiful name +of the Roman god was applied to me, +that new days had arrived. Excited, I +lay down in the thyme warm with sun +kisses; evening fell, I was musing, when +the same clear voice once more rang in +my ears: “Fauno! Fauno!” I pricked my +hairy ears, my body grew tense. I stood +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span>listening. “Fauno! Fauno!” With a few +bounds, I reached the spot from which +the clear voice came. She was a beautiful +young woman. The better to run, +she had opened her dress and the wind +had loosened her hair. She let herself +fall, dazed, into my arms, the while I +murmured, lifting my thought to the +master of gods: “Has beauty then once +more descended to earth? O Jupiter, thou +dost not forget thy children!”</p> + +<p>If I were to tell you that you have +always under your eyes, perhaps, the +proof of the truth of my narrative, you +would not believe me. Wait several +days, you will no longer be incredulous. +My little friend is tired.—“Yes, I really +am!”—She is going to re-read to me this +letter which she promises to place in +your hands. With the commencement of +this story, you can already show your +friends the journalists that a satyr is a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span>respectable creature, meriting consideration. +But what I have still to tell you +is even better.</p> + +<p class="right"> + <span class="smcap">Antiphilos</span>,<br> + <em><span style="padding-right: 1em">Satyr.</span></em> +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="II"> + II<br> + <br> + LA FOSCA + </h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="center no-indent"> + II<br> + </p> +</div> + +<p class="right"> + Au Mont Agel, July 17. +</p> +<br> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_057.jpg" width="50" height="50" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">The</span> cold drove me into the south, +where I had just arrived when +I first wrote to you. It is on the +fragrant slopes of this peaceful mountain, +looking upon the violet sea, that +I am passing the bitter winter. Favorable +grottos provide me with shelter and, +when the sun shines, I gambol about, +watching the strange passers-by along +the paths. It is a beautiful country and +I am enchanted by the charm of its +wonderful girls. When the weather grows +too warm, I climb upwards and it seems +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span>that in proportion as I proceed, I carry +the spring with me. I am known in the +villages. Everybody waits for me. People +whisper to each other: “You know, +I’ve seen him!” “Oh, my dear!” And at +the fringe of the woods, at evening, I +perceive light shadows vanishing under +the pines or oaks. By chance I surprise +and seize one, sometimes two. Stifled +laughter blends with long sighs. I am +the joy that passes, the joy troubled by +a delicious fear. My hand has calmed +throbbing breasts, revived many a throbbing +heart. I pass, and when I am gone +the young men find the maidens less shy. +I sow kisses and I do not await the harvest +time. That I leave to others. I +only seize the flower, as long as there +are flowers to be taken. Such is the way +of gods. The gods are fastidious.</p> + +<p>When I left the banks of the Seine, +the little one who wrote to you, wished to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span>follow me. A true love! That child will +be fiercely faithful. I left hurriedly, I +traveled without pausing, save to sleep, +and I was very cold. Here, I am warming +myself again, amusing myself a little. +The girl to whom I dictate this differs +greatly from my little secretary of the +Saint-Cucufa pool. She is taller. She +is almost a woman.—“Almost?”—She +writes on fine transparent paper with an +instrument which she calls a fountain-pen. +I have never seen such a thing before. +The girl is delicate and unbreakable, +wanton as a goddess, and she has +the air of having descended from Olympus +yesterday at dawn. She comes every +day from Roquebrune. Having risen +with the sun, she walks through the dew, +leaves to mingle innocently with the +morning strollers, and never forsakes +her royal mask, even when she murmurs: +“Darling, darling!” She pleases me indeed. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span>(Here the fountain-pen is thrust +painfully into my knee, but I say +nothing, I am satisfied.) Her curiosities +are infinite, and she methodically satisfies +them, without ever abandoning her serious +look. I like this. Love is serious. +When one has deep sensibility, love can +cause tears; laughter, never. It is only +among mortals that love is accompanied +with laughter. The gods never laugh, +except at the silliness of mankind. When +my little English woman is stirred, she +recites verses and then translates them +for me, for I only know the Mediterranean +languages. She says, while caressing +me:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry fs90"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Tiens, couche-toi sur ce tapis de fleurs,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pendant que je caresserai tes aimables joues,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pendant que je piquerai des roses parfumées dans le poil soyeux de ta douce tête</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et que je baiserai tes larges et belles oreilles, ô ma tendre joie!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">... Oh! comme je t’aime! Je suis folle de toi!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span></p> + +<p>And sometimes I fall asleep, the while +she gazes at me tenderly.</p> + +<p>But I want to begin my story where +I left off. I am anxious to narrate the +adventure which does me honor, to my +way of thinking, and which I have promised +you. For two days and nights I +was in love with the fair creature who +had come, crying: “Fauno! Fauno!” It +was near eventide; the sun was shining +brightly and its rays, passing beneath +the pines, were lighting up the ground, +each tuft of grass, each flower. My sweetheart +was sleeping and, to keep off the +buzzing flies, for she was naked, I had +thrown her long scarf over her. But, +from time to time, unable to resist my +desire, so beautiful she was, I approached +to lift a corner of the veil and to watch +her as she slept. At a certain moment, +I discovered with terror that we were +not alone. Somebody, concealed in the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span>thicket, was spying on us. I ran towards +the enemy: a man arose. I was +about to throw myself at him, enraged +with jealousy, when he made a gesture at +once imperious and friendly:</p> + +<p>“Do you understand the language of +men?” he asked. “In that case, know +that I am not come to fight you. I am +walking about in search of beautiful +things. I seek Nature and it seems I +have found her. Now I see. Are you +a beast, are you a god?”</p> + +<p>“I am a god.”</p> + +<p>“Then it is true that such beings live,” +the young man murmured. “And she?”</p> + +<p>“She? A woman, but as lovely as my +mother, who was a goddess. I was born +in Phrygia, in the time when gods were +as numerous on the earth as men.”</p> + +<p>“Let me do your portrait and that of +the divine woman sleeping at your feet.”</p> + +<p>He brought out paper and pencils. I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span>was on the point of agreeing to his whim +when my beloved awoke. Half lifting +herself on one of her arms, she said:</p> + +<p>“Seigneur Allegri, I hope you will not +betray me!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it is La Fosca. I did not know +you were so wonderful, my dark beauty!”</p> + +<p>“And glowing today, eh! But turn your +head away a moment, for it would not +be right to let you see the movements of +my body. I am marble when I sleep; but +when I move, I become a woman. I want +to dress, to honor your presence and to +offer you some fruit from our woods, +and water from our spring.”</p> + +<p>“Have you then left humanity forever?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps. Only the gods can love, and +I have found one.”</p> + +<p>“A marvelous adventure,” Allegri +said. “But if you put a robe on, two +suns will set at the same instant.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span></p> + +<p>“You will see me again if you come +here, for my god is not jealous. And +why should he be jealous, he who surpasses +men in strength, as an oak surpasses +an ivy?”</p> + +<p>I smiled, and my mouth was so broad +that Allegri exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“He really is a faun. He resembles +the one that Seigneur Buonarroti made +not long ago, to amuse our sainted +Guilio.”</p> + +<p>While Allegri was tracing on his paper +a figure in which I recognized myself, +La Fosca had risen and gone, draped +in her scarf, farther off. I went to fetch +water in a buffalo horn, while La Fosca +brought fruit, blackberries, apples and +nuts. We made a pleasant meal of these +things.</p> + +<p>In the days that followed, Allegri +visited us frequently. He sketched on +small sheets with crayons of different +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span>colors. As soon as he arrived, La Fosca +used to stretch out, in the pose you know, +and I had the goodness to remain near +her, holding the veil I was about to remove, +in an attitude of desire which was +not feigned. This comedy slightly bored +me. I found the sittings too long. And +then La Fosca had too happy smiles in +her pretended sleep, her body moved +with such charm.</p> + +<p>One night, when we remained chatting +and laughing,—he had brought preserves +and a bottle of wine—the sky paled +a little.</p> + +<p>“It is time,” Allegri said, getting up. +“Come. In an hour we shall reach the +solitary hut where I have established my +studio. My picture is finished, but I +would like, at least once, to compare it +with the original, for the recollection of +my eyes may have deceived me, although +they are very dependable mirrors.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span></p> + +<p>We followed him. The work was perfect. +La Fosca truly breathed, I was +truly handsome, with my infatuated air. +La Fosca reposed on skins of beasts, and +Allegri feverishly completed his work +with rapid strokes, each one of them,—what +a miracle!—augmenting the distinction, +the relief, the splendor, the life. +At that instant, <em>he</em> was the real god!</p> + +<p>“I hear the peasants,” he suddenly +cried. “Save yourself. I will bring her +to you tonight.”</p> + +<p>I fled, for I stand in terror of pitchforks. +I have never since seen La Fosca. +Her fall only affected me during the +first few days, for I had felt her love +for me grow less from the moment she +yielded to Allegri’s admiration; and besides, +I had tasted so many pleasures that +I was on the verge of satiety.</p> + +<p>A little later I made the acquaintance +of a young peasant girl who caused me to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span>forget the other completely. Yet I never +see, without emotion, the picture done by +this Allegri, my portrait and the divine +nudity of that noble La Fosca, whom +love transformed into a bacchante, but +who never, not even in her most wanton +attitudes, made a disgraceful gesture. +Her beauty has made her deserve immortality: +she will live as long as I live, +as long as the trees, the streams and +mountains, as long as the world itself. +Yesterday, my little Englishwoman +brought me a photograph of the portrait. +I prefer the old engravings, but +this manner is perhaps more exact. Why +the thing is called “Jupiter and Antiope,” +no one, not even the little darling, has +been able to explain. At least you will +know that it represents the Faun Antiphilos +and La Fosca, who has since become +the Marquise de Sassuolo.</p> + +<p>Allegri came to see me a month later. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span>I was with the young peasant girl, and +yet I was about to shower him with reproaches, +when, with a very melancholy +mien, he said:</p> + +<p>“She left me, in turn.”</p> + +<p>I answered:</p> + +<p>“You deserved it.”</p> + +<p>“Doubtless; but you are consoled and +I, I am not yet consoled.”</p> + +<p>He told me that La Fosca was the +daughter of an extremely dissolute, indebted +patrician of Modena who had sold +her to a priest. She had stabbed the +priest and fled to Sassuolo where the +Marquis Giambattista met, welcomed and +hid her, because of her beauty. Finally +through gratitude, she became his mistress, +and lived at his court.</p> + +<p>“She was with him at the hunt when +she ran to you. The Marquis sought +her high and low for a week and then +learned that I was concealing a woman +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span>in my shack. He came: instead of flying +into a rage, he wept, pardoned me, +purchased my picture and invited me to +the marriage. She became the Marquise +de Sassuolo this very morning. These +old men have odd ideas. What creations +I could have made with such a figure!”</p> + +<p>“You are neither man nor god, Allegri, +only a painter.”</p> + +<p>He did not answer, but remained +plunged in revery a long time. I have +not seen him since.</p> + +<p class="right"> + <span class="smcap">Antiphilos</span>,<br> + <em><span style="padding-right: 1em">Satyr.</span></em> +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="III"> + III + <br> + THE AFTERNOON OF A FAUN + </h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="center no-indent"> + III<br> + </p> +</div> + + +<p class="right"> + Cogolin, June 3. +</p> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_073.jpg" width="50" height="50" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">At</span> last I have the leisure to write +and give you another chapter +of my adventures, since I know +that you have communicated them to +other men. Like nature, the gods +exist only at the instant you speak +and think of them, and as soon as +your attention is distracted from divine +things, they fall again into the dim, +pantheistic immensity where their lives +glide by, mute, deep and plant-like. I +partake of the gods, I have lived that +life. I partake of men, and I know what +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span>human joys are. Alas! destiny has +meted them out to me so miserly, in these +days, that I hardly feel my humanity +any longer. That is why I am sad, yes, +sad, despite the restless eyes which +reproachfully gaze at me this very moment, +despite cheeks made slightly rosy +by paint and now somewhat pale, rubbing +against my old, immortal, shaggy skin. +For the past three years I have tasted +more bitterness than I experienced in my +life heretofore. Solitude has poisoned my +heart and if such times, or worse,—who +knows?—were to return, I would be +reduced to imploring the gods to recall +me to Olympus, to the parental habitation. +Ah! to renounce women! The gods +no longer descend to the earth and I fear +the goddesses. What a sorry figure this +poor goat-footed satyr would make +among them!</p> + +<p>But was I not born to be happy? +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span>When I say this, Cydalise treats me as +a romantic satyr, and though I do not +very well understand, I feel it means that +such a dream is considered chimerical. I +and your philosophers do not understand +happiness in the same way. I will die +only when nature dies, and it is with her +alone that I should take my stand. The +seasons mean more to me than does metaphysics. +Why should there not be a return +to the old, faun liberties? The gates +of sheepfolds will not always be so firmly +shut and Venus, who seems to have forgotten +herself in particular loves, will +yet again remember her universal mission. +It is a fact that the nymphs no longer +inhabit the woods and that for three years +I have not been able to capture any +maiden, but Cydalise has comforted the +old solitary faun and the hope of vintage +time returns to my heart. Do not +believe the things I told you at the beginning +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span>of this letter. They were the +remains of melancholy moods I have not +been able to share with anyone. Now +that you have felt them with me, I no +longer feel them. What matters the past +to him who holds the present?</p> + +<p>Cydalise descended from the Thespian +chariot to come to me. Her profession +is to recite verses of the poets to the people. +She was seeking me, which means +that she had already found me, according +to some verses she recited and which evidently +apply to my divinity, ever present +and ever active. Cydalise has not invoked +me in vain. The hoary, old god +has always the youth of his desires and +the desires of his youth. Weak men disappoint +women, many women have told +me, but satyrs never; others say they have +known, trembling and blushing, men too +late for happiness. Dreamy and wanton, +Cydalise loves to recite poems in the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>interval of two frenzies. She begins with +a voice a little out of breath because of +the divine inspiration; then she slowly +grows elated and falls into a sort of sudden +trembling which ends still more rapidly +in my arms. So, I know the first +stanzas better than I do the last, which +die in vague murmurs. I remember a +similar adventure in Campania. I was +enamoured of a Greek slave of marvelous +beauty who used to come to visit me each +evening, and who always wished to sing +the first idyll of Theocritus for me, to +show that her voice was as pure as her +body anointed with oil of lavender. She +never had the strength to begin the third +verse: “Sweet is the murmuring of the +pine near the fountains, O goatherd, sweet +is the sound of thy flute....” Her voice +stopped at [Greek: Tyrisdes]. Perhaps she did not +wish, as Aesop says, to lose the prey +for the shadow. The gods be praised! +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span>Gaiety returns to me with these distant +memories which are so delicately woven +into the present, across the centuries. This +one knows better how to resist the violence +of desire: She prepares with more skill +the denouement whose plaintive syllables +she knows how to prolong. She has not +received a bad education: perhaps I shall +be attached to her more than to all the +others, though my nature always drives +me to new discoveries. Such women are +so rare!</p> + +<p>But love knows a forced repose, and +honest satyrs themselves respect this state, +for they hold blood in as much horror +as tears. One of these days of languor, +she came to me with a book and, still +smiling through her resigned sadness, began +to read aloud, without any explanation: +<cite>The Afternoon of a Faun</cite>. What +a miracle! Lulled by these rhythms that +were as irregular as a stream running +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span>down woody hillsides, I had almost as +much pleasure in watching her moving +lips as in holding them sealed to mine. +Then she explained the poem to me, as +the philosophers formerly did in the academies.</p> + +<p>And I saw myself rising from between +the willows of the bank, my ear intent +for hint of pastimes which I desired and +which was lacking. I remember it was +one of those exciting and warm days, the +like of which I have not experienced for +a long time; I had heard the river lightly +plash, as though on some plunging body, +and I was about to run away, for I fear +the hostility of mankind, when I fancied +I saw floating hair on the water’s edge, +some hemp held by a rush. I watched. +If it was a woman, come from a garden +of roses, she would return; the hedge was +translucent and the house quite high, up +towards the hill. Long I waited. Tired, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span>I went in quest of her. I saw nothing. +Now I heard laughter. I imagined many +things, the very things this poet has described. +Oh! to seize them! They are at +least two, since there is so much laughter. +Laughter, games, delicate caresses. It is +yonder. Now silence reigns. Could they +have guessed? No. Pleasure meditates before +bursting forth. And I? But if you +know the poem, you also know my agitation, +my exasperated restlessness, panting, +atremble, made dizzy. A man stood +up among the trees, far above me.</p> + +<p>“It was he,” said Cydalise.</p> + +<p>“Who is ‘he’?”</p> + +<p>“The poet.”</p> + +<p>And she kissed his name on the title +page of the book.</p> + +<p>“So it was really he?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly.”</p> + +<p>“I took to flight!”</p> + +<p>“To run away! But he saw you, he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span>would have liked to approach. Just +fancy! he resembled you, as much as any +man can resemble a god, and no one was +ever nearer the gods by spirit. To run +away from him. Your brother in candor!”</p> + +<p>This is the adventure such as I have +been able to learn it. Cydalise says I +should be very proud because of it. She +has made me memorize three lines of this +divine poem, so that I shall never have +the air of being ignorant of my past:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry fs90"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Alors m’éveillerais-je à la ferveur première,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Droit et seul, sous le flot antique de lumière,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lys! et l’un de vous tous pour l’ingénuité.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>Candor, again! But nothing suits me +any longer.</p> + +<p>I have made a bargain with Cydalise. +I permit her to send you kisses: accept +them. She permits me to make, to renew +rather, an entreaty to you. Do not +allow those rascals who disembowel girls +to be called satyrs. A satyr is incapable +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span>of such crimes. The lasses I have met have +been highly satisfied with me and their +kisses, innocent like nature, have thanked +me fervently with a thousand little tricks +I taught them.</p> + +<p class="right"> + <span class="smcap">Antiphilos</span>,<br> + <em><span style="padding-right: 1em">Satyr.</span></em> +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="IV"> + IV + <br> + CYDALISE + </h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="center no-indent"> + IV<br> + </p> +</div> + + +<p class="right"> + Cogolin, September 30. +</p> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_085.jpg" width="50" height="50" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Realize</span> that I myself write to +you. Cydalise has achieved this +miracle. My divinity, which was +already old six thousand years ago, now +knows almost as much as those little lads +coming out from school. I will not say +that it has revealed the world to me. It +has veiled it, on the contrary, and I have +seen the world diminish, just as the pines +on the hillsides lessen in size as one moves +away. But in shrinking in stature, the +world becomes sharper, its outlines grow +more fixed, its light stronger. My brain +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>is quite changed. It is no longer that of +a god. The vision, vast but confused, and +almost unconscious, has suddenly assumed +form. Little by little I have detached +myself from nature, where I was at +home. She lived within me and I felt her +like the beating of my heart. It is now +I who live in her and in vain do I seek +to touch her hands: no longer is she only +air, light, odors and nourishment. I felt +her breathing with the same breath as my +own and now I must drink her essence: +it intoxicates me.</p> + +<p>Cydalise is amused at my astonishment:</p> + +<p>“I see,” she says, “the birth of a man. +That is finer than a god. I was curious +about you. Now I love you, for I read +a fraternity in your eyes. One can only +love one’s equals or those who have been +fashioned in one’s image. When the gods +begin to love, they become men.”</p> + +<p>This strange language delights me, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span>for it is the truth: I have begun to love +Cydalise. I know it by the fact that I +now view the loveliest creatures almost +indifferently, by the fact that the image +of Cydalise immediately is interposed between +them and me, if by chance they +please and attract me. There were many +of them under our pines, this summer. +They used to lie on the lavender, their +large hats shading their eyes; and they +would pretend to sleep in the warm +peacefulness of nature, beneath the sun’s +last rays. Oh! the sudden emotion, the +thrill that instantly seizes you, when the +slowly lifted robe reveals a beautiful +body! This is not an old recollection. +There are still such refinements which +were once common. Those bare feet in sandals, +those hoods, those robes of a nun I +once had seen in Florence, upright and +modest in wool—the color of time and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span>innocence—I beheld again, one evening, +under the Cogolin pines.</p> + +<p>How good and beautiful and gentle +she was,—the little nun of Cogolin! It +was my last adventure. Its memory is +dear to me and I have not sacrificed it +for Cydalise’s love; but since then I have +sought nothing, accepted nothing. When +I learned my alphabet, I wanted to carve +these words on the bark of a plane-tree:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry fs90"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">THE SATYR ANTIPHILOS</div> + <div class="verse indent2">IS FAITHFUL TO</div> + <div class="verse indent5">CYDALISE.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>Re-reading this inscription, I could +not believe it to be the truth, could not +believe that I myself had written it. I +was about to burst into laughter, when I +beheld a happy expression in Cydalise’s +eyes. I understood that I had not been +lying.</p> + +<p>We are living golden days. My sweetheart +gives me almost all her time. When +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span>she leaves for the town, she returns a +trifle fatigued, with pieces of gold which +she smilingly shows, cakes, milk and +honey. We share the food by the banks +of a pure stream where doves come to +drink.</p> + +<p>Then she gives me a lesson. I think +the gold she brings back with her comes +from the lessons she gives men, down +there. When I ask if her pupils are progressing, +her only reply is to play with +my curls and kiss me. I am acquiescent. +Then we traverse our domain, that is to +say the pine wood, the carpet of heather +and lavender, the arid hillside where a +stream, near which several plane-trees +have sprung up, pauses beside a grotto +and brambles.</p> + +<p>Cydalise thinks it odd and amusing +to dwell in a grotto. I have never slept +anywhere but in the open or in grottos, +and what astonishes me in our haven is not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span>that it is a grotto, but that Cydalise has +transformed it into a palace worthy of +Olympus. In a chariot drawn by a swift-footed +steed she brought a large sack of +wool, skilfully sewed, on which we rest, +much more at our ease than on the dead +leaves which, notwithstanding, are comfortable; +she also brought skins of beasts, +and material richly woven and painted +with liveliest colors. For her toilette she +has collected a thousand objects which +would make goddesses envious and, +placed in elegant little boards are—and +I have never seen the like of this—books +and sketches. With her aid,—she is so +frank, so refined, divine one might say—I +live in a state of enchantment. I have +leisure. My prepared repasts await me +and the time I once spent in gathering +fruits and roots is now passed with a book +in which I discover life.</p> + +<p>What surprises me, even more than +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span>the wonders created by Cydalise, is that +life can be contained in the pages of a +book. Yes, I have noticed that a sheet +of paper on which one would say that a +bug has taken a deliberate stroll with +its dirty legs,—that such a rag of paper +holds in itself more things than do the +valleys and hillsides, the trees and horizons +which stand or spread out in front +of me. My long and divine experience +is confounded. I believed I knew things +because I had seen them; but men have +regarded them, and that is not the same +thing. I can only faintly express my +joys, those of a budding, young, civilized +creature. Into me have entered ideas of +whose existence I never had the slightest +suspicion, and as a result I am quite perturbed. +It is in vain that I would attempt +to explain them to you. Then, it would +be like explaining flying to one who is at +home in the air. But I need a confidant, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span>a man to whom I can confess my new +state of mind, without being laughed at. +Cydalise intimidates me too much: near +her I am like a big child trying to read +thoughts in eyes and finding only itself +reflected therein.</p> + +<p>Ah! divine nature, thou art the agent, +nevertheless, and it is thee I must thank. +It is my noble nudity and the wild boldness +of my carriage that have attracted +this woman to me. The antennæ of pleasure +have slowly changed to those of intelligence. +When Cydalise, under my attentive +eyes, disrobes and stands radiant, it +seems to me that it is Isis herself; my +brain is awhirl and no longer my senses +alone, and my mind expands and blossoms +with the same movement as my flesh.</p> + +<p>Well! Not so bad for a satyr, eh? I re-read +what I have written with a sense of +pleasure, change a few commas and +amuse myself hugely.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="V"> + V + <br> + METAMORPHOSIS + </h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="center no-indent"> + V<br> + </p> +</div> + + +<p class="right"> + Toulon, December 15. +</p> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_095.jpg" width="50" height="50" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Oh,</span> what adventures since my last +letter which itself announced so +many changes in my life! I believe +Cydalise is the victim of Aphrodite +who has caused her to become infatuated +with me.</p> + +<p>“Before knowing you,” she tells me, +“I did not know what love was?”</p> + +<p>I laugh up my sleeve, for Cydalise, +though mortal, has always seemed to me +an expert in this immortal science, which +I have practiced long enough to be considered +a good judge. But I say nothing. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span>How retort? My divine irony pauses at +my lips, for Cydalise makes me experience +such a strange sentiment. It is certain +that I cannot do without her, and +such a thing never happened to me before. +To me she is more beautiful than +all other women, fresher than maidens, +more melting than perfumed matrons. +With her I possess everything and I regret +nothing. I soar higher than the +gods, to the point where it seems to me +that to become more than a god, one +must cease being divine at each hour of +existence. True divinity is intermittent +and reposes deliciously in the vague condition +of having been a god. I offer +so many things in love that heretofore I +had never sought of women; of them I +had asked nothing more than to be a pretext, +an opportunity for self-display. Now +I feel that Cydalise throws as many jewels +at my feet as I do: accordingly, not to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span>be outdone in generosity, I obey her. She +does what she wishes with me. What a +metamorphosis!</p> + +<p>I could not bear to be separated from +her and the inclemency of the season +made our meetings more and more difficult. +Then she hit on the idea of bringing +me to town:</p> + +<p>“For I want to love you among my +people,” she said.</p> + +<p>I, who recalled the blows of pitchforks +and the fangs of dogs, remained silent, +gazing at her with terror.</p> + +<p>“Are you afraid?”</p> + +<p>“How can I follow you with my bareness?”</p> + +<p>Cydalise broke into laughter, threw +herself into my arms. That day we spoke +no more of my departure.</p> + +<p>One morning I was sadly meditating, +dreaming of flight like a boar bearing +in its flank the spear which has +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span>wounded it. Despite my love, the intriguing +vision of new women began to +swim before me; I was hearing their +laughter, their disputes and their restless +mockery, when Cydalise appeared at the +end of the road, carrying a large bundle +which she let fall, at the same instant +that she herself dropped to the ground. +Without uttering a word, she by turns +looked at the package and at me. At last, +she decided to laugh, as is her wont in +embarrassing situations. She rolled on +the moss, a prey to such a fit of hysterical +gayety that her dress gave way. This +changed the tenor of her thoughts and instantly +calmed her. As soon as I noticed +her troubled and serious face, I drew +near and, after kissing her eyes tenderly, +opened the package.</p> + +<p>Cydalise’s eyes were following my every +emotion with curiosity:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span></p> + +<p>“Yes, it’s for you. I’m going to take +you to town.”</p> + +<p>You have guessed that it contained +man’s apparel. I experienced a moment +of despair:</p> + +<p>“What, put on this!”</p> + +<p>But Cydalise looked at me with such +solicitude that I murmured, as submissive +as an infant:</p> + +<p>“I would really like to.”</p> + +<p>She clapped her hands and we entered +the grotto. There, it was quite cool and +this perhaps influenced my mood. I was +very much satisfied with myself after I +had donned these garments which at first +had seemed such wretched instruments +of torture.</p> + +<p>I felt warm and there emanated from +me a certain human elegance of which +I was proud. A sailor has since told +me that I had the grace of Ho-Papo, the +negro king, and he was not joking: a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span>king is always a king, a satyr is always a +satyr. With usual feminine good taste, +Cydalise began to admire me. She did +not tire of flattery, made me turn like a +top, and smoothed the wrinkles and +pockets of the suit. She only pouted at +my blue tie which did not go well with +my complexion, she said. “But we will +see about that later.” My shoes were of +soft, brilliant leather and did not hurt +me in the least. A round, broad-brimmed +hat completely covered my little, curving +horns and my heavy shock of hair. Blushing +a little, she put some pieces of gold +and silver in my coat pocket. Then:</p> + +<p>“Now, dear, you are ready. Let’s +leave.”</p> + +<p>“Farewell, grotto where I have been +happy with the wind; and you, trees, +streams, holly-trees, adieu. Nature, adieu....”</p> + +<p>Cydalise interrupted my effusions, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span>which seemed ridiculous, besides, to me, +now that I had donned this human livery, +and we transferred the contents of the +grotto into a packet hardly bigger than +the one which had contained the elements +of my metamorphosis. I would have +really liked to sacrifice once more to the +sylvan Aphrodite, but Cydalise said that +the train would not wait for us. We +reached the carriage waiting for us at +the edge of the pine forest.</p> + +<p>My sensations, in this extraordinary +beginning of my new life, were too confused +for me to be able to find words to +characterize them correctly. I traveled +with something of the feeling of the animal +I had been until now, but a divine +animal in whom all sounds leave an impression. +If I applied myself to the +task, I might succeed in deciphering my +impressions, as I did the phrases in my +first reading book, but I fear that the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span>results will give you nothing new, and +I am going to delay the co-ordination +of my emotions till later, if I should then +decide that it is worth the trouble.</p> + +<p>“Thus I behold these rapid objects +which pass through the country, fleeter +than the deer, more clamorous than +wolves....”</p> + +<p>You know how this sort of thing is +done. Or again:</p> + +<p>“Now I am installed in one of those +palaces seen massed far off in the valleys +or on the hills, and from which spreads a +confused, continuous roar like the sea.”</p> + +<p>Besides, my astonishments have ceased. +I live with Cydalise in a room which looks +out on the sea and where I suffocate when +the window is shut. I hardly see my divine +creature more often than in the days +when our couch had only pine branches +for a curtain. She never returns before +two or three o’clock in the morning, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span>so fatigued that she only thinks of love +upon awakening. She continues to recite +the verses of the poets before groups +of people, and amateurs of poetry demand +her talents after the public performances. +Despite this, I am not bored. +I pay attention to things. So far, I do +not see very well. My happiness is concentrated +in Cydalise, and I am the joy +of her days.</p> + +<p class="right"> + <span class="smcap">Antiphilos</span>,<br> + <em><span style="padding-right: 1em">Satyr.</span></em> +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="VI"> + VI + <br> + THE CELL + </h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="center no-indent"> + VI<br> + </p> +</div> + + +<p class="right"> + March 1. +</p> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_107.jpg" width="50" height="50" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Strange,</span> this life for which I +have exchanged my familiar +woods and their hazards! And +all through Cydalise! What monotony +at first; then what annoyance and ennui! +I thought of escape many a time, but my +sweetheart imprisoned me with her tears, +her smiles, her kisses, her gestures of entreaty.</p> + +<p>“At least, wait until good weather arrives, +dear,” she said. “What will you do +in this severe cold, with the wind moaning +through the pines, now that you have +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span>grown accustomed to the softness of beds +and my tenderness? Could you find your +way alone, among all these houses that +conceal the horizon from your gaze? O +Antiphilos! think of me, think of our +mornings, think of my days made divine +by your presence! What! you wish to +leave your Cydalise! Have you not +everything needed by a satyr? Come, +tell me what it is you lack?”</p> + +<p>I am at a loss for a reply to these +honied words breathed into my pointed +ears, and on my lips as well, while she +kisses me. I desire to rediscover myself, +but would she understand if I told her +this? So I am silent. I also keep from +her an adventure which has upset me. +I fear she suspects it, although I would +not wish her to be certain of it. The +thing still makes me tremble, but you +will know it, for you are my friend. And +if I did not tell you, who then? For I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span>no longer can confide in the pines, the +rhododendrons, the crags and streams. +Formerly, when some unlucky adventure +befell me, through having strayed too +near civilization, I would joyously chant +my griefs and fears. Now, a prisoner, I +have no living thing to listen to me, and +when my voice rises, it stuns me. Besides, +I have other concerns than liberty, +the liberty I know I shall never recover.</p> + +<p>One sunny day of last month, when I +was leaning against the window and +peering out, I discovered a grassy nook +not far from here, a garden from which +sharp cries came. I desired to go there. +Cydalise daily takes me for a walk before +dinner—as she would a favorite, pet +animal. We go through old streets, towards +the harbor, trying to reach the +country; but it is too far away, and +Cydalise never has time to spare. We +dine early; she returns with me and, after +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span>a few caresses, leaves me with a parting +injunction to be good. These maternal, +little ways delight me, but they are +also hard on me. I see myself reduced +to an obedient infant, and this hurts my +pride. At other times, I reflect that it is +love which holds me, modifying my soul. +Then I no longer dare commiserate myself, +and I obey Cydalise’s every whim +with a good grace.</p> + +<p>I can fall asleep quickly. Reading by +natural light dazes me, and I have preserved +that faculty, more divine than +animal, of instantly falling into an easy +slumber, at once profound and light, which +plunges me to the depths in a trice, and +in a breath brings me back to the surface. +I awake only with the return of Cydalise, +who comes at a late hour, with the harmonious +bees of Pindus still murmuring +within her. She hums the verses she has +been declaiming before the people, with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span>new rhythms unfamiliar to my ear accustomed +more to the stirring of winds +through trees than to the fanciful inventions +of inspired Euterpe. Sometimes +she falls into my arms, almost dead with +fatigue. Sometimes she disrobes frantically, +astonishing me even by the boldness +of her wanton movements. But I +must confess that usually she is quite +calm. After hailing me with a “Good +evening, Tityrus,” she counts the money +lying in her large bag which never leaves +her; generally, she seems satisfied with +herself and loses no time in falling +asleep.</p> + +<p>Were it not for the mornings, I certainly +could not support a life so measured +and confined; despite my love for +Cydalise, I would go whither the road +led; but I must confess that the mornings +embellish my life. Cydalise is very lovely +and surrenders her beauty even more +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span>completely than was her wont in the grottos +and on the mosses. The open air +and absence of seclusion frighten women +a little. So I can understand and admire +the means taken by your civilization +to reassure them. If I can judge +by Cydalise, how faun-like they become +behind a stout bolt and under a light +softly sifted by curtains! She is worthy +of the gods. Why art thou not, like myself, +immortal! I cannot behold thee without +melancholy, for now that I perceive +thy continued existence, I also perceive +thy fate. It is only <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en passant</i>, like a +flash of lightning that gods should love +women, who then experience them as a +memorable thunderclap descending, illuminating, +consuming, disappearing. +And for them love, in their life, is but +a deeper sensation, a profounder inspiration, +a headier cup of wine. But the +constant union of two beings so different +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span>in essence, though almost alike in desires +and pleasures! Cydalise’s love makes +me aware of the sadness of perishable +things. I think of flowers, I think of +the harvest time, I think of the seasons, +of all that lives but a day, of all things +that inevitably fall into the gulf, never +to reappear. In giving me her feminine +love, Cydalise has given me a man’s soul,—a +soul realizing that destiny will not +strike it, while witnessing the passing of +all dear ones.</p> + +<p>I already possess the metaphysical jargon +of men. I can no longer accept life +as it is offered, good or bad, but ever +adorable by the fact that it exists. In +spite of my divinity, I think of what will +be, as though I did not bear the present +and future within me, and as though I +were not destined never to feel their +burden on my shoulders. Mysterious +gods, I need an effort not to think with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span>sadness, I whose unconscious life once +exulted in brief moments of illumination! +Shall I really be transformed into a man, +through having loved a woman? Then, I +too, would have age. How long do infatuated +fauns live? Perhaps that is why +they have disappeared, for one no longer +encounters them, at least in these Occidental +lands.</p> + +<p>You see to what excesses my ramblings +lead me and the illogical thoughts which +attack me while contemplating the mortal +head of Cydalise, asleep as though +she were dead. Ah, mortals! how poisonous +is your love, and what an idea was +mine to lift towards my lips the cool +amphoras which seemed to contain pure +water! Trust in pure water, fauns and +satyrs.</p> + +<p>And I have not told you my adventure. +Cydalise is yet asleep, but she will soon +awake. I dare not. I will write you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span>more anon. Despite his sunny mornings, +pity the poor satyr.</p> + +<p class="right"> + <span class="smcap">Antiphilos</span>,<br> + <em><span style="padding-right: 1em">Satyr.</span></em> +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="VII"> + VII + <br> + THE SATYR! THE SATYR! + </h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="center no-indent"> + VII<br> + </p> +</div> + + +<p class="right"> + Toulon, March 15. +</p> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_119.jpg" width="50" height="50" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Dear</span> friend, the head of a satyr +living in Toulon with a lyrical +declaimer of verse, the people’s +favorite, and seeing nothing but the ungraceful +habitations of humanity, is subject +to strange effervescences. So you +will pardon the ramblings of my last +letter in which I desired to describe a +certain incident but did not know how to +go about it. I have not yet learned how +to assort my ideas into their compartments. +They are jumbled together in +complete disorder, and the result is confusion. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span>When I wish to draw one of them +out, the others interfere, and much time +is spent in putting the whole into some +semblance of order.</p> + +<p>I was on the point of touching the +matter in question when the hour struck +for Cydalise to give to her rested features +the smile that illuminates them. This +is the same as saying that Cydalise +awakes with a smile. It occurs like a +rose unfolding quickly enough to let one +observe the opening of its petals. I would +not willingly miss the phenomenon, and +from the rose I watch each morning I +draw the dew of moist lips. The hamadryads +and the oreads are beautiful. +Happy is he who can surprise them in +the freshness of dawn and awaken storms +of pleasure in their breasts. But Cydalise +effaces their memory by her indescribable +grace in which promises and desires are +blent. She is really the waking nymph, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span>but she is the nymph who awaits her beloved, +joyously taking possession at the +same instant that she surrenders. I would +never reach an end, dear friend, if I dared +tell you all the delights Cydalise causes +me to experience. It is an incantation, +perhaps, but I lend myself happily to its +consummation, and never am I surfeited +by the divine potion, no more than by +the ecstasy with which it fills me.</p> + +<p>On a certain morning of the month +that has passed, Cydalise was cruel. She +permitted me to drink her dawning smile, +but the perfumed, blossomed cup was +rudely snatched from my lips, at the same +time that her arms, clasped an instant +round my neck, disengaged themselves +and thrust me away.</p> + +<p>“Tityrus,”—this is how she always addresses +me—“I have business to attend. +I must leave for I am already late. Be +good, my dear.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span></p> + +<p>Not a word did I say; I merely looked +at her distressfully. She quickly dressed, +kissed me almost discreetly and disappeared.</p> + +<p>She left me in a state which you, perhaps, +will not understand, since you are +not a faun. Within me these lines murmured:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry fs90"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Tant pis! vers le bonheur d’autres m’entraîneront</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Par leur tresse nouée aux cornes de mon front....</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>She had forgotten to lock me in. I +was out in a trice. I had taken pains +with my attire, had given myself all the +elegance worthy of my athletic, satyr +form. It was the morning hour. Shrill +cries issuing from a little garden gave me +my bearings. There were all sorts of short-skirted +creatures who were playing, leaping, +running; but I particularly noticed +two almost tall girls near a clump of +trees. They were conversing while combing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span>their dolls. Another bench was opposite; +I sat down on it.</p> + +<p>Already you are trembling because +you know the person, because he has +confessed several amusing anecdotes to +you, because it is by a mere slip of a +girl that you first learned of my existence. +Well, my friend, nothing occurred, +unless it be that I was suddenly seized +with fear, that I took to my heels and +returned home, followed, from a distance, +happily—by a yelling troop of Yahoos.</p> + +<p>“The satyr! The satyr!”</p> + +<p>I was allayed. I did not desire to be +led “by their tresses tied to the horns of +my head.”</p> + +<p>But what reflections are these!</p> + +<p>Now you see the result of five or six +months of living in a civilization of which +I have not been a part. Certainly, I have +never been foolhardy and I prefer to +flee from blows to having the blows scathe +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span>me; but nonetheless, I would never have +trembled, in the old days, like a hare at +the shadow of my ears. Could it be the +reading of your newspapers which has +distracted me? I think so. An honest +man—at least, I have the appearance of +one—can no longer sit facing and smiling +at the playful affectations of two little +girls without having his ears tingle with +the baying of a pack of hounds.</p> + +<p>Yet these young lasses with hair down +their backs are pretty; but since this foolish +adventure, I detest them. Ah! how +I suffer through my cowardice and faithfulness. +Cydalise, always Cydalise! Does +she imagine that, because I love her, +I can love no one but her?</p> + +<p>Alas! I am enchained. After having +broken my bonds, I have myself rewelded +them. I fear lest she grumble, I fear lest +she ridicule, I fear her eyes, especially, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span>her eyes in which I see and tremblingly +await the dawning of suspicion.</p> + +<p>Is it thus you love, you others? With +such laceration and an equal submissiveness? +Do you feel within you the roarings +of an impatient and obedient animal? +Perhaps, at bottom, men and gods +are formed of the same elements, with the +exception that the fauns have a more +energetic leaven? This might easily be +the case, since in all times the gods have +mingled with your women and, to please +and serve them, have occasionally abdicated +their divinity. We all are children +of destiny and our immortal life is, after +all, but a succession of human lives badly +joined to each other by the confused +mortar of recollection. What matters +the past to me, today? I easily perceive +that there is only a present, for the present +effaces every other instant of time. +There is such a difference between the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span>being I was yesterday and the being I +am today that it is only with difficulty +that I can establish any logical connection. +Duration, or what you call by this +name, is only an illusion of the passage +of time. But it is motionless for me, who +am ever the same and whose life is always +recommencing, rather than continuing, +since duration is time. Do you understand? +My dear, I have read the +metaphysicians and have concluded that +life means nothing to mortals, since it has +an end, and nothing to the gods, since +it has none. All things are equal in absurdity. +Yet, I still have a vague reminiscence +of pleasures I knew as a free +animal. I did not act the animal every +day, but neither do I do so every day +with Cydalise. By Jupiter! if I came to +such a pass that I loved no longer, what +would I become between these four walls, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span>or outside, among those swarming +Yahoos!</p> + +<p>I want Cydalise to take me with her +to the people she delights with her art. +I must familiarize myself with external +movement and speech. Have I not everything +needful to please? Yes, I am satisfied +with myself when I gaze into my +darling’s mirror. Besides, since she looks +upon me with pleasure, why should others +be startled? I had no doubts concerning +myself in the woody dells when my limbs +were plastered with dried mud, with moss +and leaves clinging to my hairy body; +and never did woman flee long before me +without bringing on an opportune fall. +It is true that everything seemed good +to me at that time and that I have since +become more fastidious. I am even astounded +by the number of ugly and unattractive +women we meet in our walks. I +jest so loudly about it to Cydalise that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span>she scolds me, but she holds my opinion +and often softly murmurs: “What figures?”</p> + +<p>I did not wish to relate my experiences +with the young girls to Cydalise. I have +changed my mind. I want her to know +of it. I even want to exaggerate the dangers—almost +imaginary—which I risked +among these Yahoos, so that she may see +the necessity of familiarizing me with +the world.</p> + +<p>Yahoos! That is the feeling you all +give me. Do not be offended! There are +women, there are men among the Yahoos.</p> + +<p class="right"> + <span class="smcap">Antiphilos</span>,<br> + <em><span style="padding-right: 1em">Satyr.</span></em> +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="VIII"> + VIII + <br> + FENNEL WATER + </h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="center no-indent"> + VIII<br> + </p> +</div> + + +<p class="right"> + Toulon, April 1. +</p> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_131.jpg" width="50" height="50" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Friend,</span> I thank you for your +advice which I found to the +point. Everything has succeeded +beautifully. My chagrin has touched +Cydalise. It was real. I had but to feign +an excess of feeling and simulate despair. +A week of high comedy has reduced +her to acquiescence. How easy it is to +deceive women! I came to this conclusion +long ago with the naive nymphs of +my fatherland; women, just a little more +subtle, fall into the same snares. Occupied +with themselves more than with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span>anyone else, and totally confident of the +power of their charms, they do not know +that one can deprive oneself of them for +a week, merely to acquire that superior +thing,—liberty. Creatures of instinct, +they are superior in the conflicts of instinct, +but the exercise of intelligence +puts them to rout, because they never +think of crediting their adversaries with +this quality. Cydalise understood but +one thing, that I might escape her tenderness; +ever since, she redoubles her cajoleries. +Mine reassure her and, as I have +been well received by the society she frequents, +we are more than ever united.</p> + +<p>I secretly made preparations for my +new mode of life. From the very first, +I found myself at my ease. I owe it to +myself, I said, to the antiquity and divinity +of my race, and I assumed the +disillusioned attitude of a superior person +exiled among the Scythians. I converse +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span>little, save when Cydalise is near +enough to nudge me with her elbow or +knee, and by degree I am acquiring the +reputation of a contemptuous or indifferent +man.</p> + +<p>“Some gentleman’s son, some solid +country squire,” I have heard people remark.</p> + +<p>Cydalise, to whom I repeated this, +laughed heartily.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it true!” she kept on saying.</p> + +<p>She informed me that a country squire +signifies a nobleman of the country who +has remained slightly rustic. Stroking +my beard, she kissed me before everybody. +This brought queer little cries from +many of the women present. It took +place in the café de l’Amirauté, where I +made my debut in the career of a man +of the world, of the vast world.</p> + +<p>Women gaze at me intently. This does +not astonish me, for I must seem supernatural +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span>to them, but hardly any one of +them has yet pleased me, and Cydalise +sees her anxieties dissipated from day to +day. She has entrusted me to one of her +friends, an old naval officer who has +known human nature of every kind and +who tells me, from morning to night, of +his sea voyages and experiences. He is +very proud of having known a girl named +Rarahu who was inconsolable, like Calypso +at the departure of Ulysses, and +whom he, notwithstanding, consoled.</p> + +<p>“I have never seen my equal,” he tells +me, “in consoling mulatto girls abandoned +by the whites.”</p> + +<p>This inferior love inspires me with +some pity, but I am glad to know of his +function in love. If I ever leave Cydalise +to follow my destiny, which is unlimited, +besides, I shall place her in the hands of +this fine fellow.</p> + +<p>A crony came to see him and they began +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span>to recount what they term their +lucky fortunes. This comrade is very +agreeable, but a trifle of a bore.</p> + +<p>What a poverty of recollections and +sensations! From their recitals there emanates +an indefinable odor of smutty talk +which sickens. As for myself, love never +made me laugh. It was to me the most +serious, the most profound thing in the +world. I have always found a savor of +infinity even with the coarse farm girl, +smelling of cow dung.</p> + +<p>Besides, I really believe that love gives +us what we already possess and that it +can give us this alone. That is why, to +natures like mine, the quality of the adversary +matters little, allowing for youth +and strength. Yet beauty has always been +a fountain wherein my forces increased, +and where I have ever found my desires +renewed as soon as I abandoned myself +to the secret of the waters.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span></p> + +<p>But beauty is so rare! I can confess +to you that even the immortal nymphs +are sometimes a little flat-nosed, and +there is a common quality in their eyebrows +which are too close together, and +their hair which falls too far down. Like +myself, before the transformation, they +are redolent of the earth, dead leaves and +flowers crushed by thighs. Do not dream +of those loves which are beautiful only +by reason of their unconsciousness. They +can still delight me, I can still renew +my original essence with them and the +vigorous youth of my Phrygian desires, +but your Cydalises, so precious through +their very fragility, surpass the deliciousness +of the immortal creatures, and it is +their skin which is fragrant with the odor +of violets.</p> + +<p>My two sailors drank a sort of grass-colored +water with the aroma of fennel. +Their complexion took on richer hues +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span>and, playing with some little bones, like +Sicilian shepherds, they exchanged no +speech save for a few words whose meaning +I could not seize. They had forgotten +the women and I was not at all sorry, +for I hardly relish the insane conversations +of which they are the pretext.</p> + +<p>I was free to gaze at those who now +filled the café and who seemed to be paying +no attention to me. Yet I noticed +that two eyes, apparently straying listlessly, +were fixed on my figure from time +to time, and vanity caused me to smile. +A smile answered me. I, who was not +drinking any of the fennel water, felt +myself grow redder than my companions, +and I suddenly made a movement to rise. +My old instincts came to the surface, I +was about to run toward my pleasure, as +in days past. An instant, I thought I +breathed real fennel and the odor of the +Cogolin oranges. Had she also risen, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span>had she made a gesture of flight like the +wild creatures I once knew, how I would +have bounded in pursuit! But she took a +newspaper, behind which she concealed +her face, and the source of enticement +being removed, I remained tranquil. +Cydalise approached. It is probable that +her arrival, perceived in the mirror, had +caused the newspaper to be unfolded. +I promised myself to be, henceforth, more +a master of myself and to survey the +mirrors.</p> + +<p>My beloved Cydalise annoyed, then +exasperated me by stupidly calling me +“her old Tityrus”; this caused the release +of a little rusty spring in the old officer +who labouriously let fall these words:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry fs90"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“<em>Tityre tu recubans, recubans</em>....”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>The newspaper did not budge, but I +prudently lowered my eyes. Fortunately, +the game of bones was ended, the two +old men turned towards her and assailed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span>her with gallantries. The one who had +arrived last was the most assiduous and +Cydalise, amused, recovered a little of +her animation. She accepted a glass of +grass juice and the gentlemen profited +by the occasion to fill their cups, begging +me to follow their example.</p> + +<p>“Not he, not he!” Cydalise cried. “It +makes him wild. He wants some milk.”</p> + +<p>The milk was bluish and tasted like old +paper, but I preferred it to the fennel. +How often, in my wanderings through +fields, have I not pressed Io’s drugs to my +lips! I wanted to mention this aloud. +Happily, the grimace I made, in tasting +this strange beverage, removed from my +mind this unreasonable piece of confidence.</p> + +<p>I kept silent, imbibing the benefits of +civilization without a word.</p> + +<p>“Well, there are compensations,” I told +myself.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span></p> + +<p>We left. On the threshold I turned +toward the newspaper. It had been lowered. +Cydalise examined the folds of her +dress. I foolishly threw a kiss at the face +which now was looking at me.</p> + +<p>“Are you coming, Tityrus?”</p> + +<p>I followed.</p> + +<p>Am I beginning to understand?</p> + +<p class="right"> + <span class="smcap">Antiphilos</span>,<br> + <em><span style="padding-right: 1em">Satyr.</span></em> +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="IX"> + IX + <br> + EREBUS + </h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="center no-indent"> + IX<br> + </p> +</div> + + +<p class="right"> + Toulon, June 17. +</p> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_143.jpg" width="50" height="50" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">You</span> now know the manner of my +life for the past two months, my +dear friend, and although you +have not let me hear from you for such +a length of time, I am going to tell you +something of myself, to call forth your +advice. Young persons and the eternally +young gods need the remonstrances of +the sages, and you are a sage, you who +do not scorn satyrs. You know that the +manner of their life exposes them to unpleasant +adventures among mortals more +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span>infatuated with the idea of love than with +love itself.</p> + +<p>It seems that some sort of Olympic +games are being celebrated at Turin and +that different representatives from the +whole world have come there to dispute +for the embossed cups and laurel wreaths. +A director of the performances who traveled +through this place became enamoured +of Cydalise’s face and entreated her to +represent the goddesses, in unveiled +poses, before the assembled throngs. He +supposes that a beautiful body always +follows from a fine figure and I must +confess to you that he was not deceived, +in this instance. Cydalise is like myself; +she has no false modesty and she would +even consider it criminal obstinately to +conceal from the world what the supreme +Creator of men and satyrs has formed +for the delight of eyes. She therefore +accepted,—she has since then laughingly +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span>told me that the tyrant of this country, +whom I thought more humane, far from +wishing to lighten the draperies of goddesses, +insists on their being very opaque +and heavy; but this is a secondary point +in the story, so we will pass it by,—without +concealing the fact that there was a +question of me; this embarrassed her +greatly. She said that she feared all +sorts of dangers for her dear Antiphilos, +and Antiphilos who preferred to remain +at Toulon hastened to reveal a scandalous +joy in the idea of the trip. So she has +left me here, promising—and her director +has agreed to this—to return once +a week to spend a day with me.</p> + +<p>She faithfully returns, as she has promised, +bringing on each trip a quantity +of golden money with the most diverse +effigies: I would never have supposed +that the world contained so many tyrants. +If they wage war, as was customary in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span>the old days, in what state must the earth +be, O master of Olympus? I am the +guardian of this treasure, which steadily +increases. I do not yet know very well +what can be done with this gold; I have +other means of persuasion, but Cydalise +knows, and I content myself with fulfilling +my office which is to stuff all this +gold in a bag, make it fast and be silent.</p> + +<p>I have other means of persuasion. They +are apparent in the eagerness of my eyes +which are not, as the poet says, “hard, +brilliant and sad,” but soft, brilliant and +joyous, eyes of a lover, eyes of a magnet, +eyes which attract hearts and eyes, as +the magic stone, sapphires. You have +guessed that my conquest of the Admiralty +café has fallen into my arms and +that she was satisfied to be there. She is +far from being as comely as Cydalise +and hardly gives me any pleasure outside +that of variety. Yet she, too, knows +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span>the rules of the game and all its finesse. +What especially stimulates her is the +idea of deceiving Cydalise, whom she +knows and who has never wanted to associate +with her. Let us hope, O god of +the winged heel, that she proceeds not +to boast of her good fortune! I will make +a sacrifice to Harpocrates so that he may +place a seal on her lips. I have called +her Erebus; why, she does not know. Her +body is like those gilded flambeaux, +smudged with black, that I remember +having seen at Ephesis after the conflagration. +As we were strolling on the +wharf the other day, a sailor sang:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry fs90"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Elle est un peu brunette,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ce sont les plus belles gens.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>She began to listen and laugh:</p> + +<p>“Is that so, Satyros?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Erebus.”</p> + +<p>I have not confided anything to her, +but she has beheld, carved on the poop +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span>of a Greek vessel, a satyr’s head that resembled +me; and a sailor spelled for her +the name with which she calls me. All +this amuses me. The Phrygian Oreads +used to call me this name for the fun of +provoking me, and they would stamp a +figure on the ground, telling of my victory. +O sweet land of Phrygia!</p> + +<p>All the same, I have entreated her to +keep this name for our intimacy, for the +satyrs have more and more acquired a +bad reputation in this country and it +maddens me. Did not Erebus have the +idea, the other day, to buy and read aloud +a newspaper proudly called <cite>The Journal +of Satyrs</cite>:</p> + +<p>“Ah! Ah! there is the paper for you! +The only thing it lacks is your picture.”</p> + +<p>By Apollo! What incoherencies! What +nonsense! What idea, anyway, have the +slaves who write these pages, of a satyr? +Despite my debonair attitude of mind, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span>I grew angry both against the journal +and against the archons who have thrown, +it seems, the slaves into prison. They are +but fools. They hardly merit the punishment +with which Priapus threatens +plunderers of the orchards: <em>inrumabo!</em> I +explained all this to Erebus: she became +serious. We began to speak of other +things.</p> + +<p>This is to what you expose your satyr, +Cydalise, in letting him stroll through the +streets, while the Olympic youths drain +the enchased cups, filled with a dark wine, +in your honor. Erebus only likes +champagne. I am always faithful to my +milk with the paper taste and, when +Erebus is astonished at this, I tell her +that milk is the wine of satyrs. She quickly +assumes a smiling expression: it is her +manner of intimating that she has understood.</p> + +<p>When Cydalise returns, we pass every +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span>minute at our home, the days as well as +the nights. Thus I avoid chance meetings +and explanations, which would cause +me to lose my head, for my only diplomacy +consists in taking to flight and in +concealing myself behind a tree trunk. +How fettered I feel myself with your +civilization and how unreasonable women +are! This they call treason, betrayal. But +I love them all. Do they not all belong +to me, since I can satisfy them all? +Neither they, nor you perhaps, yet know +what it is to be a satyr, the quality of that +force of nature unchained by desire. +Cydalise will have to make a decision and +admit that satyrs are not formed for constancy +and that caprice is a divine thing.</p> + +<p>O caprice, diversity of forms under the +eternal law, caprice with changing eyes!</p> + +<p>Caprice, slender maiden with breasts of +brass, matron where autumn and its +colors are enthroned!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span></p> + +<p>Caprice, nymphs stained with blackberries, +with argil backs, with cheeks cut +by brambles, pure or impure like the +earth,—and dry leaves rustle in their entangled +tresses!</p> + +<p>Caprice, the young shepherds run towards +the cot, and the shepherdesses takes +each other by the hand, crying like fowl +surprised by a fox, and turning round to +laugh between their cries!</p> + +<p>Caprice, pungent odor of ferns, odor +of shoulders under willows and of limbs +in streams still white with the foam of +the daughter of Latona bathing there!</p> + +<p>Caprice!</p> + +<p>Let not this flight of fancy surprise +you. The summer has mounted to my +head.</p> + +<p class="right"> + <span class="smcap">Antiphilos</span>,<br> + <em><span style="padding-right: 1em">Satyr.</span></em> +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="X"> + X + <br> + DIOGENES + </h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="center no-indent"> + X + </p> +</div> + + +<p class="right"> + Toulon, July 15. +</p> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_155.jpg" width="50" height="50" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Joyful,</span> indeed, and happy is my +lot since I became a domesticated +faun. No longer do I experience +hunger or cold, absence of love, hostility +of mankind, the bites of dogs. But with +my happiness there mingles a vague sense +of shame, an indescribable feeling of being +cramped. I have the sensation of diminishing +divinity: the man grows in me, +subtly and gradually stifling my primitive +nature, which was Desire. I have +the nostalgia of desire. Once I desired +fruits, leaves, women; and now that these +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span>things have come to me, I dream only +of being naked and famished in a desert. +Oh! what attractions solitude has for him +who lives in the midst of humanity!</p> + +<p>The Phrygian Aesop—I knew his +brothers, who were handsome and stupid—has +written a fable to prove that liberty +is the chief blessing. I heard it in the +Greek of my infancy, and young girls +learned it by heart on my knees. It is +true and false, like every human invention. +Liberty is a burden which one desires +to throw on the ground, when one +knows nothing else, and in the slavery of +the happiest of civilizations there is a +bitterness that oppresses the heart. Once +my very sadness was a sort of joy that +caused my life to expand flower-like and +become glorious. My sadness was a +momentary transformation of the forces +of my being and when, by chance, I encountered +someone with whom to share +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span>this mood, it bourgeoned in the voluptuous +silence of nights until it equalled +the very immensity of the world. Now +and then I suffered, but I never experienced +ennui. What is this new distemper +whose existence I learned at the same +time that I knew its name? One day I +observed that things around me were becoming +colorless and that the eyes of +women were fading at my approach, like +a metal mirror. I no longer interested +myself in anything, I dreamed of lands +that were inexistent. My past itself, so +rich in adventures, no longer sufficed to +fix memory on any single point of my +history, and my dormant desire stirred +not at the prospect of future loves.</p> + +<p>This only lasted several days, but I am +still affected by it and I feel that I shall +never be cured. Cydalise’s return brought +a temporary recovery; since her second +departure, I support my life without extracting +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span>much pleasure out of it. Erebus +has forsaken me, I am alone, and it is in +vain that Déidamie, a little Greek girl, +puts herself in my way when I go to see +my friends who drink the green water. +She is a friend of Erebus, who has also +bequeathed me an old dealer in syllables +who used to write love letters for her in +return for the pleasure her visits gave +him. She had a habit of tossing her dark +hair at him, while letting fall a medley +of words that were sharp and peppery. +Erebus called him her secretary and I +address him as Diogenes. I have often +heard their quarrels and debates, one +wishing to clothe the secret thoughts of +Erebus in fitting diction, the other hurling +them forth at random, as naked as +Aphrodite emerging from the waves, and +much less chaste. How comical my old +Diogenes seemed in this struggle. But I +was hurt to learn that Erebus trafficked +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span>in her charms, with the same unconsciousness +as Destiny. The manner of my +breaking with her is an insignificant episode. +Several days afterwards, I learned +that she had left with an English traveler +who had no desire to view sunny sites +without a companion. Diogenes was in +tears when he told me the news. He +attends when I dress and awaits my +morning talk, but it is I who make him +speak.</p> + +<p>His discourse is pleasant and bitter. At +first I was immensely amused, but his disillusioned +words soon made me reflect on +myself and on life more than he would +have wished, and I think it is perhaps this +that has made me ill. It is not surprising +to find him disenchanted, for he is +old and poor, reduced to associate with a +circle of people that goes against his instincts +and habits. I have perhaps erred +in calling him Diogenes, for he is more +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span>melancholy than cynical, more resigned +than depraved. Little as I am versed in +apparel and styles, he seems to me to be +garbed with a sort of old-fashioned refinement. +His hair has the color of hemp +one sees steeping in the ponds of fields; +it is as discolored as his soul. His linen +is always immaculate, his complexion is +rosy, his hands fine, his eyes gentle and +vague; and his fleshy lips give him an +air of goodness and innocent sensuality.</p> + +<p>There are priests of Jupiter here with +this appearance, but some Greek phrases +he let fall have revealed to me the old +professor of eloquence or philosophy. +Now I listen to his explanations of life +without dismay and I even experience +the pleasures of the initiate. Sometimes +I seem to hear a Bacchant, sometimes a +Mithriac, and sometimes again, a man +in his cups. Wine, which makes me wild +and which I like only in the grape, makes +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span>him bold. When he visits me, I always +order a flagon the color of amber or of +new roses, the sight of which is pleasant +to my eyes, and I hearken to his wisdom +while brushing my hair or polishing my +horns, for I keep no secrets from him.</p> + +<p>Like Erebus, he familiarly calls me +Satyros, and I find this quite natural. +She was the subject of our first conversation, +or rather of his first discourse:</p> + +<p>“What I like in this woman is her disinterestedness. +She sells her body only +the better to surrender herself; it is her +weakness. She has a marvelous appetite +and can only satisfy it with those of her +choice. Those who choose her find her +but a servant of Aphrodite. Were she +rich, she would be the most honest of +women and would only select her loves +among those who most resemble the gods. +Wealth is a great privilege, even in love. +Thus it happens that there are two races +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span>on the globe, everlastingly creating and +re-creating themselves,—the race submissive +to destiny and the race which surmounts +it. You have heard the contrary. +It is nonsense. Give heed to the voice +of a man whom fate overwhelms and who, +to be reconciled with a woman he loves, +has changed himself into her domestic +slave. She will return; I shall again feel +the odor of her hair and of her scorn. +I have ruined myself for Aspasia. It is +right that Aspasia should hold me in +contempt.”</p> + +<p>I give you quite faithfully some of +his words; I have not understood them +well. It seemed to me, besides, that his +face flushed and grew ruddy, that he was +getting drunk. He added words that I +understood even less, about the pleasure +of suffering and the keen delights of +humiliation. Then he recited Theognis’ +invective against poverty, thus completing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span>the confession of his absolute incoherence.</p> + +<p>He is not always so senseless. He is +an unfortunate wretch punished by +Aphrodite for having misused love—this +is only permitted the gods—but she usually +offers him a respite and then his conversation +is less depressing. If I am to +tell you the end of my experiences, I shall +doubtless have to speak of Diogenes. But +I am truly forbearing, for he has taken +advantage of me.</p> + +<p class="right"> + <span class="smcap">Antiphilos</span>,<br> + <em><span style="padding-right: 1em">Satyr.</span></em> +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XI"> + XI + <br> + DÉIDAMIE + </h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="center no-indent"> + XI + </p> +</div> + + +<p class="right"> + Monte-Carlo, September 15. +</p> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_167.jpg" width="50" height="50" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">How</span> it all came about, my dear +friend, is a puzzling matter, but +Diogenes led me into an adventure +which could not help make me uneasy, +though I am confident the protection +of the all-powerful gods will never fail +me. Everything was proceeding smoothly; +the roguish snares of Déidamie, to +which I had at last yielded, had freed +me of that vague ennui which tormented +me.... But I must make you familiar +with this, in the episodic manner, before +giving you the recital of the dreadful +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span>happenings. Picture to yourself this +Phrygian girl, born on the Mæander +shores, and if this does not move you, +at least you will understand my emotion +upon discovering, once more, a lass hailing +from my native land! But the Phrygians +have always been inconstant: +Déidamie is the very embodiment of caprice. +Charming maid! She was the inamorata +of an archon’s wife, herself strikingly +lovely, partaking of the beauty +that men have given Pallas Athena.</p> + +<p>“You love those who resemble you, O +Déidamie of the violet eyes!”</p> + +<p>Déidamie loved those who were like +her and those unlike her. How privileged +women are! They bring grace to their +loves. Diogenes explained to me that it +was thus they disarmed morality, that +power dreaded by mankind, and whose +aim is to prevent the extraction of too +much pleasure from life. Déidamie was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span>taken away from me while I still loved +her. That is a good time to lose a woman. +Regrets then are transformed into pleasant +memories, and one is spared satiety. +Diogenes had predicted that this would +hardly last and that Déidamie, being accustomed +to feminine cajoleries, would +soon weary, after the first days of felicitous +astonishment, of a being awkward in +tender adorations.</p> + +<p>“You will not know,” he said, “how +to feed the flame sleeping in her soft +eyes. Your bellows will extinguish instead +of keeping it alive.”</p> + +<p>And he continued:</p> + +<p>“I know all about you, Satyros. You +always excite curiosity and you never +fail to disappoint it. Your career consists +of abduction, the sudden surprise, +the stupefaction.”</p> + +<p>I wanted to reply that there was much +truth in his judgment of my character, but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span>I remained silent, meditating on my companion’s +wisdom and perspicacity. Yet I +thought of Cydalise, of whom he was +ignorant. I related the story to him and +surprised him. After a moment’s reflection, +he confessed that to know and classify +the types of women was a vain and sorry +task; some one would always turn up to +contradict and annihilate the most positive +theories.</p> + +<p>“What you tell me, Satyros, does not +go against the grain, since it instructs me. +The science of men and women is composed +of exceptions, each one of which constitutes +a rule. Thus the science is a very +long and laborious one. It thus resembles +the Chinese language, which aged men +begin to master after sixty years of study +and when they no longer have either the +strength or the inclination to discourse. +The eyes grow impaired in observing men, +and it is quite other faculties that are used +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span>in the company of women, without which, +besides, they would be equally spent. But +you cannot understand this, you who were +kneaded out of an immortal clay, moulded +so that you would never experience exhaustion, +and who are the image of a +youthfulness whose illusions should be +realities.”</p> + +<p>While saying this, Diogenes looked at +me with an air of envy in which was affection, +that air carried by the poor in the +presence of vases filled with gold, such +as I have seen in the street behind iron +railings. He continued, as though issuing +from a dream:</p> + +<p>“Are you truly immortal, Satyros? The +great gods, your masters and the masters +of men, are dead....”</p> + +<p>“Destiny has overlooked me, Diogenes, +and besides, I believe that I have brethren +in the depths of every forest, in the +grottos of every mountain, in every dale. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span>I have never seen, but I divine them. +We are the forces of nature and if we +died, you would be condemned to +death.”</p> + +<p>“That is rather what <em>we</em> are. I think +you are confusing immortality and perpetuity.”</p> + +<p>I did not answer. I find it difficult to +enter into subtleties. It seems to me that +my horns then begin to shoot out of my +head. This time he looked at me with +pity:</p> + +<p>“Hm! Satyr,” he said. “To return to +a more sensible topic, since Cydalise loves +you, why do you not go to find her +again?”</p> + +<p>“And will you come with me, Diogenes?”</p> + +<p>“Without a doubt. You spoke of +destiny, and since it has placed in my +path a son, or even a grand-cousin of the +immortal gods, do you suppose that I can +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span>abandon him? You do not know friendship, +Satyros. It is man’s virtue.”</p> + +<p>Thereupon, he delivered a long discourse +which enchanted me by the charmingly +cadenced arrangement of its periods. +I imagined myself transported to +the times of my childhood, I drank his +eloquence like my mother’s milk. I was +stirred, I wept with emotion and I +panted, half-drowned under these harmonious +waves. I am Greek and sensitive +to the felicities of rhetoric. Ah! had +he spoken in Greek, I would have offered +to share my divinity with him, but I was +thankful for his discretion and embraced +him. It was the time propitious for swearing +eternal friendship. I passed the remainder +of the day congratulating myself +on the good fortune which had fallen +to my lot among mankind. I had a +friend, and without understanding the +joys that this should bring me, I considered +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span>them great and equal to those +painted by Diogenes in his flowered discourse.</p> + +<p>He came to live with me. He installed +himself in an adjoining room which I +was happy to be able to offer him, as is +fitting in true friendship, and he did not +hesitate to share my frugal repasts, with +which he was pleased to be contented. +Then he spoke once more of Cydalise, +whose portrait arose from the depths of +his memories. I described her to him and +he forthwith knew her. His talk afforded +me pleasure. To speak of her was to revive +her under my very eyes, almost under +my lips. She was nearer to me, each +time I pronounced her name aloud, and +it seemed to me that the door was about +to open and reveal her.</p> + +<p>Cydalise had not returned for nearly +a month and she had only written me +somewhat enigmatic letters which but half +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span>reassured me. The last was a note so +brief that I read it at a glance, as one +drinks with a single draught the water +scooped into the palm of the hand. I had +been distracted from my uneasiness by +Déidamie’s caprice, but now that the little +Phrygian had returned to her friend, I +thought deeply of Cydalise. It was easy +for Diogenes to prevail on me to go and +join her, and as he wished to spare me +all the inconveniences of the trip, our departure +was decided upon, following a +new discourse which profoundly stirred +me to the depths of my heart and satisfied +my last scruples. We made our preparations. +I did not forget the treasure with +whose care I was entrusted. Diogenes +took charge of it.</p> + +<p>You will know the consequences.</p> + +<p class="right"> + <span class="smcap">Antiphilos</span>,<br> + <em><span style="padding-right: 1em">Satyr.</span></em> +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XII"> + XII + <br> + THE CLUSTER OF GRAPES + </h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="center no-indent"> + XII + </p> +</div> + + +<p class="right"> + Monte-Carlo, September 20. +</p> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_179.jpg" width="50" height="50" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Consequently</span> we left. Diogenes +was in very good spirits +and I a trifle out of countenance +by such a rapid decision, for he had hardly +obtained my consent than, our affairs +in order, we were on our way.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps,” I said, “Cydalise is returning +at the very moment that I leave. +What will she think of me?”</p> + +<p>But Diogenes seemed quite sure of the +matter.</p> + +<p>“Doubtless, at this very moment she +is climbing the flight of stairs, she knocks +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span>at the door, no one answers her, she grows +perturbed, she begins to make inquiries. +This is possible since everything is possible. +But Cydalise is not one of those +giddy, thoughtless persons who arrive all +of a sudden at the home of their lover, +especially when the lover goes by the +name of Satyros. Life has given such +a one experience. Trust in me, my friend, +and let us have no anxieties about the +matter.”</p> + +<p>As I am always sensitive to the last +impression which strikes me, I easily +agreed with the opinion of Diogenes and +began to examine the landscape which +still possessed the richness of summer. +Everywhere I imagined I found once +more the appearance of the Cogolin +countryside and the fragrance of its +orange-trees. In vain did Diogenes +endeavor to put me right by informing +me that we were quite remote from that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span>spot; still I saw the woods of the last +days of my liberty, and I grew enthusiastic +as though they were about to return.</p> + +<p>“Let us get off at this spot,” I would +say each moment, “I feel that happiness +awaits me in these rocks. A woman has +come for me in this very place, she is +looking for me, she believes she has spied +me behind each clump of arbutus. See, +she turns round hopefully and scans the +autumn-hued land. Let us get off, let us +get off!”</p> + +<p>“It is a long time since you beheld the +country fields, Satyros,” Diogenes answered. +“Your head is turned. What +would you have us do in this wild desert? +It is nothing but a color, it is nothing but +imagination.”</p> + +<p>The train slackened its speed and Diogenes +had to stop me as I was about to +hurl myself through the carriage door. +It opened at the same moment and two +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span>women entered our compartment where +we had been alone up till now. Diogenes +now knew that he need no longer watch +me. From his pocket he drew a newspaper +and began to read tranquilly, confident +that I would not try to escape. In +fact, I was quite at ease, quite satisfied +with the turn of affairs. Although the +new arrivals afforded no pleasure to my +eyes, they were capable of occupying my +imagination. I recognized their coiffure. +How many similar heads had I not pursued +in days of yore among the shadows +of descending night, on the skirt of the +vineyards! They were not absolutely ugly +and their eyes had even a certain beauty; +but what heaviness of outline, what disgracefulness +of forms! Certainly I had +loved more than one with less comeliness. +And these were the types of conquests +with which I had once been so elated, +those fruits of nature which I had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span>devoured, those earthen urns out of which +I had quaffed my pleasures so boldly. +These buxom daughters of Pomona carried +in each arm a basket of grapes, +oranges and vegetables. These they deposited +near them, and as I looked at the +contents of the baskets more intently than +at their owners, one of them addressed +me in a singing voice:</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you would like to eat a bunch +of grapes?”</p> + +<p>I stretched my hand forward and she +gracefully lifted her heavy basket toward +me. She was the less coarse of the two.</p> + +<p>“I can only offer you,” I said, “a kiss.”</p> + +<p>Both of them commenced to laugh and +the other, in an engaging manner, remarked:</p> + +<p>“The baskets belong to the two of us.”</p> + +<p>I kissed her on the cheek, and her companion +on the corner of her lips. I had +once again become a faun; my contemptuous +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span>reflections had counted for naught +against the tempting odor of a market +woman!</p> + +<p>They laughed so loudly, to conceal +their embarrassment, that they failed to +notice the train’s arrival at Arcs. Diogenes, +whom the scene had diverted from +his newspaper, mentioned the fact aloud +and the countrywomen hastened to dismount. +As I held out their baskets to +them, she whom I had touched with my +desire bowed to me with a smile while +the other said:</p> + +<p>“Shall we perhaps meet again?”</p> + +<p>I had dominated my emotion. When +the train started again, Diogenes sententiously +proferred these words which I +was long in understanding:</p> + +<p>“That is what one gets for having +frequented the little courtesans of +Toulon.”</p> + +<p>Noticing my astonishment, he added:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span></p> + +<p>“Satyros is becoming farther and +farther removed from nature. Perhaps +we shall be able to make something out +of him.”</p> + +<p>Diogenes’ perspicacity surprised and +enchanted me at the same time. How +well the two propositions reunite and how +faithfully they render my own sentiment. +But what could be the meaning of these +words: “Perhaps we shall be able to make +something out of him. Am I then +nothing, nothing of consequence, nothing +serious and true?”</p> + +<p>“Diogenes,” I answered, “I understand +your first thought; it answers to mine; +but what do you propose to make of me? +This is vague.”</p> + +<p>“A philosopher, Satyros, nothing more +and nothing less, a philosopher like myself, +that is to say a man who is the dupe +of nothing or who, when he is a dupe, +knows and enjoys his deception. It is a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span>very rare state of mind and surpasses +even that of the Gods whom, if I am +to judge by yourself, are totally ignorant +and always at the mercy of the impressions +of the moment. I was satisfied to +notice with what an eye you studied the +rustics who tried their best little tricks +upon you. That is the first stage. One +must know how to resist the passions. +The second consists in yielding to them. +To be neither above nor below human +weakness, which the divine foibles greatly +resemble, if once more I can judge by +yourself,—here you have the ideal position. +Be always at their level, always +ready to respond to them.”</p> + +<p>“Had I met them along some path, +in the mountain, despite my repulsion +of the first moment I would not have +been able to master my desire.”</p> + +<p>“It is thus I understand the second +stage,” answered Diogenes, “but there is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span>a third stage, which is still more advantageous. +This takes place when a person +loves himself sufficiently, loves himself +more than the desires which make him +leave his egoism. I am journeying toward +that condition, which I do not believe +you will ever attain, Satyros.”</p> + +<p>“No more do I myself believe it, Diogenes. +If the nature of the gods is hardly +removed from that of men, it nevertheless +differs in this essential point: all +poetry is forthwith incorporated with its +substance, effortlessly and by the very +play of desire. I enrich myself where +you impoverish yourself, Diogenes.”</p> + +<p>It was his turn to meditate upon the +profundity of my words. He did not +know what to answer, doubtless, for on +his face I read ennui and sadness and +envy perhaps. Diogenes is no longer +very young. I fear his philosophy is only +a sort of insouciant resignation to the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span>fatality which weighs on mankind. I perceive—books +have already taught me this—that +there are as many philosophies as +there are ages and temperaments. He +has sufficiently outlined this for me by +his theory of the three stages. One desires +to resist passions when they are so +weak that a little attention suffices to +master them. One yields to them when +they are so strong that a struggle is +grievous. One scorns them on the day +they become nerveless, when one no +longer dare regret the time of their heydey +for fear of appearing in the attitude +of a vanquished person. That is the moment +of virtue. According as young or +old men, the feeble or the strong govern +society, the one or the other spirit dominates +the world. And I really believe +that this applies to all human inclinations. +States fluctuate according as action +or thought and dream are held in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span>higher repute. Ah! I understand why +they laugh in Olympus.</p> + +<p class="right"> + <span class="smcap">Antiphilos</span>,<br> + <em><span style="padding-right: 1em">Satyr.</span></em> +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XIII"> + XIII + <br> + THE UNKNOWN WOMAN + </h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="center no-indent"> + XIII + </p> +</div> + + +<p class="right"> + Cannes, December 1. +</p> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_193.jpg" width="50" height="50" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Good</span> friend, I have not told you +what happened to us at Monte-Carlo +and it is with difficulty +that I now recall it. At first it seemed +important and stirring, but I readily see +that events have hardly any interest outside +of their novelty: this should teach +us to view them philosophically at the +very moment when they appear most +grievous. It really seems to me that the +adventure which befell Diogenes, and +which affected us both, might have turned +out badly for both of us, at least this is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span>what he told me, but my insouciance did +not linger on the matter overlong and +life soon put me to rights.</p> + +<p>“Fortunate Antiphilos!” said Diogenes, +gazing at me with an admiration in which +anger was mingled, “we are lost and he is +as calm as a god! Are you at least capable +of giving me some advice? Divine +animal, be oracular, be Dodonian, pronounce +a number!”</p> + +<p>It is probable that I obeyed, for Diogenes +manifested a sudden contentment +and disappeared, leaving me slightly bewildered +by his eccentricities, on one of +the garden seats, in the dim shadow of +the palm trees. I was not long in finding +tranquility, since the place was propitious +to peace. Young women passed by +accompanied by aged men and the same +thoughts certainly did not inhabit their +heads, for their glances were unlike. The +expressions on the men’s faces were dull, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span>the women looked stupid, and though +some among them were quite pretty, +they did not inspire me with any desire.</p> + +<p>Besides, I do not dispute a woman +with any male. Only the rams, goats +and bulls intertwine their horns and battle +for the conquest of females. I, whose +ways are peaceful, only attack unescorted +women; it is surer. Unless it be night, I +even wait to see, in their eyes, near the +dwellings, the provocative little flame +which my presence rarely fails to light +in their eyes. I do not put myself to any +trouble, unless I am sure of pleasing. +Diogenes has told me that men are not so +constituted and that what often excites +them in a woman is her coldness, no less +than the obstacles which shield her. On +this subject they use in their speech all +sorts of images of warfare which make +veritable treaties of strategy of their +books on love. It is a question of siege, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span>stratagems, skirmishes, attack, defeat, +resistance, victory, conquest. I do not +understand all these things. Love is +naught when it is not the leaping of a +twin desire. Yet I would not be worthy +of my name of Satyros did I not admit +assault and abduction, the surprise which +satisfies desire lulled to sleep before it +has had time to awake. It is not perhaps +the most beautiful side of my nature, but +it is such as the gods have made it and +besides, neither women nor girls have ever +taken offense at it. I must confess that +I have completely leashed these habits +since living, in the towns, a life similar +to that of other men. If I have not yet +been able to understand that one lays +siege to woman, as Alexander laid siege +to the city of Tyre, it is perhaps due +to the fact that I still rely more on the +candor of her desires than on a possession +which, in the strategic system, one +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span>generally owes to the weariness of the +besieged, to the poliorcetic science of the +besieger.</p> + +<p>“Satyros,” Diogenes suddenly cried +out, “Satyros! You are the true God or +at least a true god!”</p> + +<p>And, plunging a hand in his pocket, +he drew it forth filled with gold pieces.</p> + +<p>“But let us be circumspect,” he continued. +“One must no longer question +destiny. It has answered in no uncertain +terms. Let us flee this town. Take my +arm on the side where I carry the gold +and let us leave without turning our +heads.”</p> + +<p>“You are wrong, monsieur,” a voice +behind us answered. “One does not thus +break his lucky streak....”</p> + +<p>The voice belonged to an extremely +pretty woman who lacked neither elegance +nor distinction. Diogenes apostrophized +her strongly:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span></p> + +<p>“Are you the guardian dragon of these +portals, recovering from mortals the +gold which destiny conceded them? Are +you....”</p> + +<p>“I am not even a dragon of virtue,” +answered the young woman, smiling +pleasantly. “You are right. It is time +to go and breakfast. I will show you +the way.”</p> + +<p>I had the look of a schoolboy rescued +from the perils of an adventure by his +elder brother and I found that Diogenes +really protected my virtue a little too +carefully, for this woman decidedly +pleased me. I am ashamed to avow it, +but I struggled an instant longer against +my desire, I was on the point of obeying +Diogenes, my arm relaxed its hold, +I felt myself the docile son of the dreariest +civilization, which sits down at the +roadside and watches its dream pass, +without daring to arrest them. But she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span>turned her fair head, her clear eyes toward +me, our glances penetrated each +other and I suddenly felt myself become +again the faun of the forests, the jovial, +whinnying faun who can overcome pitchfork +blows, but not reasonings.</p> + +<p>With a harsh burst of laughter, I +scoffed at my hesitations. My companion +trembled and grasped my arm tighter. +She led me away and I imagined that I +was carrying her off, for already I felt +her limbs tremble under my strength.</p> + +<p>When Diogenes rejoined us in the +rooms, to which he had the key, she was +already arranging her hair in front of the +mirror, while glancing at my reflection +in one of its corners. She was murmuring:</p> + +<p>“What a man! Amazing!”</p> + +<p>He had the rudeness to come and behold +us, then he shrugged his shoulders +and said:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span></p> + +<p>“It might as well be this one as another. +Besides, she is pretty, even though she +has blond hair. Satyros could not remain +good very long. And one must +enliven the journey. We are going far, +madam, and the caprices of the gods are +short-lived. I leave you, unless you are +going to invite me to the repast.”</p> + +<p>The nymph was still dressing her hair. +I reflected on the fortunate state of +women in being able to arrange their hair +in delicate situations. I myself did not +know what to say, I did not know what +to do.</p> + +<p>“What repast?” asked the lady. “It is +finished,” she added with a happy laugh. +“At least, I believe so.”</p> + +<p>“And are you ready?” questioned Diogenes.</p> + +<p>“Who are you anyway?” she rejoined, +almost angry. “Why do you come to +interfere?...”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span></p> + +<p>“Madam, I am Satyros’ secretary, and +as I fear that he does not know the customs +very well....”</p> + +<p>“I understand. You imagine me +venal? I am life’s slave, that is all. I +know how to enjoy, making allowances +for my chain and its length, the enchantments +of the present moment, and I +accept the disappointing after-taste that +follows. Leave me with my friend an +hour, so that I may gather, under my +eyelids, tears for the moment he will quit +me.... I have often seen love bud in +eyes that followed me, but I have not +known how to make the bud thrive, how +to keep it fresh, at least, like a rose in a +glass of water. When friends abandon +me, they tear the rose to bits and sneer, +they throw it to the ground and trample +it. Are you, too, ashamed of your pleasures?”</p> + +<p>“How well she speaks!” exclaimed Diogenes, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span>who loves eloquence. “How I +love this flute player! And you say +nothing, Satyros?”</p> + +<p>But I spoke and she remained.</p> + +<p class="right"> + <span class="smcap">Antiphilos</span>,<br> + <em><span style="padding-right: 1em">Satyr.</span></em> +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="XIV"> + XIV + <br> + FLIGHT + </h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="center no-indent"> + XIV + </p> +</div> + + +<p class="right"> + Cannes. +</p> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_205.jpg" width="50" height="50" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">A sage</span> among civilized people, +Diogenes tells me, decrees the +uttering of hypocritical compliments +during the last days of the year, +but this does not suit me at all for several +reasons. The first one is that I am +aware of the seasons, but not of the +years, which have already fallen on me +in such numbers that I should be engulfed +by them. Now it is warm, now it is cold. +The seasons alternate and do not accumulate. +The second, third and other reasons +are that I have a profound disgust for +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span>men and no longer wish to resemble them +in anything. I am going to leave, I +shall return to the old, consecrated woods, +to the fortune awaiting me on the paths. +I have engaged my passage on a vessel +which returns to the land of Theocritus, +deprived of the citrons it brought. Diogenes +has pointed out to me that I would +doubtless be very ill and that I might be +shipwrecked, but I believe he did it only +to frighten me, and besides I prefer risking +every peril to becoming, in the end, +a man like yourself. I leave, I leave! +Nothing shall hold me.</p> + +<p>I flee a frightful evil, which reduces +my strength, exhausts my limbs, which +might succeed in turning my skin white. +Diogenes, who is touched with the malady +like myself, but less perhaps, supports +it merrily, laughs at me, swears that it is +the common lot of mankind and that I +must learn to live with him. I already +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span>suffered an attack and acquainted you +with its nature, I believe, but this time +it is intolerable. This is boredom. Everything +seems unprofitable. I have no desire +and life for me is vapid. Diogenes +tells me that this seizure will pass like +the first one, but it is much stronger and +I succumb to it. I feel that solitude +alone can cure me and I must apply myself +to seek it with the last ounce of +energy left in me.</p> + +<p>Cydalise has absolutely forgotten me. +This caused me bitter pain, a sentiment +of which I am ashamed. Diogenes finds +it an honorable one, but happily I am +not fashioned like you and find myself +horrified at the idea that a woman should +have been able to reduce me to such a +degree of slavery that her forgetfulness +would make me wretched. The worst of it +is that a part of me thinks like Diogenes. +He has left for a trip to Toulon. She +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span>has never returned. She has not written. +Finally, through a female companion, he +learned that Cydalise had never gone to +Toulon; the informant added that we +would perhaps have some tidings before +long. I would henceforth like to know +only chance women like the one I met in +the gardens of Monte-Carlo. It is wrong +for a person to belie his own nature. I +am pleased with those women who come +led by pure chance, and who pass.</p> + +<p>I am leaving! Yet there is a consolation +in those syllables which I often repeat +and which betoken my last days +among men. Diogenes does not try +very hard to detain me. He sees my +dejection and has renounced the idea of +conquering it. Besides, I believe he is +feeling the nostalgia of his libidinous +life, the trip to Toulon awoke his memories. +I shall perhaps miss him. He is +not at all ignorant of the customs of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span>women of the country and I, who am almost +totally ignorant of them, enjoyed +his bitter words which were yet full of +gayety.</p> + +<p>“You will return to us, Satyros, when +solitude, or rather barbarism, will have +strengthened your heart. You still have +many experiences awaiting you among +us, I mean to say among women who love +and this includes them all, if one counts +those who shun love because they fancy +they are afraid. You have only known +those who throw themselves at men, but +there are others who must be conquered. +There lies infinity, Satyros. It is our +infinity and generally our sepulchre. +We descend thither, ever dreaming of +the enigma of their smile, and we will +never know whether their smiles are natural +expressions or condescensions. You +cannot understand this, I fear, Satyros, +but one loves these women in proportion +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span>as one suspects their love, of which one +is never sure. They are never completely +conquered, and this is what gives such +value to their slightest favors. It is a +quite different world. You have not the +faintest idea of it, Satyros. You have remained +with Phryne, access to whom is +always assured by a bag of gold....”</p> + +<p>“What is this thing you call gold?”</p> + +<p>“Or a fine reputation as a faun.”</p> + +<p>“That is more to the point.”</p> + +<p>“I do not deny that this last merit, +which is yours, might not still gain you +some hearts whose pride has not killed +curiosity, but for this, too, you will need +a diplomatic tact which is not yet a part +of you.”</p> + +<p>“The thing bores me in advance!”</p> + +<p>“You cannot know. Ah! Satyros, despite +your little adventure with Cydalise, +you still have a lovely, sentimental ignorance. +How many steps you have still to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span>mount, or perhaps descend, to reach the +level of beautiful, delicate humanity!”</p> + +<p>“To descend, Diogenes, to descend. +But I no longer desire to resemble men. +I want to leave.”</p> + +<p>“You too will think so when you will +be alone with your brothers the trees and +the vanishing shadows of your desires. +Patience! You will return. And for this +one must leave. Nostalgia is the beginning +of the spiritual life. Ennui is the +nobility of the soul.”</p> + +<p>“I would have thought it was rather +joy.”</p> + +<p>“No, a joyous soul will never be thoroughly +distinguished. If you must caper, +at least let it be done with melancholy. +Look at me steadily. Infinity commences +to appear in your eyes, Satyros, +I believe I discover in you a Christian +faun in his birth.”</p> + +<p>“I dimly feel, Diogenes, that you are +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span>bantering. No matter, I will perhaps +miss you.”</p> + +<p>“I really hope so. But I am not bantering. +I find that a certain sadness has +touched your heart. If you remained, +you would soon weary of pleasures. In +fine, this state does not befit a god. It +is good for us, it is good for me who have +no more than this means of living the last +years of my poor life. Life escapes me +and I only capture it by feigning indifference, +for there is an irony in things and +they love the malice of contradiction. But +I feel that I still have some love for them +and that this love is useless. Do you see +what is taking place in me?”</p> + +<p>“I see nothing at all, despite my earnest +application, but I hope that you will +be happy and that Erebus will be good +to you.”</p> + +<p>“That is understood. Adieu. I return +to my turpitude.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span></p> + +<p>Ah! I shall never understand men! But +my vessel leaves at break of day and I +must sleep on board. I do not know if +I shall ever again have the occasion or +even the desire to write you.</p> + +<p class="right"> + <span class="smcap">Antiphilos</span>,<br> + <em><span style="padding-right: 1em">Satyr.</span></em> +</p> +<br> +<br> + +<p class="center no-indent fs120">(END)</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214"></a><a id="Page_215"></a>[Pg 215]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter pageborder"> +<p class="center no-indent"> + <br> + <em><span class="fs120">Three Stories from</span></em><br> + <br> + <span class="fs300">COLORS</span><br> + <br> + <span class="fs150">By REMY DE GOURMONT</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 5%"> +<img src="images/i_215a.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> +</div> +<p class="center no-indent wsp"> + Translated by Louis Lozowick</p> + <br> + <br> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 25%"> +<img src="images/i_215b.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> +</div> + <br> + <br> +<p class="center no-indent wsp"> + <span class="fs90">NEW YORK</span><br> + LIEBER & LEWIS<br> + <em><span class="fs90">MCMXXII</span></em> +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span></p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<p class="center no-indent"> + Copyright, 1922,<br> + By LIEBER & LEWIS<br> + <br> + <br> + <span class="fs80">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</span> +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="BLUE"> + BLUE + </h2> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class="right"> + <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">La demoiselle bleu aux bords frais de la source</i><br> + <em>Th. Gautier.</em> +</p> + + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_219.jpg" width="50" height="50" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">She</span> was a princess. Sister of the +queen, she lived together with +her and shared her royal honors. +But her fancy counselled pleasures less +splendid, and she gladly paid occasional +visits to one of her maids of honor whose +husband served in the royal body guard, +and was an excellent gentleman, young, +fair, clever, amiable.</p> + +<p>In her own country the princess had +been married to a prince who might have +become king, had several generations disappeared +in some catastrophe. They +never loved each other. However, the +princess, sometimes gay and always proud, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span>was known as a woman with a heart of +steel. She received much homage but +accepted little. Either she would assume +a mocking attitude or take an icy tone. +She loved only to dress, to play, to reign. +What pleased her at the house of the +royal guardsman was that her smile was +there equivalent to law; besides, she was +always winning in <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">vingt-et-un</i>; then, too, +her dresses and her jewels eclipsed all +other robes and adornments. The guardsman +had never exhibited any other sentiment +except that of profound respect.</p> + +<p>Being a blond she liked blue clothes, +blue flowers, blue sapphires—as blue as +her own eyes, so that she finally came to +be called the Blue Princess. This appellation +which seemed to come out of some +fairy tale, pleased her greatly. One day +as she was listening to the melancholy +stories of her maid of honor, she felt a +kind of languor in her body and mind, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span>and said: “My soul is a blue bird.” These +words repeated several times, brought +back her serene mood—so beautiful they +were. Then she looked about her and +said:</p> + +<p>“Is your husband absent, my dear? +I do not think he came out to greet +me.”</p> + +<p>“You noticed my husband’s absence +today, but isn’t he always absent?”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t he always absent-minded?”</p> + +<p>“My poor friend, that means he is +neglecting you.”</p> + +<p>“He does not love me any more.”</p> + +<p>“Really? A fine state of affairs. But +that’s impossible. Moreover, I won’t allow +it. I do not want to see my friend unhappy. +I am going to order him.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Do you think, Madame, a heart +can obey orders?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. Was I, a princess, consulted +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span>about my marriage? I was told to +love my husband, and I did.”</p> + +<p>“How long?”</p> + +<p>“I might have loved him always had +he wanted it. He did not.”</p> + +<p>“There, you see.”</p> + +<p>“He did not or perhaps could not. +Marriage brought me no pleasure whatever; +he reproached me with indifference +and I cried. Thenceforth we never met +without witnesses. In the beginning I +felt deeply humiliated, but gradually I +learned to appreciate the calm of solitary +nights. I lead the life of a virgin with +great pleasure. But since my sad experiences, +the plays, the dramas, the comedies +of love seem to me more inexplicable +than ever.... Does the marriage ceremony +really interest you?”</p> + +<p>The maid of honor looked at her mistress +with respectful and sad irony.</p> + +<p>Then she said:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span></p> + +<p>“I fear my husband hides from me +some love or infatuation.”</p> + +<p>“Infatuation?” said the princess. “A +pretty word. Infatuation is nothing serious, +is it?”</p> + +<p>“Serious? No, infatuation passes while +love endures. But I do not know. Perhaps +it is real love that alienates him +from me. I fear this greatly.”</p> + +<p>“I scarcely understand anything of +this,” said the princess, “but I would like +to see you as happy as I am myself. For +me, to observe the passing show of life +is quite sufficient. For you—since you +need love—I shall try to do something to +help you, I repeat. The word of a princess +will touch his heart.... Oh! my +good friend, it is I, perhaps, whom he +adores?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps, alas!”</p> + +<p>“Why ‘alas!’ If that is so, you are +saved.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span></p> + +<p>At that moment the guardsman came +in and went to greet the princess.</p> + +<p>“Sir,” she said to him, “I shall receive +you at the palace, in private audience, +at six o’clock.”</p> + +<p>She rose and left.</p> + +<p>Everybody followed the example of +the princess, and the husband and wife, +very excited, remained face to face.</p> + +<p>“Madame,” said the husband, “so you +have angered the princess? It is to you +then that I owe this affront?”</p> + +<p>“Affront? Your heart’s desire wants +to see you in private and you complain?”</p> + +<p>At first he did not know what to answer, +for this was the first time his wife +made allusion to the feelings he thought +securely hidden in his heart.</p> + +<p>“My heart’s desire,” he said brutally, +“is my career, and you have doubtless +ruined it through your chatter.”</p> + +<p>“I am not a chatter-box.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span></p> + +<p>“You are stupid.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! let me be, you do not deserve +to be loved.”</p> + +<p>The woman ran away overcome with +despondent anger. Yet she hoped despite +her reason that the intervention of the +princess would be crowned with success. +She passed the rest of the day in tears.</p> + +<p>The guardsman worshipped the princess +in secret and without hope. Timid +and violent, he reserved his timidity for +his idol, his violence for his wife. But +every brutal act left him in deep shame +and every act of shyness caused him untold +suffering. He was almost always +unhappy. Thus, he began to seek in +ambition a remedy for his ills. He had +spent all that afternoon in most humiliating +errands for the king’s mistress who +was troubled by the conduct of a lover +she had recently dismissed. In exchange +for a note of three lines the guard was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span>to receive a warrant for the rank of captain. +The note was in his pocket-book +now and he had to deliver it to the king’s +favorite lady at six o’clock exactly.</p> + +<p>Love, curiosity, disquietude had the +better of ambition. Dressed in his finest, +and well perfumed, he ran to the audience, +saying to himself: “Perhaps this is +a <em>rendez-vous</em>?”</p> + +<p>The princess, instead of letting him +wait for her, was herself waiting, and not +without impatience. She was prettier now, +being paler, and her eyes were shining. +Her face had the sweetness of white lilac +hiding in the foliage, but the foliage was +fair: her hair intentionally disarranged +with great art let a few curls fall casually +to her shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Come here,” she said dolefully, “come +here. Sit down near me. I am ill and +can speak only in a whisper. And besides, +it is a friend of your wife that is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span>receiving you and not a princess. Well +then: I noticed that you do not love +Elizabeth any more and this grieves me. +Is it really true that you no longer love +her?”</p> + +<p>“Alas!”</p> + +<p>“And the consciousness of your duty, +of your honor?”</p> + +<p>“My honor?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you swore conjugal fidelity as +well as eternal affection.”</p> + +<p>“She believed it.... Perhaps I believed +it myself....”</p> + +<p>“It is wrong to forsake her, to torment +her.... She is crying at this very moment, +I am sure....”</p> + +<p>“I am not severe with her.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, then. Will you promise +not to cause her any more suffering?”</p> + +<p>“I never did that intentionally.”</p> + +<p>“Good, but promise me more, promise +me....”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span></p> + +<p>She seemed crushed, and her voice became +so weak that to hear her the guard +had to bend his head so near her as almost +to touch her hair. Although he had +been trained in all the dissimulation of +a courtier, he suffered frightfully. To +love the princess from a distance seemed +to him sweet pain in comparison with +the racking torture his desire caused him +at that moment. With any other woman +he would either fall on his knees or flee; +with the princess he had to stay still, keep +silent and maintain an attitude of a +soldier receiving orders.</p> + +<p>“Promise me,” went on the princess, +“to be kind to her, to be very kind, to +love her....”</p> + +<p>The guardsman was mute.</p> + +<p>“Do you promise?”</p> + +<p>He was still silent.</p> + +<p>“That is impossible, then? Is it all over +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span>between you! Can you reproach her with +anything serious?”</p> + +<p>“I have nothing to reproach her with. +I do not love her any longer, that is +all.”</p> + +<p>“At least, do not let her notice it!”</p> + +<p>“I had hoped that she never would +notice it.”</p> + +<p>“Then it is possible to stop loving a +woman without her noticing it?”</p> + +<p>“That is very hard if one has not the +necessary ability. More easy it is, alas! +to love a woman without her noticing it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Do you think so?”</p> + +<p>“I am quite sure of it. She whom I +love never suspected it and never shall.”</p> + +<p>“Sir guardsman,” said the princess, +“Sir soldier, you are a child. She whom +you love is aware of it....”</p> + +<p>“Alas!” he said, incredulous.</p> + +<p>“... and she loves you,” she added +extending both her hands to him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span></p> + +<p>Still hesitating and breathlessly agitated, +he flung himself into the proferred +hands.</p> + +<p>“Kiss them, child,” said the princess, +“kiss me, you who love me, you who desired +me so long in the secrecy of your +heart. Embrace your blue princess, embrace +your love.”</p> + +<p>Next morning, the chamber-maid said +to her mistress:</p> + +<p>“Oh! Madame has a blue spot on her +breast.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing surprising. This is a birthmark. +But how strange! Now here, now +there. It appears, it disappears. On the +breast, on the heart....”</p> + +<p>“Maybe that is why Madame is called +the blue princess?” she continued innocently.</p> + +<p>“Go and see whether my maid of honor +is here.”</p> + +<p>Remaining alone for a moment, the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span>princess looked with emotion at the blue +mark.</p> + +<p>“God! How happy I am!” she thought, +“and how clever! How stupid my friend! +To share love confidence with any one! +Poor Ariane, without you I might never +have suspected anything. His glances +which I mistook for a sign of warm and +respectful attachment, were glances of +love!... But here she is....”</p> + +<p>The maid of honor came in agitated.</p> + +<p>“Oh, princess! I had to wait for him +till four o’clock in the morning! I am +mad! All is lost!”</p> + +<p>“There, now! Won’t you ever be reasonable? +On the contrary, everything is +settled.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Thank you!”</p> + +<p>“Listen to me. I made him confess. It +was difficult and took a long time. At +last I know the truth. Mere infatuation. +The person who turned your husband’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span>head is an actress of no importance. It +is the type one picks up, discards, picks +up again. She passed through many +hands already, those of my husband, +among others.... You see, we are of +the same family.... Now, the actress +is rarely free during the day. Her freedom +begins at the time when the freedom +of the other women ends—at midnight. I +therefore decided that your husband be +on guard at my palace every day from +midnight to four in the morning.... +Naturally, he will receive his compensation, +for the work is very exhausting.... +His future is assured, and his happiness.... +Is he ambitious? Yes. Very well. +Would a promotion please him? A decoration? +First of all I attach him to my +person. As soon as he is promoted to +higher rank, in six months, in three +months, he shall become my aide-de-camp, +my secretary. He shall leave me only +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span>to court you, happy spouse. We will save +him for both of us.”</p> + +<p>“How kind you are!”</p> + +<p>“Am I?”</p> + +<p>“You are kindness itself.”</p> + +<p>“You are beautiful and that is worth +more.”</p> + +<p>“Beautiful! Who is more beautiful than +you?”</p> + +<p>“Flatterer! I am thirty years old and +you are twenty-five.... Alas! I have +renounced everything. Will you at least +love me?”</p> + +<p>“I always did love you. I will adore +you. My life belongs to you. I will be +devoted to you until death, and my husband +also, I hope.”</p> + +<p>“I hope so too, I saved him perhaps +from a grave danger, from unhappy love, +for what joy could he find in the adventure +he had entered into?”</p> + +<p>“When he comes to himself he will be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span>very grateful to you.... Last night, +that is, this morning, he was very agitated. +When he returned I thought him +intoxicated. He looked at me with wandering +eyes. As soon as he entered his +room he locked the door, then I heard +him cry: ‘Ah! Ah! Ah!’”</p> + +<p>“He said nothing more?”</p> + +<p>“I think not. He is not very talkative.”</p> + +<p>“An excellent trait. What would you +say of a husband who should be making +humiliating confessions before you?... +There are such.... Mine, for example....”</p> + +<p>“You were very unhappy!”</p> + +<p>“Yes and no. I think no more about +it. The present fills my heart with joy.... +To give happiness to those whom you +love and who love you—is there anything +like it in the world?”</p> + +<p>“You are adorable.”</p> + +<p>“And adored.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span></p> + +<p>“Dearest friend!”</p> + +<p>She allowed her maid of honor to take +her hand and cover it with kisses.</p> + +<p>“Kisses superimposed,” she thought, +“but the last do not efface the first. Your +lips, poor couple, still meet with passion +but on my skin.... Very strange....”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” she began aloud, “now that you +are certain of regaining your happiness +sooner or later, I hope you will use discretion. +From his confidential talk I +gather that your husband is a little weary +of conjugal joys. Men dislike to have +women make advances to them....”</p> + +<p>“Oh! between husband and wife! However, +I shall be prudent, kind friend....”</p> + +<p>“More kind than you think! For, after +all, your husband is quite seductive. He +is young, younger than I am, beautiful, +warm-hearted, passionate....”</p> + +<p>“He was.”</p> + +<p>“He still is, rest assured, and it will +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span>not take you long to perceive it. If I had +not renounced everything, if I were not +a princess.... In your place I would +be jealous.”</p> + +<p>“Heavens! I know your heart too +well.”</p> + +<p>“Then you will return home full of +hope? Still a little sad?”</p> + +<p>“A little.”</p> + +<p>“But the clouds are scattering, the sky +is becoming blue again?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Blue like my soul, my sweet friend, +blue like my heart.”</p> + +<p>And she pressed her finger to her breast +where she felt the blue mark that thrilled +her love-intoxicated flesh.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="ZINZOLINE"> + ZINZOLINE + </h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span></p> + +<p class="right"> + <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">D’une lumière zinzoline....</i><br> + <em>Scarron</em> +</p> + + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_239.jpg" width="50" height="50" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Color</span> was the subject of conversation, +and the young women +were expressing their commonplace +preferences. One liked rose, another +liked blue, a third praised pale +green, a fourth preferred red.</p> + +<p>“And you, Alain?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I as a man,” said Alain, “am +condemned to black, gray and brown. I +do not dream like you of brilliant +plumage. Still, if I were allowed my +choice, I should like to dress in zinzoline.”</p> + +<p>All burst out laughing to hide their +ignorance.</p> + +<p>“Is not the word beautiful?” continued +Alain.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span></p> + +<p>No answer came. Then the young +man went on:</p> + +<p>“I do not want to deceive you. The +word is pretty but the color is frightful. +Imagine something reddish violet, recall +a piece of violet velvet all worn and showing +the warp of a dubious red.”</p> + +<p>“You are making fun of us, that is +not fair.”</p> + +<p>“I am not making fun. I like the word +because it is so pretty, because it rhymes +with my name, perhaps because it rhymes +with yours, my Aline. Zinzoline!”</p> + +<p>And he passionately kissed his sister +who protested vigorously:</p> + +<p>“No, I am not zinzoline; I do not +want to be zinzoline.”</p> + +<p>“But though I like the word I do not +like the color it denotes, and if my Aline +did in truth become zinzoline I would +not love her so much.”</p> + +<p>“Naughty boy!” said Aline.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span></p> + +<p>“For several minutes,” said Alain.</p> + +<p>The girl called Blue was an orphan. A +daughter of the closest friend of Alain +and Aline’s mother, she entered their +house as a little girl and grew up there, +although it was generally felt that she +was not one of the family. Her nature +separated her from her foster-relatives. +She was gloomy, they were gay; she +seemed to be afraid of life; they joyfully +plunged into it, young and old, as into +a warm sea. Neither the first nor the +last possessed a strong will. Paula (this +was her real name) was, on the contrary, +always in a state of high, moral tension, +and if she ever happened to laugh in +company, aloud like everybody else, she +would suddenly cut herself short as soon +as she became aware of it. A philosopher +would have found in this child the passion +for suffering which priesthood has so +often exploited in women among whom +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span>it is not at all rare; a passion which most +men like because it flatters their pride or +better still because they find it quite natural. +Such women are hard to tame because +they are very suspicious and also +very apprehensive. One often thinks +them cruel while they are only timorous. +The more skilled in the art of self-torment +seek often to displease, just as others +seek to please; always, however, with +some hidden motive; and when one divines +this motive, he becomes their master.</p> + +<p>Paula was neither ugly nor beautiful. +When the features of her somewhat concentrated +face were illumined with a +smile, she became attractive. Her eyes +would have been very eloquent had she +not imposed an oath of unexpressiveness +on them. She was small though not slight, +and very nimble; her very thick hair was +chestnut of that indefinable hue which +is perhaps most captivating because most +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span>mysterious, because it does not promise +anything.</p> + +<p>Besides the two young girls there were +two young women and it was to them, +naturally, that Alain paid his chief attention. +He was not quite sure which of the +two pleased him more, nor, in fact, +whether either one of them pleased him +at all. Both, decided brunettes, scared +him a little, but as they answered his +banter, he kept teasing them somewhat +as one teases a strange animal to see +what would happen. What did happen +was that while playing, they exchanged +sidelong glances, and that each in turn +brightened up whenever an extra compliment +fell to her share. Alain kissed +the tapering fingers of one, and the +waist, where the fingers immediately +withdrew to seek shelter, heaved like a +big wave. He then walked up, like a +traitor, to the other woman, and his lips +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span>touched the down on the nape of her +neck; the neck and the entire body quivered +long after.</p> + +<p>Motionless, with a dull glance and disdainful +air, Paula seemed to see nothing +and saw everything. She seemed to feel +nothing and suffered great pains.</p> + +<p>“I am nothing. He did not look at me +even once! I am ugly, it’s true, and badly +dressed in this blue so unbecoming to me. +But I am satisfied. Oh! I wish I could +displease him still more!”</p> + +<p>At that moment Alain noticed her.</p> + +<p>“She is really the prettiest.”</p> + +<p>He threw her a rose he had just stolen +from one of the other two women.</p> + +<p>“Thanks, Zinzoline,” said Paula, “you +do not often make me presents; I shall +keep this one.”</p> + +<p>“He wanted to humiliate me,” she +thought, “what shall I do to displease him +still more? Stay here or go?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span></p> + +<p>She looked at the two young women:</p> + +<p>“Stay.”</p> + +<p>She smelled the rose:</p> + +<p>“Go.”</p> + +<p>“I am going up,” said Aline at that +moment, “are you, Paula?”</p> + +<p>She looked again at the two young +women half concealed from her by Alain +who was facing them.</p> + +<p>“No, I stay here.”</p> + +<p>Alain turned his head towards her. His +face was smiling.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am going too, wait for me.”</p> + +<p>She was thinking:</p> + +<p>“He looked at me ironically. He thinks +I want to watch him. What an idea! I +scorn him!”</p> + +<p>Aline entered the parlor. Paula went +up to her room. She put some water +into a small vase of blue crystal, and, before +putting the rose in it, long inhaled +its odor, looked attentively at it, then +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span>suddenly with a quick motion brought +it to her lips.</p> + +<p>“I am going mad. I am ashamed of +my own self! What’s this flower to me? +How stupid! No! no! no!”</p> + +<p>And she crushed the rose in a violent +fury, threw its shreds on the floor, and +began to stamp her feet over the petals +in ever-rising childish wrath. Coming +to herself, she carefully swept into the +fireplace the remnants of her rejected joy, +when another fit overtook her in this +humble plight. With the small duster +in one hand, leaning with the other on +the marble, comical and tragic, she burst +into tears.</p> + +<p>Paula once more found strength to +counteract this. She straightened up, +washed her eyes, forced herself to read +three pages from <cite>The Treasure of the +Humble</cite>, and went down calm and cool. +Everybody was already in. As usual, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span>she helped Aline to serve the tea. Alain, +in the meantime, continued his adolescent +pranks. Alain, eighteen years of age, +was awkward and insolent, though quite +innocently so, for he thought himself +very clever as he had already conquered +the hearts of two servant maids and one +little flower girl in the neighboring city. +He saw them swoon away by turns from +pleasure and disappointment, and told +them such things as occasions required. +Hence, he did not think himself insolent +at all but, on the contrary, well-bred and +even affable.</p> + +<p>He was rather tall and graceful, beardless +and with hair closely cut. His head +was of two hues superimposed above each +other, rose and copper, in the rose—two +big blue flowers. He was peculiar in +appearance and very captivating; women +desired him as they desire a sparkling, +rare jewel, but being too self-conscious, he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span>failed to notice their desire. Besides, the +friends of his mother or sister seemed to +him impenetrable fortresses. These two +women, however, showed their weakness, +and he began to believe them vulnerable.</p> + +<p>Remaining alone with the two women, +he began to tell them, rather awkwardly, +the greatest impertinences in the world.</p> + +<p>“I love you both, yes, both.”</p> + +<p>“We don’t need to be loved,” answered +the younger quickly, “we have husbands.”</p> + +<p>“Husbands? Do they know how to +love?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“If your husbands loved you they +would not have gone out hunting. They +would have acted like me. They would +have got a sudden pain in their foot and +stayed with you.”</p> + +<p>And he pointed to his slipper.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span></p> + +<p>The young woman would not admit +herself defeated. She said:</p> + +<p>“There is a time for all things.”</p> + +<p>But she was thinking:</p> + +<p>“Heavens! He remained for my sake! +he loves me.”</p> + +<p>“So he loves me?” thought the other. +“He loves me!”</p> + +<p>As if divining their secret thoughts, +Alain became more daring.</p> + +<p>“Only lovers know how to love.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps this is true?” thought the +older. “Shall I try it?”</p> + +<p>“He is right,” thought the younger, +who had some experience. “He would +love me splendidly!”</p> + +<p>They dropped their eyes to dream the +better.</p> + +<p>“<em>Mesdames</em>,” said Alain, “I place my +heart at your feet.”</p> + +<p>This time they both laughed.</p> + +<p>“What a devil!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span></p> + +<p>“What a little demon!”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I wish I could whisper something +in your ears, to both at the same time.”</p> + +<p>“Naughty boy!”</p> + +<p>“Naughty boy!”</p> + +<p>“Alright, one after the other. Let us +draw lots.”</p> + +<p>They began to laugh still more loudly.</p> + +<p>“I shall say one word to each and ask +one question. I expect an answer.”</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t want to hear anything.”</p> + +<p>“And still less, to answer.”</p> + +<p>“But I won’t say the same thing to +both, and won’t ask the same question.”</p> + +<p>“You wouldn’t say anything that can’t +be listened to?”</p> + +<p>“You wouldn’t ask questions that can’t +be answered?”</p> + +<p>“Naturally.”</p> + +<p>“Alright, give us the lots, naughty +boy.”</p> + +<p>“I yield my turn.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span></p> + +<p>“Your turn, dear Madame. Be kind +enough to come near. Good: ‘I love you. +And you?’ ‘Monster!’ Now yours: ‘I +adore you. Do you love me!’ ‘Hush!’ I +kept my word and you did likewise. Now +let us go and have tea with a gratified +conscience of duty performed.”</p> + +<p>They walked, thinking. Alain followed +them and was asking himself:</p> + +<p>“With which shall I begin and how?”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The dawn was hardly breaking when +Paula was already on her feet. She had +slept very little. Before dressing, she went +out of her bedroom, and straight to an +adjacent room called the laundry, which +contained besides the wash of the entire +household, all sorts of remnants of worn-out +clothes, hats, and discarded ribbons—a +heritage left by several generations of +women. There were multicolored silks +brought into fashion by the Empress +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span>Eugenie, there was amaranthine velvet, +and nacarat satins.</p> + +<p>“Ah! Here is something I want!”</p> + +<p>She took a box of ribbons the sad color +of which seemed to answer fully the definition +of zinzoline—reddish violet.</p> + +<p>“How ugly!”</p> + +<p>She fastened bows of zinzoline silk to +her blue waist, to her white neck, to her +chestnut hair.</p> + +<p>“I look like a wild woman,” she said +looking at herself in the mirror, “he will +laugh at me; perhaps he is angry. If I +do not quite displease him this time, what +else can I do?”</p> + +<p>She went into the garden. A blackbird +was madly whistling the five notes of its +monotonous plaint; the sun was casting +long shadows; there was velvety dew on +the leaves and the grass. She saw a morning +glory open truly like a pretty eye; +she ate up an apple cold as ice. Paula +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span>thought of nothing except how jolly it +would be to leap like an early roe.</p> + +<p>But what was that she suddenly noticed +under the lilac bush? Alain sitting +on a bench and looking at her in surprise!</p> + +<p>The sight of this friendly enemy revived +her rancor.</p> + +<p>“What! You are not thinking about +me?”</p> + +<p>“No, dear, Paula, I was thinking of +my own self.”</p> + +<p>“Do you always get up so early?”</p> + +<p>“Only today.”</p> + +<p>Standing in the full light of the sun, +Paula sparkled with zinzoline hues.</p> + +<p>“Where did you find this?”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“These dreadful ribbons.”</p> + +<p>“Dreadful? Do you think so?”</p> + +<p>“You put them on for my sake, perhaps?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span></p> + +<p>“Why not?”</p> + +<p>“If you intended to displease me, you +fully succeeded. But listen, I thought you +were indifferent to everything, I thought +nothing could touch your heart, and here +I see you up at five in the morning....”</p> + +<p>“And you?”</p> + +<p>“I! I am, at least, in love.”</p> + +<p>“Not I.”</p> + +<p>“... and you disguise as a gypsy +and run about in the garden to shake off +your thoughts.... Sit down near me, +Paula, come.... This is really zinzoline.... +What an idea! But you have not +been so foolish as you thought, and I am +less stupid than you imagine....”</p> + +<p>“Well?” she said with ill-disguised coolness.</p> + +<p>“Well, I am like you, I do not know +what to say. I would like to jest, but +cannot.... Paula, Paula, do you know +why we both got up with the sun? Tell +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span>me, do you?... Give me your hand, +Paula.”</p> + +<p>She let him take her hand, she let his +arm embrace her, she allowed him to +press her to his breast. The trees, flowers, +heaven and earth—all became a whirling +confusion. She shut her eyes, her head +fell.</p> + +<p>“Tell me, do you know?” continued +Alain. “Well, we sought and found each +other.”</p> + +<p>She was a tender mistress of Alain +during all his vacation and long after, +every time he returned home.</p> + +<p>One day Alain said to her:</p> + +<p>“We ought to marry. But how shall we +do it? Can a man marry at eighteen? Let +us wait a little.”</p> + +<p>“Let us not talk about it,” answered +Paula, “I am yours, and you can do with +me whatever you please.”</p> + +<p>And so she reconciled her happiness +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span>with her love of suffering. She was very +happy in the course of many years.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="WHITE"> + WHITE + </h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p class="right"> + <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Cet unanime blanc conflit</i><br> + <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">D’une guirland avec la même.</i><br> + <em>S. Mallarmé.</em> +</p> + + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_259.jpg" width="50" height="50" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">There</span> were once two children +of the same age, a little boy and +a little girl. They loved each +other very much, were never happy +apart, and their playing had much +tenderness in it. In the game of hide-and-seek, +whenever the little girl was +caught, she would fall into the arms of +her friend, throw her head back, lower +her eyes, half-open her mouth; and if the +kisses were not showered upon her, she +would demand them or go in search of +them, raising her mouth gracefully to +his timid or distracted lips. They had just +completed their tenth year.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span></p> + +<p>One day when it was very warm, they +removed their socks and went splashing +into the stream. They became very wet +and went to dry themselves in the sun on +the warm grass. The sight of their little +rosy legs and wet knees excited their +curiosity. They made comparisons, and +the little boy had the good sense to notice +that his skin was less smooth. “And not +so tender,” he said; and his hands were +in agreement with his eyes.</p> + +<p>They recommenced next day, and read +more with each day. Their kisses, now +accompanied by soft caresses, sent the +blood to their heads. But an instant later +they thought no more of it and broke out +in innocent laughter. They were happy.</p> + +<p>With the coming of the first cold and +rainy days they transferred their games +to a big half-empty room, left entirely +to them. The little boy, who was attending +school, came to pass his time at his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span>friend’s house. The little girl was receiving +instruction at home. Whenever +the weather was bad, the little boy took +lessons together with her. Their parents, +with an eye on the future, noticed with +pleasure the childish intimacy of the two +pupils.</p> + +<p>Toward the month of September a +curé came to the house, and was taken +by the mother into the large room where +the children were at play. They brought +him an armchair and a foot-stool. He sat +down, pulled out his snuff-box, blew his +nose, took a good pinch of snuff, and +began to talk of God. They knew the +topic very well, but the little girl became +attentive when the priest turned to her +and said:</p> + +<p>“My child, I hope you will soon make +the acquaintance of your creator. You +know how much he loves you and also +how much you love Him. Pure hearts +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span>always love the kind God. But true love +requires greater intimacy and greater +sacrifice. Jesus will come to you and you +must submit to Him with trust. You +will feel the sacred embrace of your +creator. In a word, my dear little girl, +we are going to prepare you for your first +communion.”</p> + +<p>“And I?” asked the little boy.</p> + +<p>“Listen,” said the priest, “and profit by +my words. You know,” he continued, +turning again to the little girl, “the whole +importance of such an act. Catechism +teaches you the grandeur of this sacrament. +What mystery in the union of the +creator and the created! This union is +achieved by the Eucharist, and brings +to those who know how to prepare themselves +for it and how to render themselves +worthy of it, the ineffable joys of divine +love....”</p> + +<p>He spoke a long time, and the frigidity +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span>of his speech contrasted strangely with +the exalted sentiments he was expressing. +Every minute he unfolded a big red, dirty +handkerchief, opened his snuff-box, took +a pinch, spat, sneezed. The little girl +understood nothing of all the grandiloquence +on love retailed by the old automaton; +however, he spoke of love, and this +word even in such a mouth charmed her +and made her tremble a little.</p> + +<p>Her confessor did not as yet question +her on the sixth commandment, but at +the approach of the great day he departed +from his usual reserve and indifference. +His questions, very precise and in conformity +with the church manual, interested +the little girl very much. Her heart +bled reflecting upon them. Then all that +was sin! These games, kisses, fondling, +caresses—sins! The priest did not, however, +apprise her of anything through +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span>which might have lost her innocence +without knowing it.</p> + +<p>One afternoon, she refused a kiss of +her friend, and went, without further +explanation, to kneel in a corner of her +room. Then she took out a book and +began to read: “Let us have faith to +remove all obstacles that prevent the coming +of Christ within us. Let us prepare +Him a sanctuary, pure, adorned, kindled +with love; and when He comes we can +say in the fervor of our joy: ‘My beloved +is mine, He rests in my heart’....”</p> + +<p>She pronounced these last words aloud. +The little boy heard them and asked in +tears:</p> + +<p>“You don’t love me any more, then?”</p> + +<p>“You cannot understand these things. +I like you as a brother, as a little friend; +I have great affection for you, but my +love belongs to Jesus.”</p> + +<p>“To Jesus!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span></p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders, vexed in +his affliction.</p> + +<p>“Jesus loves me, how can I fail to love +Him. He is courting me, how can I resist +Him? Don’t you know that He is Almighty, +that He can grind both of us +to dust, at this very moment?”</p> + +<p>“Is that true?”</p> + +<p>He reflected, overwhelmed, upon this +stranger so powerful and so cruel who +came to take his friend away, to break +his heart.</p> + +<p>“Ah! Let Him kill me, but let Him not +take you away!”</p> + +<p>“He won’t take me away. Did He +take Angela, Laura, Juliette whom He +loved last year and who are still +happy?”</p> + +<p>“Then he won’t always love you?”</p> + +<p>“He will always love me but from a +distance; and I will love Him. But I am +not the only one on this earth and He +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span>has to reach the hearts of all the little +girls who have their first communion.”</p> + +<p>“Does he also reach the hearts of little +boys?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think so,” she said in a tone +of irony. “He cannot offer little boys +anything more than good, firm friendship.”</p> + +<p>“I will never love Him.”</p> + +<p>“You will have to love Him, when your +heart is pure. You’ll see.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!”</p> + +<p>“I have a pure heart. I confessed all +my sins!”</p> + +<p>“What sins?”</p> + +<p>“Be still and ask God’s forgiveness.”</p> + +<p>She turned again to her prayers.</p> + +<p>Her friend was lost in thought.</p> + +<p>Less mature than little girls, little boys +have their first communion a year later +than girls of the same age. It was a +custom; he did not feel himself humiliated +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span>by it. Still he was very anxious to participate +in the mysteries into which his +friend was going to be initiated. He was +resentful both through jealousy and fear.</p> + +<p>“I hope,” he thought, “He doesn’t do +her any harm!”</p> + +<p>The great day arrived. He saw his +little friend pale and pretty in a cloud +of muslin. Coming near her, he whispered:</p> + +<p>“How I do love you!”</p> + +<p>She lowered her eyes and began to +roll the rosary between her hands gloved +in white. She passed without answering +him, without looking at him. He was +sad throughout the ceremony. The reading +of the acts braced him up a little, but +his heart broke when he heard the voice +of his friend:</p> + +<p>“Oh, my wealth, my treasure, my life, +my paradise, my love, my all, receive a +heart burning with love.... Oh, my +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span>treasure, I want to live and die in endless +communion with you!... My well-beloved +is mine and I am His. Oh, Jesus, +I do not want to be my own, I want to +be yours. Let all my faculties be yours +and let them serve your pleasure....”</p> + +<p>“Ingrate!” he thought. He felt a spasm +of anger. Then he recalled the enchanting +moments spent with his friend, their +games, their laughter, those long kisses +which left them breathless, those embraces +out of which they came blushing, skin +burning, eyes moist....</p> + +<p>“Someone else will now give her all +these pleasures! And I am going to be +alone.... She does not love me any +more....”</p> + +<p>The little girl had the honor to speak +again after communion. She returned +to her place first from the ceremony, fell +on her knees, hid her face in her hands, +and remained long absorbed in thought. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span>A powerful sentiment was weighing her +down. She felt sad and happy:</p> + +<p>“He is within me, I feel Him in my +heart.... My heart is expanding.... +I am choking with joy.... I am loved, +I am loved.... Is this you, my love? +Oh! Rest in my arms, clasp me to you +again, again! Ah! My heart is faint.... +My head is reeling.... Ah! Ah! what +emotion! I am going to confess my love +for Him aloud. I am very happy, very +proud.... Do you love me? He loves +me.”</p> + +<p>And she rose and said:</p> + +<p>“Oh, kind Savior, I have devoted myself +to you, You have devoted yourself +to me. I want to sacrifice to You all my +earthly pleasures. I sacrifice to You my +body, my soul, my will. This is all I +have to offer, alas! If I had more I +would give more, I would like to die +for You.... Kindle me with Your love. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span>But I cannot be pleased with a spark, +I want a tongue of flame, I want a thousand +of them, I want a conflagration +which would destroy within me all attachment +to living creatures.... Vain creatures, +leave me alone, you will no longer +see me. My heart belongs entirely to +my well-beloved....”</p> + +<p>“She does not love me any more,” he +thought, “she will never love me +again.”</p> + +<p>He cried. His neighbors thought it +was from piety.</p> + +<p>In the meantime the Mass was being +finished and one could already hear the +moving of chairs in the back of the +church. The little girl reborn through +love was also devoured by hunger. Then +she thought of her home, her parents, her +friend, of the fine ceremonial table sparkling +with flowers, crystals, silverware; she +thought of the kitchen and the cook. She +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span>was sure that a fine plate of soup was +already being cooled for her.</p> + +<p>“After that I shall eat a little cake.... +My friend will be there anxious to wait +upon me.... I like him very much.... +We shall take a walk while waiting for +the vespers. We shall pick some flowers, +nothing but white, white like my veil, like +my heart. I am happy!”</p> + +<p>The little boy ran to the house of his +friend where his own family breakfasted +that day. He came to notify the cook. +And in the pantry were two portions of +soup, two wonderful tarts, and two +glasses of wine.</p> + +<p>When the little girl arrived, he took +her hand and she allowed him to lead +her. At the sight of the little dinner all +prepared, her little, feminine heart leaped +with joy. She fell on the neck of the +little boy and embracing him with all +her strength, said:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span></p> + +<p>“You know, Jesus is my mystic spouse, +but this will not last long. While He still +loves me, tell me what you want, He will +not refuse anything to his little spouse.”</p> + +<p>“I want you to love me as before.”</p> + +<p>“Here,” she said.</p> + +<p>And she offered her lips.</p> + +<p>“Are you satisfied? Let us eat now, +I am hungry.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter transnote"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_Notes"> + Transcriber’s Notes + </h2> + + +<ul> + <li>pg 146 Changed: that my conquest of the Admirality<br> + <span style="padding-left: 2em">To: that my conquest of the Admiralty</span></li> +</ul> +</div> +<br> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78206 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |