3 1822 02457 8965
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 SAN DIEGO
 
 .f" TV <,, 
 
 
 31822024578965 
 
 Social Sciences & Humanities Library 
 
 University of California, San Diego 
 Please Note: This item is subject to recall. 
 
 Date Due 
 
 NOV 8 2000 
 
 Cl 39 (5/97) 
 
 UCSD Lib.
 
 One of Cleopatra's Nights 
 
 and 
 
 Other Fantastic Romances
 
 TRANSLATED 6Y 
 
 AMD 
 
 OTMER FANTASTIC ROMANCES 
 BY 
 
 GAUTIEP 
 
 PUBLI5MED BY BREMTAMO'S 
 AT UMION SQUARE, MEW YORK
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1890, BY 
 WORTH INGTON CO. 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY 
 BRENTANO'S
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PACK 
 
 To THK READER ix 
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS .... 3 
 
 CLARIMONDE 81 
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA . 153 
 
 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 221 
 
 OMPHALE: A Rococo STORY .... 249 
 
 KING CANDAULES 273 
 
 ADDENDA 3 8 3
 
 The love that caught strange light from 
 death's own eyes, 
 
 And filled death's lips with fiery words and 
 
 sighs, 
 And, half asleep, let feed from veins of his 
 
 Her close, red, warm snake 1 s-mouth, Egyp- 
 tian-wise : 
 
 And that great night of love more strange 
 
 than this, 
 When she that made the whole world 's bale 
 
 and bliss 
 Made king of the whole world's desire 
 
 a slave 
 
 And killed him in mid-kingdom with a kiss. 
 
 SWINBURNE. 
 
 " Memorial verses on the death of The'ophile Gautier."
 
 TO THE READER 
 
 THE stories composing this volume have 
 been selected for translation from the two 
 volumes of romances and tales by The'ophile 
 Gautier respectively entitled Nouvelles and 
 Romans et Contes. They afford in the orig- 
 inal many excellent examples of that pecul- 
 iar beauty of fancy and power of painting 
 with words which made Gautier the most 
 brilliant literary artist of his time. No 
 doubt their warmth of coloring has been im- 
 poverished and their fantastic enchantment 
 weakened by the process of transformation 
 into a less voluptuous tongue; yet enough 
 of the original charm remains, we trust, to 
 convey a just idea of the French author's 
 rich imaginative power and ornate luxuri- 
 ance of style. 
 
 The verses of Swinburne referring to the 
 witchery of the novelette which opens the 
 volume, and to the peculiarly sweet and
 
 X TO THE READER 
 
 strange romance which follows, sufficiently 
 indicate the extraordinary art of these tales. 
 At least three of the stories we have at- 
 tempted to translate rank among the most 
 remarkable literary productions of the cen- 
 tury. 
 
 These little romances are characterized, 
 however, by merits other than those of mere 
 literary workmanship; they are further re- 
 markable for a wealth of erudition pictur- 
 esque learning, we might say which often 
 lends them an actual archaeologic value, like 
 the paintings of some scholarly artist, some 
 Alma Tadema, who with fair magic of color- 
 blending evokes for us eidolons of ages van- 
 ished and civilizations passed away. 
 
 Thus one finds in the delightful fantasy of 
 Arria Marcella not only a dream of " Pom- 
 peiian Days," pictured with an idealistic 
 brilliancy beyond the art of Coomans, but 
 a rich knowledge, likewise, of all that fas- 
 cinating lore gleaned by antiquarian research 
 amid the ashes of the sepultured city a 
 knowledge enriched in no small degree by 
 local study, and presented with a descriptive 
 power finely strengthened by personal ob-
 
 TO THE READER xi 
 
 servation. It is something more than the 
 charming imagination of a poetic dreamer 
 which paints for us the blue sea " unrolling 
 its long volutes of foam " upon a beach as 
 black and smooth as sifted charcoal; the 
 fissured summit of Vesuvius, out-pouring 
 white threads of smoke from its crannies 
 " as from the orifices of a perfuming pan; " 
 and the far-purple hills "with outlines 
 voluptuously undulating, like the hips of a 
 woman." 
 
 And throughout these romances one finds 
 the same evidences of archaeologic study, of 
 artistic observation, of imagination fostered 
 by picturesque fact. The glory of the Greek 
 kings of Lydia glows goldenly again in the 
 pages of Le Roi Candaule ; the massive 
 gloom and melancholy weirdness of ancient 
 Egypt is reflected as in a necromancer's mir- 
 ror throughout Une Nuit de Cltopdtre. It 
 is in the Egyptian fantasies, perhaps, that 
 the author's peculiar descriptive skill ap- 
 pears to most advantage ; the still fresh hues 
 of the hierophantic paintings, the pictured 
 sarcophagi, and the mummy-gilding seem 
 to meet the reader's eye with the gratifica-
 
 Xli TO THE READER 
 
 tion of their bright contrasts; a faint per- 
 fume of unknown balm seems to hover over 
 the open pages; and mysterious sphinxes 
 appear to look on " with that undefinable 
 rose-granite smile that mocks our modern 
 wisdom." 
 
 Excepting Omphale and La Morte Amo- 
 reuse, the stories selected for translation are 
 mostly antique in composition and coloring; 
 the former being Louis-Quinze, the latter 
 mediaeval rather than aught else. But all 
 alike frame some exquisite delineation of 
 young love-fancies; some admirable picture 
 of what Gautier in the Histoire du Roman- 
 tisme has prettily termed " the graceful suc- 
 cubi that haunt the happy slumbers of 
 youth." 
 
 And what dreamful student of the Beauti- 
 ful has not been once enamoured of an Arria 
 Marcella, and worshipped on the altar of his 
 heart those ancient gods " who loved life 
 and youth and beauty and pleasure "? How 
 many a lover of mediaeval legend has in 
 fancy gladly bartered the blood of his veins 
 for some phantom Clarimonde ? What true 
 artist has not at some time been haunted by
 
 TO THE READER Xlll 
 
 the image of a Nyssia, fairer than all daugh- 
 ters of men, lovelier than all fantasies real- 
 ized in stone a Pygmalion-wrought marble 
 transmuted by divine alchemy to a being of 
 opalescent flesh and ichor-throbbing veins ? 
 Gautier was an artist in the common ac- 
 ceptation of the term, as well as a poet and a 
 writer of romance ; and in those pleasant frag- 
 ments of autobiography scattered through 
 the Histoire du Romantisme we find his aver- 
 ment that at the commencement of the Ro- 
 mantic movement of 1830 he was yet unde- 
 cided whether to adopt literature or art as a 
 profession; but, finding it " easier to paint 
 with words than with colors," he finally de- 
 cided upon the pen as his weapon in the 
 new warfare against " the hydra of classi- 
 cism with its hundred peruked heads." As 
 a writer, however, he remained the artist 
 still. His pages were pictures, his sentences 
 touches of color; he learned, indeed, to 
 " paint with words" as no other writer of 
 the century has done ; and created a power- 
 ful impression, not only upon the literature 
 of his day, but even, it may be said, upon 
 the language of his nation.
 
 XIV TO THE READER 
 
 Possessed of an almost matchless imagina- 
 tive power, and a sense of beauty as refined 
 as that of an antique sculptor, Gautier so 
 perfects his work as to leave nothing for the 
 imagination of his readers to desire. He in- 
 sists that they should behold the author's 
 fancy precisely as the author himself fancied 
 it with all its details; the position of ob- 
 jects, the effects of light, the disposition of 
 shadow, the material of garments, the tex- 
 ture of stuffs, the interstices of stonework, 
 the gleam of a lamp upon sharp angles of 
 furniture, the whispering sound of trailing 
 silk, the tone of a voice, the expression of a 
 face all is visible, audible, tangible. You 
 can find nothing in one of his picturesque 
 scenes which has not been treated with a 
 studied accuracy of minute detail that leaves 
 no vacancy for the eye to light upon, no 
 hiatus for the imagination to supply. This 
 is the art of painting carried to the highest 
 perfection in literature. It is not wonderful 
 that such a man should at times sacrifice 
 style to description ; and he has himself ac- 
 knowledged an occasional abuse of violent 
 coloring.
 
 TO THE READER XV 
 
 Naturally, a writer of this kind pays small 
 regard to the demands of prudery. His 
 work being that of the artist, he claims the 
 privilege of the sculptor and the painter in 
 delineations of the beautiful. A perfect 
 human body is to him the most beautiful of 
 objects. He does not seek to veil its love- 
 liness with cumbrous drapery; he delights 
 to behold it and depict it in its " divine 
 nudity;" he views it with the eyes of the 
 Corinthian statuary or the Pompeiian fresco- 
 painter; he idealizes even the ideal of 
 beauty : under his treatment flesh becomes 
 diaphanous, eyes are transformed to orbs of 
 prismatic light, features take tints of celes- 
 tial loveliness. Like the Hellenic sculptor, 
 he is not satisfied with beauty of form alone, 
 but must add a vital glow of delicate color- 
 ing to the white limbs and snowy bosom of 
 marble. 
 
 It is the artist, therefore, who must judge 
 of Gautier's creations. To the lovers of the 
 loveliness of the antique world, the lovers 
 of physical beauty and artistic truth, of the 
 charm of youthful dreams and young passion 
 in its blossoming, of poetic ambitions and
 
 xvi TO THE READER 
 
 the sweet pantheism that finds all Nature 
 vitalized by the Spirit of the Beautiful to 
 such the first English version of these grace- 
 ful fantasies is offered in the hope that it 
 may not be found wholly unworthy of the 
 original. 
 
 L. H. 
 NEW ORLEANS, 1882.
 
 One of Cleopatra's Nights
 
 ONE OF 
 
 CLEOPATBAS 
 
 NIGHTS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 NINETEEN hundred years ago from the 
 date of this writing, a magnificently gilded 
 and painted cangia was descending the Nile 
 as rapidly as fifty long, flat oars, which 
 seemed to crawl over the furrowed water 
 like the legs of a gigantic scarabaeus, could 
 impel it. 
 
 This cangia was narrow, long, elevated at 
 both ends in the form of a new moon, ele- 
 gantly proportioned, and admirably built 
 for speed; the figure of a ram's head, sur- 
 mounted by a golden globe, armed the point 
 of the prow, showing that the vessel be- 
 longed to some personage of royal blood,
 
 4 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 In the centre of the vessel arose a flat- 
 roofed cabin a sort of naos, or tent of 
 honor colored and gilded, ornamented with 
 palm-leaf mouldings, and lighted by four 
 little square windows. 
 
 Two chambers, both decorated with hiero- 
 glyphic paintings, occupied the horns of the 
 crescent. One of them, the larger, had a 
 second story of lesser height built upon it, 
 like the chateaux gaillards of those fantastic 
 galleys of the sixteenth century drawn by 
 Delia-Bella; the other and smaller chamber, 
 which also served as a pilot-house, was sur- 
 mounted with a triangular pediment. 
 
 In lieu of a rudder, two immense oars, ad- 
 justed upon stakes decorated with stripes of 
 paint, which served in place of our modern 
 row-locks, extended into the water in rear 
 of the vessel like the webbed feet of a swan ; 
 heads crowned with pshents, and bearing 
 the allegorical horn upon their chins, were 
 sculptured upon the handles of these huge 
 oars, which were manoeuvred by the pilot as 
 he stood upon the deck of the cabin above. 
 
 He was a swarthy man, tawny as new 
 bronze, with bluish surface gleams playing
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS $ 
 
 over his dark skin; long oblique eyes, hair 
 deeply black and all plaited into little cords, 
 full lips, high cheek-bones, ears standing out 
 from the skull the Egyptian type in all its 
 purity. A narrow strip of cotton about his 
 loins, together with five or six strings of 
 glass beads and a few amulets, comprised 
 his whole costume. 
 
 He appeared to be the only one on board 
 the cangia; for the rowers bending over 
 their oars, and concealed from view by the 
 gunwales, made their presence known only 
 through the symmetrical movements of the 
 oars themselves, which spread open alter- 
 nately on either side of the vessel, like the 
 ribs of a fan, and fell regularly back into the 
 water after a short pause. 
 
 Not a breath of air was stirring ; and the 
 great triangular sail of the cangia, tied up 
 and bound to the lowered mast with a silken 
 cord, testified that all hope of the wind ris- 
 ing had been abandoned. 
 
 The noonday sun shot his arrows perpen- 
 dicularly from above ; the ashen-hued slime 
 of the river banks reflected the fiery glow ; 
 a raw light, glaring and blinding in its in-
 
 6 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 tensity, poured down in torrents of flame; 
 the azure of the sky whitened in the heat as 
 a metal whitens in the furnace; an ardent 
 and lurid fog smoked in the horizon. Not 
 a cloud appeared in the sky a sky mourn- 
 ful and changeless as Eternity. 
 
 The water of the Nile, sluggish and wan, 
 seemed to slumber in its course, and slowly 
 extend itself in sheets of molten tin. No 
 breath of air wrinkled its surface, or bowed 
 down upon their stalks the cups of the lotus- 
 flowers, as rigidly motionless as though 
 sculptured ; at long intervals the leap of a 
 bechir or fabaka expanding its belly scarcely 
 caused a silvery gleam upon the current; 
 and the oars of the cangia seemed with diffi- 
 culty to tear their way through the fuliginous 
 film of that curdled water. The banks were 
 desolate, a solemn and mighty sadness 
 weighed upon this land, which was never 
 aught else than a vast tomb, and in which 
 the living appeared to be solely occupied in 
 the work of burying the dead. It was an 
 arid sadness, dry as pumice stone, without 
 melancholy, without reverie, without one 
 pearly gray cloud to follow toward the hori-
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 7 
 
 zon, one secret spring wherein to lave one's 
 dusty feet; the sadness of a sphinx weary 
 of eternally gazing upon the desert, and un- 
 able to detach herself from the granite socle 
 upon which she has sharpened her claws for 
 twenty centuries. 
 
 So profound was the silence that it seemed 
 as though the world had become dumb, or 
 that the air had lost all power of conveying 
 sound. The only noises which could be 
 heard at intervals were the whisperings and 
 stifled " chuckling " of the crocodiles, which, 
 enfeebled by the heat, were wallowing 
 among the bullrushes by the river banks ; or 
 the sound made by some ibis, which, tired 
 of standing with one leg doubled up against 
 its stomach, and its head sunk between its 
 shoulders, suddenly abandoned its motion- 
 less attitude, and, brusquely whipping the 
 blue air with its white wings, flew off to 
 perch upon an obelisk or a palm-tree. 
 
 The cangia flew like an arrow over the 
 smooth river-water, leaving behind it a sil- 
 very wake which soon disappeared ; and only 
 a few foam-bubbles rising to break at the 
 surface of the stream bore testimony to the
 
 8 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 passage of the vessel, then already out of 
 sight. 
 
 The ochre-hued or salmon-colored banks 
 unrolled themselves rapidly, like scrolls of 
 papyrus, between the double azure of water 
 and sky so similar in tint that the slender 
 tongue of earth which separated them 
 seemed like a causeway stretching over an 
 immense lake, and that it would have been 
 difficult to determine whether the Nile re- 
 flected the sky, or whether the sky reflected 
 the Nile. 
 
 The scene continually changed. At one 
 moment were visible gigantic propylaea, 
 whose sloping walls, painted with large 
 panels of fantastic figures, were mirrored in 
 the river; pylons with broad-bulging capi- 
 tals; stairways guarded by huge crouching 
 sphinxes, wearing caps with lappets of many 
 folds, and crossing their paws of black basalt 
 below their sharply projecting breasts ; pal- 
 aces, immeasurably vast, projecting against 
 the horizon the severe horizontal lines of 
 their entablatures, where the emblematic 
 globe unfolded its mysterious wings like an 
 eagle's vast-extending pinions ; temples with
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 9 
 
 enormous columns thick as towers, on which 
 were limned processions of hieroglyphic fig- 
 ures against a background of brilliant white 
 all the monstrosities of that Titanic archi- 
 tecture. Again the eye beheld only land- 
 scapes of desolate aridity hills formed of 
 stony fragments from excavations and build- 
 ing works, crumbs of that gigantic debauch 
 of granite which lasted for more than thirty 
 centuries ; mountains exfoliated by heat, and 
 mangled and striped with black lines which 
 seemed like the cauterizations of a conflagra- 
 tion ; hillocks humped and deformed, squat- 
 ting like the criocephalus of the tombs, and 
 projecting the outlines of their misshapen 
 attitude against the sky-line; expanses of 
 greenish clay, reddle, flour-white tufa; and 
 from time to time some steep cliff of dry, 
 rose-colored granite, where yawned the black 
 mouths of the stone quarries. 
 
 This aridity was wholly unrelieved; no 
 oasis of foliage refreshed the eye; green 
 seemed to be a color unknown to that na- 
 ture; only some meagre palm-tree, like a 
 vegetable crab, appeared from time to time 
 in the horizon; or a thorny fig-tree bran-
 
 10 ONE OP CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 dished its tempered leaves like sword blades 
 of bronze ; or a carthamus-plant, which had 
 found a little moisture to live upon in the 
 shadow of some fragment of a broken col- 
 umn, relieved the general uniformity with a 
 speck of crimson. 
 
 After this rapid glance at the aspect of the 
 landscape, let us return to the cangia with 
 its fifty rowers, and, without announcing 
 ourselves, enter boldly into the naos of 
 honor. 
 
 The interior was painted white with green 
 arabesques, bands of vermilion, and gilt 
 flowers fantastically shaped ; an exceedingly 
 fine rush matting covered the floor ; at the 
 further end stood a little bed, supported 
 upon griffin's feet, having a back resem- 
 bling that of a modern lounge or sofa; a 
 stool with four steps to enable one to climb 
 into bed ; and (rather an odd luxury accord- 
 ing to our ideas of comfort) a sort of hemi- 
 cycle of cedar wood, supported upon a single 
 leg, and designed to fit the nape of the neck 
 so as to support the head of the person re- 
 clining. 
 
 Upon this strange pillow reposed a most
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS n 
 
 charming head, one look of which once 
 caused the loss of half a world ; an adorable, 
 a divine head ; the head of the most perfect 
 woman that ever lived ; the most womanly 
 and most queenly of all women ; an admir- 
 able type of beauty which the imagination 
 of poets could never invest with any new 
 grace, and which dreamers will find forever 
 in the depths of their dreams it is not nec- 
 essary to name Cleopatra. 
 
 Beside her stood her favorite slave Char- 
 mion, waving a large fan of ibis feathers; 
 and a young girl was moistening with scented 
 water the little reed blinds attached to 
 the windows of the naos, so that the air 
 might only enter impregnated with fresh 
 odors. 
 
 Near the bed of repose, in a striped vase 
 of alabaster with a slender neck and a pecul- 
 iarly elegant, tapering shape, vaguely re- 
 calling the form of a heron, was placed a 
 bouquet of lotus-flowers, some of a celestial 
 blue, others of a tender rose-color, like the 
 finger-tips of Isis the great goddess. 
 
 Either from caprice or policy, Cleopatra 
 did not wear the Greek dress that day. She
 
 12 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 had just attended a panegyris,* and was re- 
 turning to her summer palace still clad in 
 the Egyptian costume she had worn at the 
 festival. 
 
 Perhaps our fair readers will feel curious 
 to know how Queen Cleopatra was attired 
 on her return from the Mammisi of Her- 
 monthis whereat were worshipped the holy 
 triad of the god Mandou, the goddess Ritho, 
 and their son, Harphra; luckily we are able 
 to satisfy them in this regard. 
 
 For headdress Queen Cleopatra wore a 
 kind of very light helmet of beaten gold, 
 fashioned in the form of the body and wings 
 of the sacred partridge. The wings, opening 
 downward like fans, covered the temples, 
 and extending below, almost to the neck, 
 left exposed on either side, through a small 
 aperture, an ear rosier and more delicately 
 curled than the shell whence arose that 
 Venus whom the Egyptians named Athor; 
 
 * Panegyris ; pi. , panegyreis, from the Greek vav^yvpit, 
 signifies the meeting of a whole people to worship at a 
 common sanctuary or participate in a national religious 
 festival. The assemblies at the Olympic, Pythian, Nemean, 
 or Isthmian games were in this sense fanegyreis. See 
 Smith's Diet. Antiq. [Trans.]
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 13 
 
 the tail of the bird occupied that place 
 where our women wear their chignons; its 
 body, covered with imbricated feathers, and 
 painted in variegated enamel, concealed the 
 upper part of the head ; and its neck, grace- 
 fully curving forward over the forehead of 
 the wearer, formed together with its little 
 head a kind of horn-shaped ornament, all 
 sparkling with precious stones ; a symbolic 
 crest, designed like a tower, completed this 
 odd but elegant headdress. Hair dark as a 
 starless night flowed from beneath this hel- 
 met, and streamed in long tresses over the 
 fair shoulders whereof the commencement 
 only, alas ! was left exposed by a collarette, 
 or gorget, adorned with many rows of ser- 
 pentine stones, azodrachs, and chrysoberyls ; 
 a linen robe diagonally cut a mist of mate- 
 rial, of woven air, ventus textilis as Petro- 
 nius says, undulated in vapory whiteness 
 about a lovely body whose outlines it 
 scarcely shaded with the softest shading. 
 This robe had half-sleeves, tight at the 
 shoulder, but widening toward the elbows 
 like our manches-&-sabot, and permitting a 
 glimpse of an adorable arm and a perfect
 
 14 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 hand, the arm being clasped by six golden 
 bracelets, and the hand adorned with a ring 
 representing the sacred scarabaeus. A girdle, 
 whose knotted ends hung down in front, 
 confined this free-floating tunic at the waist ; 
 a short cloak adorned with fringing com- 
 pleted the costume ; and, if a few barbarous 
 words will not frighten Parisian ears, we 
 might add that the robe was called schenti, 
 and the short cloak, calisiris. 
 
 Finally, we may observe that Queen Cleo- 
 patra wore very thin, light sandals, turned 
 up at the toes, and fastened over the instep, 
 like the souliers-h-la-poulaine of the mediae- 
 val chatelaines, 
 
 But Queen Cleopatra did not wear that 
 air of satisfaction which becomes a woman 
 conscious of being perfectly beautiful and 
 perfectly well dressed. She tossed and turned 
 in her little bed, and her sudden movements 
 momentarily disarranged the folds of her 
 gauzy conopeum, which Charmion as often 
 rearranged with inexhaustible patience, and 
 without ceasing to wave her fan. 
 
 "This room is stifling," said Cleopatra; 
 " even if Pthah the God of Fire established
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 15 
 
 his forges in here, he could not make it hot- 
 ter; the air is like the breath of a furnace ! " 
 And she moistened her lips with the tip of 
 her little tongue, and stretched out her hand 
 like a feverish patient seeking an absent 
 cup. 
 
 Charmion, ever attentive, at once clapped 
 her hands. A black slave clothed in a short 
 tunic hanging in folds like an Albanian petti- 
 coat, and a panther-skin thrown over his 
 shoulders, entered with the suddenness of 
 an apparition ; with his left hand balancing 
 a tray laden with cups, and slices of water- 
 melon, and carrying in his right a long vase 
 with a spout like a modern teapot. 
 
 The slave filled one of these cups, pour- 
 ing the liquor into it from a considerable 
 height with marvellous dexterity, and 
 placed it before the queen. Cleopatra 
 merely touched the beverage with her lips, 
 laid the cup down beside her, and turning 
 upon Charmion her beautiful liquid black 
 eyes, lustrous with living light, exclaimed : 
 
 " O Charmion, I am weary unto death! "
 
 16 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 CHARMION, at once anticipating a confi- 
 dence, assumed a look of pained sympathy, 
 and drew nearer to her mistress. 
 
 " I am horribly weary! " continued Cleo- 
 patra, letting her arms fall like one utterly 
 discouraged. " This Egypt crushes, annihi- 
 lates me; this sky with its implacable azure 
 is sadder than the deep night of Erebus; 
 never a cloud, never a shadow, and always 
 that red, sanguine sun, which glares down 
 upon you like the eye of a Cyclops. Ah, 
 Charmion, I would give a pearl for one drop 
 of rain ! From the inflamed pupil of that 
 sky of bronze no tear has ever yet fallen 
 upon the desolation of this land ; it is only a 
 vast covering for a tomb the dome of a 
 necropolis; a sky dead and dried up like the 
 mummies it hangs over; it weighs upon my 
 shoulders like an over-heavy mantle ; it con- 
 strains and terrifies me; it seems to me that 
 I could not stand up erect without striking 
 my forehead against it. And, moreover, 
 this land is truly an awful land ; all things
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 17 
 
 in it are gloomy, enigmatic, incomprehensi- 
 ble. Imagination has produced in it only 
 monstrous chimeras and monuments im- 
 measurable; this architecture and this art 
 fill me with fear; those colossi, whose stone- 
 entangled limbs compel them to remain eter- 
 nally sitting with their hands upon their 
 knees, weary me with their stupid immobil- 
 ity; they trouble my eyes and my horizon. 
 When, indeed, shall the giant come who is 
 to take them by the hand and relieve them 
 from their long watch of twenty centuries ? 
 For even granite itself must grow weary at 
 last ! Of what master, then, do they await 
 the coming, to leave their mountain-seats 
 and rise in token of respect ? Of what invisi- 
 ble flock are those huge sphinxes the guard- 
 ians, crouching like dogs on the watch, that 
 they never close their eyelids, and forever 
 extend their claws in readiness to seize ? 
 Why are their stony eyes so obstinately fixed 
 upon eternity and infinity ? What weird 
 secret do their firmly locked lips retain 
 within their breasts ? On the right hand, 
 on the left, whithersoever one turns, only 
 frightful monsters are visible dogs with the
 
 1 8 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 heads of men ; men with the heads of dogs; 
 chimeras begotten of hideous couplings in 
 the shadowy depths of the labyrinths ; fig- 
 ures of Anubis, Typhon, Osiris; partridges 
 with great yellow eyes that seem to pierce 
 through you with their inquisitorial gaze, 
 and see beyond and behind you things which 
 one dare not speak of a family of animals 
 and horrible gods with scaly wings, hooked 
 beaks, trenchant claws, ever ready to seize 
 and devour you should you venture to cross 
 the threshold of the temple, or lift a corner 
 of the veil. 
 
 " Upon the walls, upon the columns, on 
 the ceilings, on the floors, upon palaces and 
 temples, in the long passages and the deep- 
 est pits of the necropoli, even within the 
 bowels of the earth where light never comes, 
 and where the flames of the torches die for 
 want of air, forever and everywhere are 
 sculptured and painted interminable hiero- 
 glyphics, telling in language unintelligible 
 of things which are no longer known, and 
 which belong, doubtless, to the vanished 
 creations of the past prodigious buried 
 works wherein a whole nation was sacrificed
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 19 
 
 to write the epitaph of one king ! Mystery 
 and granite this is Egypt ! Truly a fair land 
 for a young woman, and a young queen. 
 
 " Menacing and funereal symbols alone 
 meet the eye the emblems of the pedum, 
 the tau, allegorical globes, coiling serpents, 
 and the scales in which souls are weighed 
 the Unknown, death, nothingness. In the 
 place of any vegetation only steles limned 
 with weird characters; instead of avenues 
 of trees, avenues of granite obelisks ; in lieu 
 of soil, vast pavements of granite for which 
 whole mountains could each furnish but one 
 slab ; in place of a sky, ceilings of granite 
 eternity made palpable, a bitter and ever- 
 lasting sarcasm upon the frailty and brevity 
 of life stairways built only for the limbs 
 of Titans, which the human foot cannot 
 ascend save by the aid of ladders ; columns 
 that a hundred arms cannot encircle; laby- 
 rinths in which one might travel for years 
 without discovering the termination the 
 vertigo of enormity, the drunkenness of the 
 gigantic, the reckless efforts of that pride 
 which would at any cost engrave its name 
 deeply upon the face of the world.
 
 20 ONE OF CLEOPATRA S NIGHTS 
 
 " And, moreover, Charmion, I tell you a 
 thought haunts me which terrifies me. In 
 other lands of the earth, corpses are burned, 
 and their ashes soon mingle with the soil. 
 Here, it is said that the living have no other 
 occupation than that of preserving the dead. 
 Potent balms save them from destruction ; 
 the remains endure after the soul has evapo- 
 rated. Beneath this people lie twenty peo- 
 ples; each city stands upon twenty layers 
 of necropoli; each generation which passes 
 away leaves a population of mummies to a 
 shadowy city. Beneath the father you find 
 the grandfather and the great-grandfather 
 in their gilded and painted boxes, even as 
 they were during life; and should you dig 
 down forever, forever you would still find 
 the underlying dead. 
 
 ' When I think upon those bandage- 
 swathed myriads those multitudes of 
 parched spectres who fill the sepulchral pits, 
 and who have been there for two thousand 
 years face to face in their own silence, which 
 nothing ever breaks, not even the noise 
 which the graveworms make in crawling, 
 and who will be found intact after yet an-
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 21 
 
 other two thousand years, with their croco- 
 diles, their cats, their ibises, and all things 
 that lived in their lifetime then terrors seize 
 me, and I feel my flesh creep. What do 
 they mutter to each other ? For they still 
 have lips, and every ghost would find its 
 body in the same state as when it quitted it, 
 if they should all take the fancy to return. 
 
 " Ah, truly is Egypt a sinister kingdom 
 and little suited to me, the laughter-loving 
 and merry one. Everything in it encloses a 
 mummy; that is the heart and the kernel of 
 all things. After a thousand turns you 
 must always end there; the Pyramids them- 
 selves hide sarcophagi. What nothingness 
 and madness is this ! Disembowel the sky 
 with gigantic triangles of stone you cannot 
 thereby lengthen your corpse an inch. How 
 can one rejoice and live in a land like this, 
 where the only perfume you can respire is 
 the acrid odor of the naphtha and bitumen 
 which boil in the caldrons of the embalmers, 
 where the very flooring of your chamber 
 sounds hollow because the corridors of the 
 hypogea and the mortuary pits extend even 
 under your alcove? To be the queen of
 
 22 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 mummies, to have none to converse with 
 but statues in constrained and rigid atti- 
 tudes this is, in truth, a cheerful lot. 
 Again, if I only had some heartfelt passion 
 to relieve this melancholy, some interest in 
 life; if I could but love somebody or some- 
 thing; if I were even loved; but I am not. 
 
 ' This is why I am weary, Charmion. 
 With love, this grim and arid Egypt would 
 seem to me fairer than even Greece with her 
 ivory gods, her temples of snowy marble, 
 her groves of laurel, and fountains of living 
 water. There I should never dream of the 
 weird face of Anubis and the ghastly ter- 
 rors of the cities underground." 
 
 Charmion smiled incredulously. " That 
 ought not, surely, to be a source of much 
 grief to you, O queen ; for every glance of 
 your eyes transpierces hearts, like the golden 
 arrows of Eros himself." 
 
 " Can a queen," answered Cleopatra, 
 " ever know whether it is her face or her 
 diadem that is loved ? The rays of her 
 starry crown dazzle the eyes and the heart. 
 Were I to descend from the height of my 
 throne, would I even have the celebrity or
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 23 
 
 the popularity of Bacchis or Archianassa, 
 of the first courtesan from Athens or Mile- 
 tus ? A queen is something so far removed 
 from men, so elevated, so widely separated 
 from them, so impossible for them to reach ! 
 What presumption dare flatter itself in such 
 an enterprise ? It is not simply a woman, 
 it is an august and sacred being that has no 
 sex, and that is worshipped kneeling with- 
 out being loved. Who was ever really 
 enamoured of Hera the snowy-armed or 
 Pallas of the sea-green eyes ? Who ever 
 sought to kiss the silver feet of Thetis or 
 the rosy fingers of Aurora ? What lover of 
 the divine beauties ever took unto himself 
 wings that he might soar to the golden pal- 
 aces of heaven ? Respect and fear chill 
 hearts in our presence, and in order to ob- 
 tain the love of our equals, one must de- 
 scend into those necropoli of which I have 
 just been speaking." 
 
 Although she offered no further objection 
 to the arguments of her mistress, a vague 
 smile which played about the lips of the hand- 
 some Greek slave showed that she had little 
 faith in the inviolability of the royal person.
 
 24 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 " Ah," continued Cleopatra, " I wish that 
 something would happen to me, some 
 strange, unexpected adventure. The songs 
 of the poets ; the dances of the Syrian slaves ; 
 the banquets, rose garlanded, and prolonged 
 into the dawn; the nocturnal races; the La- 
 conian dogs; the tame lions; the hump- 
 backed dwarfs; the brotherhood of the In- 
 imitables; the combats of the arena; the 
 new dresses; the byssus robes; the clusters 
 of pearls ; the perfumes from Asia ; the most 
 exquisite of luxuries; the wildest of splen- 
 dors nothing any longer gives me pleasure. 
 Everything has become indifferent to me, 
 everything is insupportable to me." 
 
 " It is easily to be seen," muttered Char- 
 mion to herself, " that the queen has not 
 had a lover nor had anyone killed for a 
 whole month." 
 
 Fatigued with so lengthy a tirade, Cleo- 
 patra once more took the cup placed beside 
 her, moistened her lips with it, and putting 
 her head beneath her arm, like a dove put- 
 ting its head under its wing, composed her- 
 self for slumber as best she could. Charmion 
 unfastened her sandals and commenced to
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 25 
 
 gently tickle the soles of her feet with a pea- 
 cock's feather, and Sleep soon sprinkled his 
 golden dust upon the beautiful eyes of Ptol- 
 emy's sister. 
 
 While Cleopatra sleeps, let us ascend upon 
 deck and enjoy the glorious sunset view. 
 A broad band of violet color, warmed deeply 
 with ruddy tints toward the west, occupies 
 all the lower portion of the sky ; encounter- 
 ing the zone of azure above, the violet shade 
 melts into a clear lilac, and fades off through 
 half-rosy tints into the blue beyond; afar, 
 where the sun, red as a buckler fallen from 
 the furnace of Vulcan, casts his burning re- 
 flection, the deeper shades turn to pale cit- 
 ron hues, and glow with turquoise tints. 
 The water, rippling under an oblique beam 
 of light, shines with the dull gleam of the 
 quicksilvered side of a mirror, or like a 
 damascened blade. The sinuosities of the 
 bank, the reeds, and all objects along the 
 shore are brought out in sharp black relief 
 against the bright glow. By the aid of this 
 crepuscular light you may perceive afar off, 
 like a grain of dust floating upon quicksilver, 
 a little brown speck trembling in the net-
 
 26 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 work of luminous ripples. Is it a teal div- 
 ing, a tortoise lazily drifting with the cur- 
 rent, a crocodile raising the tip of his scaly 
 snout above the water to breathe the cooler 
 air of evening, the belly of a hippopotamus 
 gleaming amidstream, or perhaps a rock left 
 bare by the falling of the river ? For the 
 ancient Opi-Mou, Father of Waters, sadly 
 needs to replenish his dry urn from the sol- 
 stitial rains of the Mountains of the Moon. 
 
 It is none of these. By the atoms of 
 Osiris so deftly resewn together, it is a man, 
 who seems to walk, to skate, upon the water ! 
 Now the frail bark which sustains him be- 
 comes visible, a very nutshell of a boat, a 
 hollow fish; three strips of bark fitted to- 
 gether (one for the bottom and two for the 
 sides), and strongly fastened at either end 
 by cord well smeared with bitumen. The 
 man stands erect, with one foot on either 
 side of this fragile vessel, which he impels 
 with a single oar that also serves the pur- 
 pose of a rudder; and although the royal 
 cangia moves rapidly under the efforts of 
 the fifty rowers, the little black bark visibly 
 gains upon it.
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 27 
 
 Cleopatra desired some strange adventure, 
 something wholly unexpected. This little 
 bark which moves so mysteriously seems 
 to us to be conveying an adventure, or, at 
 least, an adventurer. Perhaps it contains 
 the hero of our story; the thing is not im- 
 possible. 
 
 At any rate he was a handsome youth of 
 twenty, with hair so black that it seemed to 
 own a tinge of blue, a skin blonde as gold, 
 and a form so perfectly proportioned that 
 he might have been taken for a bronze statue 
 by Lysippus. Although he had been row- 
 ing for a very long time he betrayed no sign 
 of fatigue, and not a single drop of sweat 
 bedewed his forehead. 
 
 The sun half sank below the horizon, and 
 against his broken disk figured the dark sil- 
 houette of a far distant city, which the eye 
 could not have distinguished but for this ac- 
 cidental effect of light. His radiance soon 
 faded altogether away, and the stars, fair 
 night-flowers of heaven, opened their chal- 
 ices of gold in the azure of the firmament. 
 The royal cangia, closely followed by the 
 little bark, stopped before a huge marble
 
 28 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 stairway, whereof each step supported one 
 of those sphinxes that Cleopatra so much 
 detested. This was the landing-place of the 
 summer palace. 
 
 Cleopatra, leaning upon Charmion, passed 
 swiftly, like a gleaming vision, between a 
 double line of lantern-bearing slaves. 
 
 The youth took from the bottom of his 
 little boat a great lion-skin, threw it across 
 his shoulders, drew the tiny shell upon the 
 beach, and wended his way toward the 
 palace. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 WHO is this young man, balancing him- 
 self upon a fragment of bark, who dares 
 follow the royal cangia, and is able to con- 
 tend in a race of speed against fifty strong 
 rowers from the land of Kush, all naked to 
 to the waist, and anointed with palm-oil ? 
 What secret motive urges him to this swift 
 pursuit ? That, indeed, is one of the many 
 things we are obliged to know in our char- 
 acter of the intuition-gifted poet, for whose 
 benefit all men, and even all women (a much
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 29 
 
 more difficult matter), must have in their 
 breasts that little window which Momus of 
 old demanded. 
 
 It is not a very easy thing to find out pre- 
 cisely what a young man from the land of 
 Kemi, who followed the barge of Cleopatra, 
 queen and goddess Evergetes, on her return 
 from the Mammisi of Hermonthis two thou- 
 sand years ago, was then thinking of. But 
 we shall make the effort notwithstanding. 
 
 Mei'amoun, son of Mandouschopsh, was 
 a youth of strange character; nothing by 
 which ordinary minds are affected made any 
 impression upon him. He seemed to belong 
 to some loftier race, and might well have 
 been regarded as the offspring of some 
 divine adultery. His glance had the steady 
 brilliancy of a falcon's gaze, and a serene 
 majesty sat on his brow as upon a pedestal 
 of marble; a noble pride curled his upper 
 lip, and expanded his nostrils like those of 
 a fiery horse. Although owning a grace of 
 form almost maidenly in its delicacy, and 
 though the bosom of the fair and effeminate 
 god Dionysos was not more softly rounded 
 or smoother than his, yet beneath this soft
 
 30 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 exterior were hidden sinews of steel and the 
 strength of Hercules a strange privilege of 
 certain antique natures to unite in them- 
 selves the beauty of woman with the strength 
 of man. 
 
 As for his complexion, we must acknowl- 
 edge that it was of a tawny orange color, a 
 hue little in accordance with our white-and- 
 rose ideas of beauty ; but which did not pre- 
 vent him from being a very charming young 
 man, much sought after by all kinds of 
 women yellow, red, copper-colored, sooty- 
 black, or golden skinned, and even by one 
 fair, white Greek. 
 
 Do not suppose from this that Mei'amoun's 
 lot was altogether enviable. The ashes of 
 aged Priam, the very snows of Hippolytus, 
 were not more insensible or more frigid ; the 
 young white-robed neophyte preparing for 
 the initiation into the mysteries of Isis led 
 no chaster life ; the young maiden benumbed 
 by the icy shadow of her mother was not 
 more shyly pure. 
 
 Nevertheless, for so coy a youth, the 
 pleasures of Meiamoun were certainly of a 
 singular nature. He would go forth quietly
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 31 
 
 some morning with his little buckler of hip- 
 popotamus hide, his harpe or curved sword, 
 a triangular bow, and a snake-skin quiver 
 filled with barbed arrows; then he would 
 ride at a gallop far into the desert, upon his 
 slender-limbed, small-headed, wild-maned 
 mare, until he could find some lion-tracks. 
 He especially delighted in taking the little 
 lion-cubs from underneath the belly of their 
 mother. In all things he loved the perilous 
 or the unachievable. He preferred to walk 
 where it seemed impossible for any human 
 being to obtain a foothold, or to swim in a 
 raging torrent, and he had accordingly chosen 
 the neighborhood of the cataracts for his 
 bathing place in the Nile. The Abyss called 
 him! * 
 
 Such was Mei'amoun, son of Mandou- 
 schopsh. 
 
 For some time his humors had been grow- 
 ing more savage than ever. During whole 
 months he buried himself in the Ocean of 
 Sands, returning only at long intervals. 
 Vainly would his uneasy mother lean from 
 her terrace and gaze anxiously down the 
 long road with tireless eyes. At last, after
 
 32 ONE OF CLEOPATRA S NIGHTS 
 
 weary waiting, a little whirling cloud of dust 
 would become visible in the horizon, and 
 finally the cloud would open to allow a full 
 view of Meiamoun, all covered with dust, 
 riding upon a mare gaunt as a wolf, with red 
 and bloodshot eyes, nostrils trembling, and 
 huge scars along her flanks scars which cer- 
 tainly were not made by spurs. 
 
 After having hung up in his room some 
 hyena or lion skin, he would start off again. 
 
 And yet no one might have been hap- 
 pier than Meiamoun. He was beloved by 
 Nephthe, daughter of the priest Afomou- 
 this, and the loveliest woman of the Nome 
 Arsinoites. Only such a being as Meiamoun 
 could have failed to see that Nephthe had 
 the most charmingly oblique and indescrib- 
 ably voluptuous eyes, a mouth sweetly il- 
 luminated by ruddy smiles, little teeth of 
 wondrous whiteness and transparency, arms 
 exquisitely round, and feet more perfect 
 than the jasper feet of the statue of Isis. 
 Assuredly there was not a smaller hand nor 
 longer hair than hers in all Egypt. The 
 charms of Nephthe could have been eclipsed 
 only by those of Cleopatra. But who could
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 33 
 
 dare to dream of loving Cleopatra ? Ixion, 
 enamoured of Juno, strained only a cloud to 
 his bosom, and must forever roll the wheel 
 of his punishment in hell. 
 
 It was Cleopatra whom Mei'amoun loved. 
 
 He had at first striven to tame this wild 
 passion ; he had wrestled fiercely with it ; but 
 love cannot be strangled even as a lion is 
 strangled, and the strong skill of the mighti- 
 est athlete avails nothing in such a contest. 
 The arrow had remained in the wound, and 
 he carried it with him everywhere. The 
 radiant and splendid image of Cleopatra, with 
 her golden-pointed diadem and her imperial 
 purple, standing above a nation on their 
 knees, illumined his nightly dreams and his 
 waking thoughts. Like some imprudent 
 man who has dared to look at the sun and 
 forever thereafter beholds an impalpable 
 blot floating before his eyes, so Mei'amoun 
 ever beheld Cleopatra. Eagles may gaze 
 undazzled at the sun, but what diamond eye 
 can with impunity fix itself upon a beautiful 
 woman, a beautiful queen ? 
 
 He commenced at last to spend his life in 
 wandering about the neighborhood of the 
 3
 
 34 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 royal dwelling, that he might at least breathe 
 the same air as Cleopatra, that he might 
 sometimes kiss the almost imperceptible 
 print of her foot upon the sand (a happi- 
 ness, alas! rare indeed). He attended the 
 sacred festivals and panegyreis, striving to 
 obtain one beaming glance of her eyes, to 
 catch in passing one stealthy glimpse of her 
 loveliness in some of its thousand varied 
 aspects. At other moments, filled with sud- 
 den shame of this mad life, he gave him- 
 self up to the chase with redoubled ardor, 
 and sought by fatigue to tame the ardor 
 of his blood and the impetuosity of his 
 desires. 
 
 He had gone to the panegyris of Her- 
 monthis, and, in the vague hope of behold- 
 ing the queen again for an instant as she 
 disembarked at the summer palace, had fol- 
 lowed her cangia in his boat little heeding 
 the sharp stings of the sun through a heat 
 intense enough to make the panting sphinxes 
 melt in lava-sweat upon their reddened 
 pedestals. 
 
 And then he felt that the supreme mo- 
 ment was nigh, that the decisive instant of
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 35 
 
 his life was at hand, and that he could not 
 die with his secret in his breast. 
 
 It is a strange situation truly to find one- 
 self enamoured of a queen. It is as though 
 one loved a star; yet she, the star, comes 
 forth nightly to sparkle in her place in 
 heaven. It is a kind of mysterious rendez- 
 vous. You may find her again, you may see 
 her; she is not offended at your gaze. Oh, 
 misery! to be poor, unknown, obscure, 
 seated at the very foot of the ladder, and to 
 feel one's heart breaking with love for some- 
 thing glittering, solemn, and magnificent 
 for a woman whose meanest female attend- 
 ant would scorn you ! to gaze fixedly and 
 fatefully upon one who never sees you, who 
 never will see you ; one to whom you are no 
 more than a ripple on the sea of humanity, 
 in nowise differing from the other ripples, 
 and who might a hundred times encounter 
 you without once recognizing you ; to have 
 no reason to offer should an opportunity for 
 addressing her present itself in excuse for 
 such mad audacity neither poetical talent, 
 nor great genius, nor any superhuman quali- 
 fication nothing but love ; and to be able
 
 36 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 to offer in exchange for beauty, nobility, 
 power, and all imaginable splendor only 
 one's passion and one's youth rare offer- 
 ings, forsooth ! 
 
 Such were the thoughts which over- 
 whelmed Me'iamoun. Lying upon the sand, 
 supporting his chin on his palms, he per- 
 mitted himself to be lifted and borne away 
 by the inexhaustible current of reverie; he 
 sketched out a thousand projects, each mad- 
 der than the last. He felt convinced that 
 he was seeking after the unattainable, but 
 he lacked the courage to frankly renounce 
 his undertaking, and a perfidious hope 
 came to whisper some lying promises in his 
 ear. 
 
 " Athor, mighty goddess," he murmured 
 in a deep voice, " what evil have I done 
 against thee that I should be made thus mis- 
 erable ? Art thou avenging thyself for my 
 disdain of Nephthe, daughter of the priest 
 Afomouthis ? Hast thou afflicted me thus 
 for having rejected the love of Lamia, the 
 Athenian hetaira, or of Flora, the Roman 
 courtesan ? Is it my fault that my heart 
 should be sensible only to the matchless
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 37 
 
 beauty of thy rival, Cleopatra ? Why hast 
 thou wounded my soul with the envenomed 
 arrow of unattainable love ? What sacrifice, 
 what offerings dost thou desire ? Must I 
 erect to thee a chapel of the rosy marble of 
 Syene with columns crowned by gilded capi- 
 tals, a ceiling all of one block, and hiero- 
 glyphics deeply sculptured by the best work- 
 men of Memphis and of Thebes ? Answer 
 me." 
 
 Like all gods or goddesses thus invoked, 
 Athor answered not a word, and Mei'amoun 
 resolved upon a desperate expedient. 
 
 Cleopatra, on her part, likewise invoked 
 the goddess Athor. She prayed for a new 
 pleasure, for some fresh sensation. As she 
 languidly reclined upon her couch she 
 thought to herself that the number of the 
 senses was sadly limited, that the most ex- 
 quisite refinements of delight soon yielded 
 to satiety, and that it was really no small 
 task for a queen to find means of occupying 
 her time. To test new poisons upon slaves; 
 to make men fight with tigers, or gladiators 
 with each other; to drink pearls dissolved; 
 to swallow the wealth of a whole province
 
 38 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 all these things had become commonplace 
 and insipid. 
 
 Charmion was fairly at her wit's end, and 
 knew not what to do for her mistress. 
 
 Suddenly a whistling sound was heard, 
 and an arrow buried itself, quivering, in the 
 cedar wainscoting of the wall. 
 
 Cleopatra well-nigh fainted with terror. 
 Charmion ran to the window, leaned out, 
 and beheld only a flake of foam on the sur- 
 face of the river. A scroll of papyrus encir- 
 cled the wood of the arrow. It bore only 
 these words, written in Phoenician charac- 
 ters, " I love you ! " 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 " I LOVE you," repeated Cleopatra, mak- 
 ingthe serpent-coiling strip of papyrus writhe 
 between her delicate white fingers. ' Those 
 are the words I longed for. What intelli- 
 gent spirit, what invisible genius has thus 
 so fully comprehended my desire ? " 
 
 And thoroughly aroused from her languid 
 torpor, she sprang out of bed with the agil- 
 ity of a cat which has scented a mouse,
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 39 
 
 placed her little ivory feet in her embroid- 
 ered tatbebs, threw a byssus tunic over her 
 shoulders, and ran to the window from 
 which Charmion was still gazing. 
 
 The night was clear and calm. The risen 
 moon outlined with huge angles of light and 
 shadow the architectural masses of the pal- 
 ace, which stood out in strong relief against 
 a background of bluish transparency; and 
 the waters of the river, wherein her reflection 
 lengthened into a shining column, were frost- 
 ed with silvery ripples. A gentle breeze, such 
 as might have been mistaken for the respira- 
 tion of the slumbering sphinxes, quivered 
 among the reeds and shook the azure bells 
 of the lotus flowers ; the cables of the vessels 
 moored to the Nile's banks groaned feebly, 
 and the rippling tide moaned upon the shore 
 like a dove lamenting for its mate. A vague 
 perfume of vegetation, sweeter than that of 
 the aromatics burned in the anschir of the 
 priests of Anubis, floated into the chamber. 
 It was one of those enchanted nights of the 
 Orient, which are more splendid than our 
 fairest days ; for our sun can ill compare with 
 that Oriental moon.
 
 4o ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 " Do you not see far over there, almost in 
 the middle of the river, the head of a man 
 swimming ? See, he crosses that track of 
 light, and passes into the shadow beyond ! 
 He is already out of sight ! " And, support- 
 ing herself upon Charmion's shoulder, she 
 leaned out, with half of her fair body be- 
 yond the sill of the window, in the effort to 
 catch another glimpse of the mysterious 
 swimmer ; but a grove of Nile acacias, 
 dhoum-palms, and sayals flung its deep 
 shadow upon the river in that direction, and 
 protected the flight of the daring fugitive. 
 If Meiamoun had but had the courtesy to 
 look back, he might have beheld Cleopa- 
 tra, the sidereal queen, eagerly seeking him 
 through the night gloom he, the poor ob- 
 scure Egyptian, the miserable lion-hunter. 
 
 " Charmion, Charmion, send hither Phre- 
 hipephbour, the chief of the rowers, and 
 have two boats despatched in pursuit of that 
 man ! " cried Cleopatra, whose curiosity was 
 excited to the highest pitch. 
 
 Phrehipephbour appeared, a man of the 
 race of Nahasi, with large hands and muscu- 
 lar arms, wearing a red cap not unlike a
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 41 
 
 Phrygian helmet in form, and clad only in a 
 pair of narrow drawers diagonally striped 
 with white and blue. His huge torso, en- 
 tirely nude, black and polished like a globe 
 of jet, shone under the lamplight. He re- 
 ceived the commands of the queen and 
 instantly retired to execute them. 
 
 Two long, narrow boats, so light that the 
 least inattention to equilibrium would cap- 
 size them, were soon cleaving the waters 
 of the Nile with hissing rapidity under the 
 efforts of the twenty vigorous rowers, but 
 the pursuit was all in vain. After searching 
 the river banks in every direction, and care- 
 fully exploring every patch of reeds, Phre- 
 hipephbour returned to the palace, having 
 only succeeded in putting to flight some soli- 
 tary heron which had been sleeping on one 
 leg, or in troubling the digestion of some 
 terrified crocodile. 
 
 So intense was the vexation of Cleopatra 
 at being thus foiled, that she felt a strong 
 inclination to condemn Phrehipephbour 
 either to the wild beasts or to the hardest 
 labor at the grindstone. Happily, Charmion 
 interceded for the trembling unfortunate,
 
 42 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 who turned pale with fear, despite his black 
 skin. It was the first time in Cleopatra's 
 life that one of her desires had not been 
 gratified as soon as expressed, and she ex- 
 perienced, in consequence, a kind of uneasy 
 surprise; a first doubt, as it were, of her 
 own omnipotence. 
 
 She, Cleopatra, wife and sister of Ptolemy 
 she who had been proclaimed goddess Ever- 
 getes, living queen of the regions Above and 
 Below, Eye of Light, Chosen of the Sun (as 
 may still be read within the cartouches sculp- 
 tured on the walls of the temples) she to 
 find an obstacle in her path, to have wished 
 aught that failed of accomplishment, to have 
 spoken and not been obeyed ! As well be 
 the wife of some wretched Paraschistes, 
 some corpse-cutter, and melt natron in a 
 caldron ! It was monstrous, preposterous ! 
 and none but the most gentle and clement 
 of queens could have refrained from crucify- 
 ing that miserable Phrehipephbour. 
 
 You wished for some adventure, some- 
 thing strange and unexpected. Your wish 
 has been gratified. You find that your king- 
 dom is not so dead as you deemed it. It
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 43 
 
 was not the stony arm of a statue which shot 
 that arrow; it was not from a mummy's 
 heart that came those three words which 
 have moved even you you who smilingly 
 watched your poisoned slaves dashing their 
 heads and beating their feet upon your beau- 
 tiful mosaic and porphyry pavements in the 
 convulsions of death-agony; you who even 
 applauded the tiger which boldly buried its 
 muzzle in the flank of some vanquished 
 gladiator. 
 
 You could obtain all else you might wish 
 for chariots of silver, starred with emeralds ; 
 griffin-quadrigerae ; tunics of purple thrice- 
 dyed ; mirrors of molten steel, so clear that 
 you might find the charms of your loveliness 
 faithfully copied in them; robes from the 
 land of Serica, so fine and subtly light that 
 they could be drawn through the ring worn 
 upon your little finger ; Orient pearls of won- 
 drous color; cups wrought by Myron or 
 Lysippus ; Indian paroquets that speak like 
 poets all things else you could obtain, even 
 should you ask for the Cestus of Venus or 
 the pshent of Isis, but most certainly you 
 cannot this night capture the man who shot
 
 44 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 the arrow which still quivers in the cedar 
 wood of your couch. 
 
 The task of the slaves who must dress you 
 to-morrow will not be a grateful one. They 
 will hardly escape with blows. The bosom 
 of the unskilful waiting-maid will be apt to 
 prove a cushion for the golden pins of the 
 toilette, and the poor hairdresser will run 
 great risk of being suspended by her feet 
 from the ceiling. 
 
 ' Who could have had the audacity to 
 send me this avowal upon the shaft of an 
 arrow ? Could it have been the Nomarch 
 Amoun-Ra who fancies himself handsomer 
 than the Apollo of the Greeks ? What think 
 you, Charmion ? Or perhaps Cheapsiro, 
 commander of Hermothybia, who is so 
 boastful of his conquests in the land of 
 Kush ? Or is it not more likely to have 
 been young Sextus, that Roman debauchee 
 who paints his face, lisps in speaking, and 
 wears sleeves in the fashion of the Persians ? " 
 
 " Queen, it was none of those. Though 
 you are indeed the fairest of women, those 
 men only flatter you ; they do not love you. 
 The Nomarch Amoun-Ra has chosen him-
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 45 
 
 self an idol to which he will be forever faith- 
 ful, and that is his own person. The war- 
 rior Cheapsiro thinks of nothing save the 
 pleasure of recounting his victories. As for 
 Sextus, he is so seriously occupied with the 
 preparation of a new cosmetic that he cannot 
 dream of anything else. Besides, he had 
 just purchased some Laconian dresses, a 
 number of yellow tunics embroidered with 
 gold, and some Asiatic children which ab- 
 sorb all his time. Not one of those fine 
 lords would risk his head in so daring and 
 dangerous an undertaking; they do not love 
 you well enough for that. 
 
 " Yesterday, in your cangia, you said that 
 men dared not fix their dazzled eyes upon 
 you ; that they knew only how to turn pale 
 in your presence, to fall at your feet and 
 supplicate your mercy; and that your sole 
 remaining resource would be to awake some 
 ancient, bitumen-perfumed Pharaoh from 
 his gilded coffin. Now here is an ardent 
 and youthful heart that loves you. What 
 will you do with it ? " 
 
 Cleopatra that night sought slumber in 
 vain. She tossed feverishly upon her couch,
 
 46 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 and long and vainly invoked Morpheus, the 
 brother of Death. She incessantly repeated 
 that she was the most unhappy of queens, 
 that every one sought to persecute her, and 
 that her life had become insupportable ; woe- 
 ful lamentations which had little effect upon 
 Charmion, although she pretended to sym- 
 pathize with them. 
 
 Let us for a while leave Cleopatra to seek 
 fugitive sleep, and direct her suspicions suc- 
 cessively upon each noble of the court. Let 
 us return to Mei'amoun, and as we are much 
 more sagacious than Phrehipephbour, chief 
 of the rowers, we shall have no difficulty in 
 finding him. 
 
 Terrified at his own hardihood, Mei'amoun 
 had thrown himself into the Nile, and had 
 succeeded in swimming the current and gain- 
 ing the little grove of dhoum-palms before 
 Phrehipephbour had even launched the two 
 boats in pursuit of him. 
 
 When he had recovered breath, and 
 brushed back his long black locks, all damp 
 with river foam, behind his ears, he began 
 to feel more at ease, more inwardly calm. 
 Cleopatra possessed something which had
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 47 
 
 come from him ; some sort of communica- 
 tion was now established between them. 
 Cleopatra was thinking of him, Meiamoun. 
 Perhaps that thought might be one of wrath ; 
 but then he had at least been able to awake 
 some feeling within her, whether of fear, 
 anger, or pity. He had forced her to the 
 consciousness of his existence. It was true 
 that he had forgotten to inscribe his name 
 upon the papyrus scroll, but what more 
 of him could the queen have learned from 
 the inscription, Meiamoun, Son of Mandou- 
 schopsh ? In her eyes the slave and the mon- 
 arch were equal. A goddess in choosing a 
 peasant for her lover stoops no lower than 
 in choosing a patrician or a king. The Im- 
 mortals from a height so lofty can behold 
 only love in the man of their choice. 
 
 The thought which had weighed upon his 
 breast like the knee of a colossus of brass 
 had at last departed. It had traversed the 
 air; it had even reached the queen herself, 
 the apex of the triangle, the inaccessible 
 summit. It had aroused curiosity in that 
 impassive heart ; a prodigious advance, truly, 
 toward success.
 
 48 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 MeTamoun, indeed, never suspected that 
 he had so thoroughly succeeded in this wise, 
 but he felt more tranquil ; for he had sworn 
 unto himself by that mystic Bari who guides 
 the souls of the dead to Amenthi, by the 
 sacred birds Bermou and Ghenghen, by Ty- 
 phon and by Osiris, and by all things aw- 
 ful in Egyptian mythology, that he should 
 be the accepted lover of Cleopatra, though 
 it were but for a single night, though for 
 only a single hour, though it should cost 
 him his life and even his very soul. 
 
 If we must explain how he had fallen so 
 deeply in love with a woman whom he had 
 beheld only from afar off, and to whom he 
 had hardly dared to raise his eyes even he 
 who was wont to gaze fearlessly into the 
 yellow eyes of the lion or how the tiny 
 seed of love, chance-fallen upon his heart, 
 had grown there so rapidly and extended its 
 roots so deeply, we can answer only that it 
 is a mystery which we are unable to ex- 
 plain. We have already said of Meiamoun, 
 The Abyss called him. 
 
 Once assured that Phrehipephbour had 
 returned with his rowers, he again threw
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 49 
 
 himself into the current and once more swam 
 toward the palace of Cleopatra, whose lamp 
 still shone through the window curtains like 
 a painted star. Never did Leander swim 
 with more courage and vigor toward the 
 tower of Sestos ; yet for Meiamoun no Hero 
 was waiting, ready to pour vials of perfume 
 upon his head to dissipate the briny odors 
 of the sea and banish the sharp kisses of the 
 storm. 
 
 A strong blow from some keen lance or 
 harpe was certainly the worst he had to fear, 
 and in truth he had but little fear of such 
 things. 
 
 He swam close under the walls of the pal- 
 ace, which bathed its marble feet in the 
 river's depths, and paused an instant before 
 a submerged archway into which the water 
 rushed downward in eddying whirls. Twice, 
 thrice he plunged into the vortex unsuccess- 
 fully. At last, with better luck, he found 
 the opening and disappeared. 
 
 This archway was the opening to a vaulted 
 canal which conducted the waters of the 
 Nile into the baths of Cleopatra,
 
 5o ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 CLEOPATRA found no rest until morning, 
 at the hour when wandering dreams reenter 
 the Ivory Gate. Amid the illusions of sleep 
 she beheld all kinds of lovers swimming rivers 
 and scaling walls in order to come to her, 
 and, through the vague souvenirs of the night 
 before, her dreams appeared fairly riddled 
 with arrows bearing declarations of love. 
 Starting nervously from time to time in her 
 troubled slumbers, she struck her little feet 
 unconsciously against the bosom of Char- 
 mion, who lay across the foot of the bed to 
 serve her as a cushion. 
 
 When she awoke, a merry sunbeam was 
 playing through the window curtain, whose 
 woof it penetrated with a thousand tiny 
 points of light, and thence came familiarly 
 to the bed, flitting like a golden butterfly 
 over her lovely shoulders, which it lightly 
 touched in passing by with a luminous kiss. 
 Happy sunbeam, which the gods might well 
 have envied. 
 
 In a faint voice, like that of a sick child,
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA S NIGHTS 51 
 
 Cleopatra asked to be lifted out of bed. 
 Two of her women raised her in their arms 
 and gently laid her on a tiger-skin stretched 
 upon the floor, of which the eyes were 
 formed of carbuncles and the claws of gold. 
 Charmion wrapped her in a calasiris of linen 
 whiter than milk, confined her hair in a net 
 of woven silver threads, tied to her little feet 
 cork tatbebs upon the soles of which were 
 painted, in token of contempt, two grotesque 
 figures, representing two men of the races of 
 Nahasi and Nahmou, bound hand and foot, 
 so that Cleopatra literally deserved the 
 epithet, " Conculcatrix of Nations," * which 
 the royal cartouche inscriptions bestow upon 
 her. 
 
 It was the hour for the bath. Cleopatra 
 went to bathe, accompanied by her women. 
 
 The baths of Cleopatra were built in the 
 midst of immense gardens filled with mimo- 
 sas, aloes, carob-trees, citron-trees, and Per- 
 sian apple-trees, whose luxuriant freshness 
 
 * Conculcatrice des peuples. From the Latin con- 
 culcare, to trample under foot : therefore, the epi- 
 thet literally signifies the " Trampler of nations." 
 [Trans.]
 
 52 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 afforded a delicious contrast to the arid 
 appearance of the neighboring vegetation. 
 There, too, vast terraces uplifted masses of 
 verdant foliage, and enabled flowers to climb 
 almost to the very sky upon gigantic stair- 
 ways of rose-colored granite ; vases of Pen- 
 telic marble bloomed at the end of each step 
 like huge lily-flowers, and the plants they 
 contained seemed only their pistils ; chimeras 
 caressed into form by the chisels of the most 
 skilful Greek sculptors, and less stern of 
 aspect than the Egyptian sphinxes, with 
 their grim mien and moody attitudes, softly 
 extended their limbs upon the flower-strewn 
 turf, like shapely white leverettes upon a 
 drawing-room carpet. These were charming 
 feminine figures, with finely chiselled nostrils, 
 smooth brows, small mouths, delicately dim- 
 pled arms, breasts fair- rounded and daintily 
 formed ; wearing earrings, necklaces, and all 
 the trinkets suggested by adorable caprice ; 
 whose bodies terminated in bifurcated 
 fishes' tails, like the women described by 
 Horace, or extended into birds' wings, or 
 rounded into lions' haunches, or blended 
 into volutes of foliage, according to the
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 53 
 
 fancies of the artist or in conformity to the 
 architectural position chosen. A double row 
 of these delightful monsters lined the alley 
 which led from the palace to the bathing 
 halls. 
 
 At the end of this alley was a huge foun- 
 tain-basin, approached by four porphyry 
 stairways. Through the transparent depths 
 of the diamond-clear water the steps could 
 be seen descending to the bottom of the 
 basin, which was strewn with gold-dust in 
 lieu of sand. Here figures of women ter- 
 minating in pedestals like Caryatides* 
 spurted from their breasts slender jets of 
 perfumed water, which fell into the basin in 
 silvery dew, pitting the clear watery mirror 
 with wrinkle-creating drops. In addition to 
 this task these Caryatides had likewise that 
 of supporting upon their heads an entabla- 
 ture decorated with Nereids and Tritons in 
 bas-relief, and furnished with rings of bronze 
 to which the silken cords of a velarium might 
 be attached. From the portico was visible 
 
 * The Greeks and Romans usually termed such 
 figures Hermae or Termini. Caryatides were, strictly, 
 entire figures of women. [Trans.]
 
 54 ONE or CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 an extending expanse of freshly humid, 
 bluish-green verdure and cool shade, a frag- 
 ment of the Vale of Tempe transported to 
 Egypt. The famous gardens of Semiramis 
 would not have borne comparison with 
 these. 
 
 We will not pause to describe the seven 
 or eight other halls of various temperature, 
 with their hot and cold vapors, perfume 
 boxes, cosmetics, oils, pumice stone, gloves 
 of woven horsehair, and all the refinements 
 of the antique balneatory art brought to the 
 highest pitch of voluptuous perfection. 
 
 Hither came Cleopatra, leaning with one 
 hand upon the shoulder of Charmion. She 
 had taken at least thirty steps all by herself. 
 Mighty effort, enormous fatigue! A tender 
 tint of rose commenced to suffuse the trans- 
 parent skin of her cheeks, refreshing their 
 passionate pallor; a blue network of veins 
 relieved the amber blondness of her tem- 
 ples ; her marble forehead, low like the an- 
 tique foreheads, but full and perfect in form, 
 united by one faultless line with a straight 
 nose, finely chiselled as a cameo, with rosy 
 nostrils which the least emotion made pal-
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 55 
 
 pitate like the nostrils of an amorous tigress ; 
 the lips of her small, rounded mouth, slightly 
 separated from the nose, wore a disdainful 
 curve; but an unbridled voluptuousness, an 
 indescribable vital warmth, glowed in the 
 brilliant crimson and humid lustre of the 
 under lip. Her eyes were shaded by level 
 eyelids, and eyebrows slightly arched and 
 delicately outlined. We cannot attempt by 
 description to convey an idea of their bril- 
 liancy. It was a fire, a languor, a sparkling 
 limpidity which might have made even the 
 dog-headed Anubis giddy. Every glance of 
 her eyes was in itself a poem richer than 
 aught of Homer or Mimnermus. An im- 
 perial chin, replete with force and power to 
 command, worthily completed this charming 
 profile. 
 
 She stood erect upon the upper step of 
 the basin, in an attitude full of proud grace; 
 her figure slightly thrown back, and one foot 
 in suspense, like a goddess about to leave 
 her pedestal, whose eyes still linger on 
 heaven. Her robe fell in two superb folds 
 from the peaks of her bosom to her feet in 
 unbroken lines. Had Cleomenes been her
 
 56 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 contemporary and enjoyed the happiness of 
 beholding her thus, he would have broken 
 his Venus in despair. 
 
 Before entering the water she bade Char- 
 mion, for a new caprice, to change her silver 
 hair-net ; she preferred to be crowned with 
 reeds and lotos-flowers, like a water divinity. 
 Charmion obeyed, and her liberated hair 
 fell in black cascades over her shoulders, 
 and shadowed her beautiful cheeks in rich 
 bunches, like ripening grapes. 
 
 Then the linen tunic, which had been con- 
 fined only by one golden clasp, glided down 
 over her marble body, and fell in a white 
 cloud at her feet, like the swan at the feet 
 of Leda. . . . 
 
 And Meiamoun, where was he ? 
 
 Oh cruel lot, that so many insensible ob- 
 jects should enjoy the favors which would 
 ravish a lover with delight ! The wind which 
 toys with a wealth of perfumed hair, or kisses 
 beautiful lips with kisses which it is unable 
 to appreciate ; the water which envelops an 
 adorably beautiful body in one universal kiss, 
 and is yet, notwithstanding, indifferent to 
 that exquisite pleasure; the mirror which
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 57 
 
 reflects so many charming images; the 
 buskin or tatbeb which clasps a divine little 
 foot oh, what happiness lost ! 
 
 Cleopatra dipped her pink heel in the 
 water and descended a few steps. The 
 quivering flood made a silver belt about her 
 waist, and silver bracelets about her arms, 
 and rolled in pearls like a broken necklace 
 over her bosom and shoulders; her wealth 
 of hair, lifted by the water, extended behind 
 her like a royal mantle; even in the bath 
 she was a queen. She swam to and fro, 
 dived, and brought up handfuls of gold-dust 
 with which she laughingly pelted some of 
 her women. Again, she clung suspended 
 to the balustrade of the basin, concealing or 
 exposing her treasures of loveliness now 
 permitting only her lustrous and polished 
 back to be seen, now showing her whole 
 figure, like Venus Anadyomene, and inces- 
 santly varying the aspects of her beauty. 
 
 Suddenly she uttered a cry as shrill as that 
 of Diana surprised by Actaeon. She had 
 seen gleaming through the neighboring foli- 
 age a burning eye, yellow and phosphoric as 
 the eye of a crocodile or lion.
 
 58 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 It was Meiamoun, who, crouching behind 
 a tuft of leaves, and trembling like a fawn 
 in a field of wheat, was intoxicating himself 
 with the dangerous pleasure of beholding the 
 queen in her bath. Though brave even to 
 temerity, the cry of Cleopatra passed through 
 his heart, coldly piercing as the blade of a 
 sword. A death-like sweat covered his 
 whole body; his arteries hissed through his 
 temples with a sharp sound ; the iron hand 
 of anxious fear had seized him by the throat 
 and was strangling him. 
 
 The eunuchs rushed forward, lance in hand. 
 Cleopatra pointed out to them the group of 
 trees, where they found Meiamoun crouch- 
 ing in concealment. Defence was out of the 
 question. He attempted none, and suffered 
 himself to be captured. They prepared to 
 kill him with that cruel and stupid impassi- 
 bility characteristic of eunuchs; but Cleo- 
 patra, who, in the interim, had covered her- 
 self with her calasiris, made signs to them 
 to stop, and bring the prisoner before her. 
 
 Meiamoun could only fall upon his knees 
 and stretch forth suppliant hands to her, as 
 to the altars of the gods.
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 59 
 
 " Are you some assassin bribed by Rome, 
 or for what purpose have you entered these 
 sacred precincts from which all men are ex- 
 cluded ?" demanded Cleopatra with an im- 
 perious gesture of interrogation. 
 
 " May my soul be found light in the bal- 
 ance of Amenti, and may Tme'i, daughter 
 of the Sun and goddess of Truth, punish 
 me if I have ever entertained a thought of 
 evil against you, O queen!" answered 
 Meiamoun, still upon his knees. 
 
 Sincerity and loyalty were written upon 
 his countenance in characters so transparent 
 that Cleopatra immediately banished her sus- 
 picions, and looked upon the young Egyp- 
 tian with a look less stern and wrathful. 
 She saw that he was beautiful. 
 
 ' Then what motive could have prompted 
 you to enter a place where you could only 
 expect to meet death ? " 
 
 " I love you ! " murmured Meiamoun in a 
 low, but distinct voice; for his courage had 
 returned, as in every desperate situation 
 when the odds against him could be no 
 worse. 
 
 " Ah!" cried Cleopatra, bending toward
 
 60 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 him, and seizing his arm with a sudden 
 brusque movement, " so, then, it was you 
 who shot that arrow with the papyrus scroll ! 
 By Oms, the Dog of Hell, you are a very 
 foolhardy wretch! ... I now recognize 
 you. I long observed you wandering like a 
 complaining Shade about the places where 
 I dwell. . . . You were at the Procession 
 of Isis, at the Panegyris of Hermonthis. 
 You followed the royal cangia. Ah! you 
 must have a queen ? . . . You have no 
 mean ambitions. You expect, without 
 doubt, to be well paid in return. . . . As- 
 suredly I am going to love you. . . . Why 
 not?" 
 
 " Queen," returned Meiamoun with a look 
 of deep melancholy, " do not rail. I am 
 mad, it is true. I have deserved death ; that 
 is also true. Be humane; bid them kill 
 me." 
 
 " No; I have taken the whim to be 
 clement to-day. I will give you your life." 
 
 " What would you that I should do with 
 life ? I love you! " 
 
 " Well, then, you shall be satisfied; you 
 shall die," answered Cleopatra. " You have
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 61 
 
 indulged yourself in wild and extravagant 
 dreams ; in fancy your desires have crossed 
 an impassable threshold. You imagined 
 yourself to be Caesar or Mark Antony. You 
 loved the queen. In some moment of de- 
 lirium you have been able to believe that, 
 under some condition of things which takes 
 place but once in a thousand years, Cleo- 
 patra might some day love you. Well, what 
 you thought impossible is actually about to 
 happen. I will transform your dream into a 
 reality. It pleases me, for once, to secure 
 the accomplishment of a mad hope. I am 
 willing to inundate you with glories and 
 splendors and lightnings. I intend that 
 your good fortune shall be dazzling in its 
 brilliancy. You were at the bottom of the 
 ladder. I am about to lift you to the sum- 
 mit, abruptly, suddenly, without a transi- 
 tion. I take you out of nothingness, I make 
 you the equal of a god, and I plunge you 
 back again into nothingness ; that is all. But 
 do not presume to call me cruel or to invoke 
 my pity; do not weaken when the hour 
 comes. I am good to you. I lend myself 
 to your folly. I have the right to order you
 
 62 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 to be killed at once ; but since you tell me 
 that you love me, I will have you killed to- 
 morrow instead. Your life belongs to me 
 for one night. I am generous. I will buy 
 it from you ; I could take it from you. But 
 what are you doing on your knees at my 
 feet ? Rise, and give me your arm, that we 
 may return to the palace." 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 OUR world of to-day is puny indeed beside 
 the antique world. Our banquets are mean, 
 niggardly, compared with the appalling 
 sumptuousness of the Roman patricians and 
 the princes of ancient Asia. Their ordinary 
 repasts would in these days be regarded as 
 frenzied orgies, and a whole modern city 
 could subsist for eight days upon the leav- 
 ings of one supper given by Lucullus to a 
 few intimate friends. With our miserable 
 habits we find it difficult to conceive of 
 those enormous existences, realizing every- 
 thing vast, strange, and most monstrously 
 impossible that imagination could devise.
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 63 
 
 Our palaces are mere stables, in which Calig- 
 ula would not quarter his horse. The reti- 
 nue of our wealthiest constitutional king is 
 as nothing compared with that of a petty 
 satrap or a Roman proconsul. The radiant 
 suns which once shone upon the earth are 
 forever extinguished in the nothingness of 
 uniformity. Above the dark swarm of men 
 no longer tower those Titanic colossi who 
 bestrode the world in three paces, like the 
 steeds of Homer ; no more towers of 
 Lylacq ; no giant Babel scaling the sky with 
 its infinity of spirals; no temples immeasur- 
 able, builded with the fragments of quarried 
 mountains ; no kingly terraces for which suc- 
 cessive ages and generations could each erect 
 but one step, and from whence some dream- 
 fully reclining prince might gaze on the face 
 of the world as upon a map unfolded; no 
 more of those extravagantly vast cities of 
 cyclopaean edifices, inextricably piled upon 
 one another, with their mighty circumvalla- 
 tions, their circuses roaring night and day, 
 their reservoirs filled with ocean brine and 
 peopled with whales and leviathans, their 
 colossal stairways, their super-imposition of
 
 64 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 terraces, their tower-summits bathed in 
 clouds, their giant palaces, their aqueducts, 
 their multitude-vomiting gates, their shad- 
 owy necropoli. Alas ! henceforth only plas- 
 ter hives upon chessboard pavements. 
 
 One marvels that men did not revolt 
 against such confiscation of all riches and 
 all living forces for the benefit of a few priv- 
 ileged ones, and that such exorbitant fan- 
 tasies should not have encountered any 
 opposition on their bloody way. It was 
 because those prodigious lives were the 
 realizations by day of the dreams which 
 haunted each man by night, the personifica- 
 tions of the common ideal which the nations 
 beheld living symbolized under one of those 
 meteoric names that flame inextinguishably 
 through the night of ages. To-day, de- 
 prived of such dazzling spectacles of om- 
 nipotent will, of the lofty contemplation of 
 some human mind whose least wish makes 
 itself visible in actions unparalleled, in enor- 
 mities of granite and brass, the world be- 
 comes irredeemably and hopelessly dull. 
 Man is no longer represented in the realiza- 
 tion of his imperial fancy.
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 65 
 
 The story which we are writing, and the 
 great name of Cleopatra which appears in it, 
 have prompted us to these reflections, so ill- 
 sounding, doubtless, to modern ears. But 
 the spectacle of the antique world is some- 
 thing so crushingly discouraging, even to 
 those imaginations which deem themselves 
 exhaustless, and those minds which fancy 
 themselves to have conceived the utmost 
 limits of fairy magnificence, that we cannot 
 here forbear recording our regret and lam- 
 entation that we were not cotemporaries of 
 Sardanapalus ; of Teglathphalazar; of Cleo- 
 patra, queen of Egypt ; or even of Elagaba- 
 lus, emperor of Rome and priest of the 
 Sun. 
 
 It is our task to describe a supreme orgie 
 a banquet compared with which the splen- 
 dors of Belshazzar's feast must pale one of 
 Cleopatra's nights. How can we picture 
 forth in this French tongue, so chaste, so 
 icily prudish, that unbounded transport of 
 passions, that huge and mighty debauch 
 which feared not to mingle the double pur- 
 ple of wine and blood, those furious out- 
 bursts of insatiate pleasure, madly leaping
 
 66 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 toward the Impossible with all the wild 
 ardor of senses as yet untamed by the long 
 fast of Christianity ? 
 
 The promised night should well have been 
 a splendid one, for all the joys and pleasures 
 possible in a human lifetime were to be con- 
 centrated into the space of a few hours. It 
 was necessary that the life of Meiamoun 
 should be converted into a powerful elixir 
 which he could imbibe at a single draught. 
 Cleopatra desired to dazzle her voluntary 
 victim, and plunge him into a whirlpool of 
 dizzy pleasures; to intoxicate and madden 
 him with the wine of orgie, so that death, 
 though freely accepted, might come invisi- 
 bly and unawares. 
 
 Let us transport our readers to the ban- 
 quet-hall. 
 
 Our existing architecture offers few points 
 for comparison with those vast edifices whose 
 very ruins resemble the Grumblings of moun- 
 tains rather than the remains of buildings. 
 It needed all the exaggeration of the antique 
 life to animate and fill those prodigious pal- 
 aces, whose halls were too lofty and vast to 
 allow of any ceiling save the sky itself a
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 67 
 
 magnificent ceiling, and well worthy of such 
 mighty architecture. 
 
 The banquet-hall was of enormous and 
 Babylonian dimensions; the eye could not 
 penetrate its immeasurable depth. Mon- 
 strous columns short, thick, and solid 
 enough to sustain the pole itself heavily 
 expanded their broad-swelling shafts upon 
 socles variegated with hieroglyphics, and 
 sustained upon their bulging capitals gigan- 
 tic arcades of granite rising by successive 
 tiers, like vast stairways reversed. Between 
 each two pillars a colossal sphinx of basalt, 
 crowned with the pschent, bent forward her 
 oblique-eyed face and horned chin, and gazed 
 into the hall with a fixed and mysterious 
 look. The columns of the second tier, re- 
 ceding from the first, were more elegantly 
 formed, and crowned in lieu of capitals with 
 four female heads addorsed, wearing caps of 
 many folds and all the intricacies of the 
 Egyptian headdress. Instead of sphinxes, 
 bull-headed idols impassive spectators of 
 nocturnal frenzy and the furies of orgie were 
 seated upon thrones of stone, like patient 
 hosts awaiting the opening of the banquet.
 
 68 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 A third story, constructed in a yet differ- 
 ent style of architecture, with elephants of 
 bronze spouting perfume from their trunks, 
 crowned the edifice ; above, the sky yawned 
 like a blue gulf, and the curious stars leaned 
 over the frieze.* 
 
 Prodigious stairways of porphyry, so 
 highly polished that they reflected the hu- 
 man body like a mirror, ascended and de- 
 scended on every hand, and bound together 
 these huge masses of architecture. 
 
 We can only make a very rapid sketch 
 here, in order to convey some idea of this 
 awful structure, proportioned out of all hu- 
 
 * Does not this suggest the lines which DeQuincey 
 so much admired ? 
 
 " A wilderness of building, sinking far, 
 And self-withdrawn into a wondrous depth 
 Far sinking into splendor, without end. 
 Fabric it seemed of diamond, and of gold, 
 With alabaster domes and silver spires, 
 And blazing terrace upon terrace, high 
 Uplifted. Here serene pavilions bright. 
 In avenues disposed ; their towers begirt 
 With battlements that on their restless fronts 
 Bore stars"
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 69 
 
 man measurements. It would require the 
 pencil of Martin,* the great painter of enor- 
 mities passed away, and we can present only 
 a weak pen-picture in lieu of the Apocalyptic 
 depth of his gloomy style ; but imagination 
 may supply our deficiencies. Less fortunate 
 than the painter and the musician, we can 
 only present objects and ideas separately in 
 slow succession. We have as yet spoken of 
 the banquet-hall only, without referring to 
 the guests, and yet we have but barely 
 indicated its character. Cleopatra and 
 Meiamoun are waiting for us. We see them 
 drawing near. . . . 
 
 Meiamoun was clad in a linen tunic con- 
 stellated with stars, and a purple mantle, 
 
 * John Martin, the English painter, whose crea- 
 tions were unparalleled in breadth and depth of 
 composition. His pictures seem to have made a 
 powerful impression upon the highly imaginative 
 author of these Romances. There is something in 
 these descriptions of antique architecture that sug- 
 gests the influence of such pictured fantasies as Mar- 
 tin's "Seventh Plague ; " "The Heavenly City ; "and 
 perhaps, especially, the famous " Pandemonium," 
 with its infernal splendor, in Martin's illustrations 
 to " Paradise Lost." [Trans.
 
 70 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 and wore a fillet about his locks, like an 
 Oriental king. Cleopatra was apparelled in 
 a robe of pale green, open at either side, and 
 clasped with golden bees. Two bracelets of 
 immense pearls gleamed around her naked 
 arms; upon her head glimmered the golden- 
 pointed diadem. Despite the smile on her 
 lips, a slight cloud of preoccupation shad- 
 owed her fair forehead, and from time to 
 time her brows became knitted in a feverish 
 manner. What thoughts could trouble the 
 great queen ? As for Mei'amoun, his face 
 wore the ardent and luminous look of one in 
 ecstasy or vision ; light beamed and radiated 
 from his brow and temples, surrounding his 
 head with a golden nimbus, like one of the 
 twelve great gods of Olympus. 
 
 A deep, heartfelt joy illumined his every 
 feature. He had embraced his restless- 
 winged chimera, and it had not flown from 
 him ; he had reached the goal of his life. 
 Though he were to live to the age of Nes- 
 tor or Priam, though he should behold his 
 veined temples hoary with locks whiter than 
 those of the high priest of Ammon, he could 
 never know another new experience, never
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 71 
 
 feel another new pleasure. His maddest 
 hopes had been so much more than realized 
 that there was nothing in the world left for 
 him to desire. 
 
 Cleopatra seated him beside her upon a 
 throne with golden griffins on either side, 
 and clapped her little hands together. In- 
 stantly lines of fire, bands of sparkling light, 
 outlined all the projections of the architec- 
 ture the eyes of the sphinxes flamed with 
 phosphoric lightnings; the bull-headed idols 
 breathed flame; the elephants, in lieu of 
 perfumed water, spouted aloft bright col- 
 umns of crimson fire ; arms of bronze, each 
 bearing a torch, started from the walls, and 
 blazing aigrettes bloomed in the sculptured 
 hearts of the lotos flowers. 
 
 Huge blue flames palpitated in tripods of 
 brass; giant candelabras shook their dishev- 
 elled light in the midst of ardent vapors; 
 everything sparkled, glittered, beamed. 
 Prismatic irises crossed and shattered each 
 other in the air. The facets of the cups, 
 the angles of the marbles and jaspers, the 
 chiselling of the vases all caught a sparkle, 
 a gleam, or a flash as of lightning. Radi-
 
 ^i ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 ance streamed in torrents and leaped from 
 step to step like a cascade, over the porphyry 
 stairways. It seemed the reflection of a 
 conflagration on some broad river. Had 
 the Queen of Sheba ascended thither she 
 would have caught up the folds of her robe, 
 and believed herself walking in water, as 
 when she stepped upon the crystal pave- 
 ments of Solomon. Viewed through that 
 burning haze, the monstrous figures of the 
 colossi, the animals, the hieroglyphics, 
 seemed to become animated and to live with 
 a factitious life; the black marble rams 
 bleated ironically, and clashed their gilded 
 horns; the idols breathed harshly through 
 their panting nostrils. 
 
 The orgie was at its height : the dishes of 
 phenicopters' tongues, and the livers of 
 scarus fish ; the eels fattened upon human 
 flesh, and cooked in brine; the dishes of 
 peacock's brains; the boars stuffed with liv- 
 ing birds; and all the marvels of the antique 
 banquets were heaped upon the three table- 
 surfaces of the gigantic triclinium. The 
 wines of Crete, of Massicus, and of Falernus 
 foamed up in cratera wreathed with roses,
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA S NIGHTS 73 
 
 and filled by Asiatic pages whose beautiful 
 flowing hair served the guests to wipe their 
 hands upon. Musicians playing upon the 
 sistrum, the tympanum, the sambuke, and 
 the harp with one-and-twenty strings filled 
 all the upper galleries, and mingled their 
 harmonies with the tempest of sound that 
 hovered over the feast. Even the deep- 
 voiced thunder could not have made itself 
 heard there. 
 
 Mei'amoun, whose head was lying on Cleo- 
 patra's shoulder, felt as though his reason 
 were leaving him. The banquet-hall whirled 
 around him like a vast architectural night- 
 mare ; through the dizzy glare he beheld per- 
 spectives and colonnades without end ; new 
 zones of porticoes seemed to uprear them- 
 selves upon the real fabric, and bury their 
 summits in heights of sky to which Babel 
 never rose. Had he not felt within his hand 
 the soft, cool hand of Cleopatra, he would 
 have believed himself transported into an 
 enchanted world by some witch of Thessaly 
 or Magian of Persia. 
 
 Toward the close of the repast hump- 
 backed dwarfs and mummers engaged in
 
 74 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 grotesque dances and combats; then young 
 Egyptian and Greek maidens, representing 
 the black and white Hours, danced with in- 
 imitable grace a voluptuous dance after the 
 Ionian manner. 
 
 Cleopatra herself arose from her throne, 
 threw aside her royal mantle, replaced her 
 starry diadem with a garland of flowers, 
 attached golden crotali* to her alabaster 
 hands, and began to dance before Meiamoun, 
 who was ravished with delight. Her beau- 
 tiful arms, rounded like the handles of an 
 alabaster vase, shook out bunches of spark- 
 ling notes, and her crotali prattled with 
 ever-increasing volubility. Poised on the 
 pink tips of her little feet, she approached 
 swiftly to graze the forehead of Meiamoun 
 with a kiss ; then she recommenced her won- 
 drous art, and flitted around him, now back- 
 ward-leaning, with head reversed, eyes half 
 closed, arms lifelessly relaxed, locks un- 
 curled and loose-hanging like a Bacchante 
 of Mount Maenalus; now again, active, ani- 
 mated, laughing, fluttering, more tireless 
 and capricious in her movements than the 
 * Antique castanets. [Trans.
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 75 
 
 pilfering bee. Heart-consuming love, sen- 
 sual pleasure, burning passion, youth inex- 
 haustible and ever-fresh, the promise of bliss 
 to come she expressed all. . . . 
 
 The modest stars had ceased to contem- 
 plate the scene ; their golden eyes could not 
 endure such a spectacle; the heaven itself 
 was blotted out, and a dome of flaming 
 vapor covered the hall. 
 
 Cleopatra seated herself once more by 
 Meiamoun. Night advanced; the last of 
 the black Hours was about to take flight; 
 a faint blue glow entered with bewildered 
 aspect into the tumult of ruddy light as a 
 moonbeam falls into a furnace; the upper 
 arcades became suffused with pale azure 
 tints day was breaking. 
 
 Meiamoun took the horn vase which an 
 Ethiopian slave of sinister countenance pre- 
 sented to him, and which contained a poison 
 so violent that it would have caused any 
 other vase to burst asunder. Flinging his 
 whole life to his mistress in one last look, 
 he lifted to his lips the fatal cup in which 
 the envenomed liquor boiled up, hissing. 
 
 Cleopatra turned pale, and laid her hand
 
 76 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 
 
 on Meiamoun's arm to stay the act. His 
 courage touched her. She was about to 
 say, " Live to love me yet, I desire it ! . . ." 
 when the sound of a clarion was heard. Four 
 heralds-at-arms entered the banquet-hall on 
 horseback ; they were officers of Mark An- 
 tony, and rode but a short distance in ad- 
 vance of their master. Cleopatra silently 
 loosened the arm of Meiamoun. A long 
 ray of sunlight suddenly played upon her 
 forehead, as though trying to replace her 
 absent diadem. 
 
 ' You see the moment has come ; it is 
 daybreak, it is the hour when happy dreams 
 take flight," said Meiamoun. Then he 
 emptied the fatal vessel at a draught, and 
 fell as though struck by lightning. Cleo- 
 patra bent her head, and one burning tear 
 the only one she had ever shed fell into 
 her cup to mingle with the molten pearl. 
 
 " By Hercules, my fair queen! I made 
 all speed in vain. I see I have come too 
 late," cried Mark Antony, entering the ban- 
 quet-hall, " the supper is over. But what 
 signifies this corpse upon the pavement ? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing! " returned Cleopatra, with
 
 ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS 77 
 
 a smile; " only a poison I was testing with 
 the idea of using it upon myself should Au- 
 gustus take me prisoner. My dear Lord, 
 will you not please to take a seat beside me, 
 and watch those Greek buffoons dance ? "
 
 Clarimonde
 
 CLARIMONDE 
 
 BROTHER, you ask me if I have ever 
 loved. Yes. My story is a strange and ter- 
 rible one ; and though I am sixty-six years 
 of age, I scarcely dare even now to disturb the 
 ashes of that memory. To you I can refuse 
 nothing; but I should not relate such a tale 
 to any less experienced mind. So strange 
 were the circumstances of my story, that I 
 can scarcely believe myself to have ever 
 actually been a party to them. For more 
 than three years I remained the victim of a 
 most singular and diabolical illusion. Poor 
 country priest though I was, I led every night 
 in a dream would to God it had been all a 
 dream ! a most worldly life, a damning life, 
 a life of Sardanapalus. One single look too 
 
 * " La Morte Amoureuse"
 
 82 CLARIMONDE 
 
 freely cast upon a woman well-nigh caused 
 me to lose my soul ; but finally by the grace 
 of God and the assistance of my patron 
 saint, I succeeded in casting out the evil 
 spirit that possessed me. My daily life was 
 long interwoven with a nocturnal life of a 
 totally different character. By day I was a 
 priest of the Lord, occupied with prayer and 
 sacred things; by night, from the instant 
 that I closed my eyes I became a young 
 nobleman, a fine connoisseur in women, 
 dogs, and horses; gambling, drinking, and 
 blaspheming, and when I awoke at early 
 daybreak, it seemed to me, on the other 
 hand, that I had been sleeping, and had 
 only dreamed that I was a priest. Of this 
 somnambulistic life there now remains to 
 me only the recollection of certain scenes 
 and words which I cannot banish from my 
 memory ; but although I never actually left 
 the walls of my presbytery, one would think 
 to hear me speak that I were a man who, 
 weary of all worldly pleasures, had become 
 a religious, seeking to end a tempestuous 
 life in the service of God, rather than an 
 humble seminarist who has grown old in
 
 CLARIMONDE 83 
 
 this obscure curacy, situated in the depths 
 of the woods and even isolated from the life 
 of the century. 
 
 Yes, I have loved as none in the world 
 ever loved with an insensate and furious 
 passion so violent that I am astonished it 
 did not cause my heart to burst asunder. 
 Ah, what nights what nights! 
 
 From my earliest childhood I had felt a 
 vocation to the priesthood, so that all my 
 studies were directed with that idea in view. 
 Up to the age of twenty-four my life had 
 been only a prolonged novitiate. Having 
 completed my course of theology I succes- 
 sively received all the minor orders, and my 
 superiors judged me worthy, despite my 
 youth, to pass the last awful degree. My 
 ordination was fixed for Easter week. 
 
 I had never gone into the world. My 
 world was confined by the walls of the col- 
 lege and the seminary. I knew in a vague 
 sort of a way that there was something 
 called Woman, but I never permitted my 
 thoughts to dwell on such a subject, and I 
 lived in a state of perfect innocence. Twice a 
 year only I saw my infirm and aged mother,
 
 84 CLARIMONDE 
 
 and in those visits were comprised my sole 
 relations with the outer world. 
 
 I regretted nothing; I felt not the least 
 hesitation at taking the last irrevocable step ; 
 I was filled with joy and impatience. Never 
 did a betrothed lover count the slow hours 
 with more feverish ardor; I slept only to 
 dream that I was saying mass; I believed 
 there could be nothing in the world more 
 delightful than to be a priest; I would have 
 refused to be a king or a poet in preference. 
 My ambition could conceive of no loftier 
 aim. 
 
 I tell you this in order to show you that 
 what happened to me could not have hap- 
 pened in the natural order of things, and to 
 enable you to understand that I was the vic- 
 tim of an inexplicable fascination. 
 
 At last the great day came. I walked to 
 the church with a step so light that I fan- 
 cied myself sustained in air, or that I had 
 wings upon my shoulders. I believed myself 
 an angel, and wondered at the sombre and 
 thoughtful faces of my companions, for there 
 were several of us. I had passed all the 
 night in prayer, and was in a condition well-
 
 CLARIMONDE 85 
 
 nigh bordering on ecstasy. The bishop, a 
 venerable old man, seemed to me God the 
 Father leaning over his Eternity, and I 
 beheld Heaven through the vault of the 
 temple. 
 
 You well know the details of that cere- 
 mony the benediction, the communion un- 
 der both forms, the anointing of the palms 
 of the hands with the Oil of Catechumens, 
 and then the holy sacrifice offered in concert 
 with the bishop. 
 
 Ah, truly spake Job when he declared 
 that the imprudent man is one who hath 
 not made a covenant with his eyes ! I acci- 
 dentally lifted my head, which until then I 
 had kept down, and beheld before me, so 
 close that it seemed that I could have 
 touched her although she was actually a 
 considerable distance from me and on the 
 further side of the sanctuary railing a young 
 woman of extraordinary beauty, and attired 
 with royal magnificence. It seemed as 
 though scales had suddenly fallen from my 
 eyes. I felt like a blind man who unex- 
 pectedly recovers his sight. The bishop, so 
 radiantly glorious but an instant before, sud-
 
 86 CLARIMONDE 
 
 denly vanished away, the tapers paled upon 
 their golden candlesticks like stars in the 
 dawn, and a vast darkness seemed to fill the 
 whole church. The charming creature ap- 
 peared in bright relief against the back- 
 ground of that darkness, like some angelic 
 revelation. She seemed herself radiant, and 
 radiating light rather than receiving it. 
 
 I lowered my eyelids, firmly resolved not 
 to again open them, that I might not be in- 
 fluenced by external objects, for distraction 
 had gradually taken possession of me until 
 I hardly knew what I was doing. 
 
 In another minute, nevertheless, I reopened 
 my eyes, for through my eyelashes I still 
 beheld her, all sparkling with prismatic col- 
 ors, and surrounded with such a purple pe- 
 numbra as one beholds in gazing at the sun. 
 
 Oh, how beautiful she was! The great- 
 est painters, who followed ideal beauty into 
 heaven itself, and thence brought back to 
 earth the true portrait of the Madonna, 
 never in their delineations even approached 
 that wildly beautiful reality which I saw 
 before me. Neither the verses of the poet 
 nor the palette of the artist could convey
 
 CLARIMONDE 87 
 
 any conception of her. She was rather tall, 
 with a form and bearing of a goddess. Her 
 hair, of a soft blonde hue, was parted in the 
 midst and flowed back over her temples in 
 two rivers of rippling gold; she seemed a 
 diademed queen. Her forehead, bluish- 
 white in its transparency, extended its calm 
 breadth above the arches of her eyebrows, 
 which by a strange singularity were almost 
 black, and admirably relieved the effect of 
 sea-green eyes of unsustainable vivacity and 
 brilliancy. What eyes ! With a single flash 
 they could have decided a man's destiny. 
 They had a life, a limpidity, an ardor, a hu- 
 mid light which I have never seen in human 
 eyes ; they shot forth rays like arrows, which 
 I could distinctly see enter my heart. I 
 know not if the fire which illumined them 
 came from heaven or from hell, but as- 
 suredly it came from one or the other. That 
 woman was either an angel or a demon, per- 
 haps both. Assuredly she never sprang 
 from the flank of Eve, our common mother. 
 Teeth of the most lustrous pearl gleamed in 
 her ruddy smile, and at every inflection of 
 her lips little dimples appeared in the satiny
 
 88 CLARIMONDE 
 
 rose of her adorable cheeks. There was a 
 delicacy and pride in the regal outline of 
 her nostrils bespeaking noble blood. Agate 
 gleams played over the smooth lustrous 
 skin of her half-bare shoulders, and strings 
 of great blonde pearls almost equal to her 
 neck in beauty of color descended upon her 
 bosom. From time to time she elevated 
 her head with the undulating grace of a 
 startled serpent or peacock, thereby impart- 
 ing a quivering motion to the high lace ruff 
 which surrounded it like a silver trellis-work. 
 
 She wore a robe of orange-red velvet, and 
 from her wide ermine-lined sleeves there 
 peeped forth patrician hands of infinite deli- 
 cacy, and so ideally transparent that, like 
 the fingers of Aurora, they permitted the 
 light to shine through them. 
 
 All these details I can recollect at this 
 moment as plainly as though they were of 
 yesterday, for notwithstanding I was greatly 
 troubled at the time, nothing escaped me; 
 the faintest touch of shading, the little dark 
 speck at the point of the chin, the imper- 
 ceptible down at the corners of the lips, the 
 velvety floss upon the brow, the quivering
 
 CLARIMONDE 89 
 
 shadows of the eyelashes upon the cheeks, 
 I could notice everything with astonishing 
 lucidity of perception. 
 
 And gazing I felt opening within me gates 
 that had until then remained closed ; vents 
 long obstructed became all clear, permitting 
 glimpses of unfamiliar perspectives within; 
 life suddenly made itself visible to me under 
 a totally novel aspect. I felt as though I 
 had just been born into a new world and a 
 new order of things. A frightful anguish 
 commenced to torture my heart as with 
 red-hot pincers. Every successive minute 
 seemed to me at once but a second and yet 
 a century. Meanwhile the ceremony was 
 proceeding, and I shortly found myself 
 transported far from that world of which my 
 newly-born desires were furiously besieging 
 the entrance. Nevertheless I answered 
 ' ' Yes ' ' when I wished to say ' ' No, ' ' though 
 all within me protested against the violence 
 done to my soul by my tongue. Some oc- 
 cult power seemed to force the words from 
 my throat against my will. Thus it is, per- 
 haps, that so many young girls walk to the 
 altar firmly resolved to refuse in a startling
 
 90 CLARIMONDE 
 
 manner the husband imposed upon them, 
 and that yet not one ever fulfils her inten- 
 tion. Thus it is, doubtless, that so many 
 poor novices take the veil, though they have 
 resolved to tear it into shreds at the moment 
 when called upon to utter the vows. One 
 dares not thus cause so great a scandal to 
 all present, nor deceive the expectation of 
 so many people. All those eyes, all those 
 wills seem to weigh down upon you like a 
 cope of lead ; and, moreover, measures have 
 been so well taken, everything has been so 
 thoroughly arranged beforehand and after a 
 fashion so evidently irrevocable, that the 
 will yields to the weight of circumstances 
 and utterly breaks down. 
 
 As the ceremony proceeded the features 
 of the fair unknown changed their expres- 
 sion. Her look had at first been one of 
 caressing tenderness ; it changed to an air of 
 disdain and of mortification, as though at 
 not having been able to make itself under- 
 stood. , 
 
 With an effort of will sufficient to have 
 uprooted a mountain, I strove to cry out 
 that I would not be a priest, but I could
 
 CLARIMONDE 9! 
 
 not speak ; my tongue seemed nailed to my 
 palate, and I found it impossible to express 
 my will by the least syllable of negation. 
 Though fully awake, I felt like one under 
 the influence of a nightmare, who vainly 
 strives to shriek out the one word upon 
 which life depends. 
 
 She seemed conscious of the martyrdom I 
 was undergoing, and, as though to encour- 
 age me, she gave me a look replete with 
 divinest promise. Her eyes were a poem ; 
 their every glance was a song. 
 
 She said to me : 
 
 " If thou wilt be mine, I shall make thee 
 happier than God Himself in His paradise. 
 The angels themselves will be jealous of 
 thee. Tear off that funeral shroud in which 
 thou art about to wrap thyself. I am 
 Beauty, I am Youth, I am Life. Come to 
 me! Together we shall be Love. Can 
 Jehovah offer thee aught in exchange ? 
 Our lives will flow on like a dream, in one 
 eternal kiss. 
 
 1 ' Fling forth the wine of that chalice, and 
 thou art free. I will conduct thee to the 
 Unknown Isles. Thou shalt sleep in my
 
 92 CLARIMONDE 
 
 bosom upon a bed of massy gold under a 
 silver pavilion, for I love thee and would 
 take thee away from thy God, before whom 
 so many noble hearts pour forth floods of 
 love which never reach even the steps of 
 His throne!" 
 
 These words seemed to float to my ears 
 in a rhythm of infinite sweetness, for her 
 look was actually sonorous, and the utter- 
 ances of her eyes were reechoed in the 
 depths of my heart as though living lips had 
 breathed them into my life. I felt myself 
 willing to renounce God, and yet my tongue 
 mechanically fulfilled all the formalities of 
 the ceremony. The fair one gave me an- 
 other look, so beseeching, so despairing that 
 keen blades seemed to pierce my heart, and 
 I felt my bosom transfixed by more swords 
 than those of Our Lady of Sorrows. 
 
 All was consummated ; I had become a 
 priest. 
 
 Never was deeper anguish painted on 
 human face than upon hers. The maiden 
 who beholds her affianced lover suddenly 
 fall dead at her side, the mother bending 
 over the empty cradle of her child, Eve
 
 CLARIMONDE 93 
 
 seated at the threshold of the gate of Para- 
 dise, the miser who finds a stone substituted 
 for his stolen treasure, the poet who acci- 
 dentally permits the only manuscript of his 
 finest work to fall into the fire, could not 
 wear a look so despairing, so inconsolable. 
 All the blood had abandoned her charming 
 face, leaving it whiter than marble; her 
 beautiful arms hung lifelessly on either side 
 of her body as though their muscles had 
 suddenly relaxed, and she sought the sup- 
 port of a pillar, for her yielding limbs almost 
 betrayed her. As for myself, I staggered 
 toward the door of the church, livid as death, 
 my forehead bathed with a sweat bloodier 
 than that of Calvary ; I felt as though I were 
 being strangled; the vault seemed to have 
 flattened down upon my shoulders, and it 
 seemed to me that my head alone sustained 
 the whole weight of the dome. 
 
 As I was about to cross the threshold a 
 hand suddenly caught mine a woman's 
 hand! I had never till then touched the 
 hand of any woman. It was cold as a ser- 
 pent's skin, and yet its impress remained 
 upon my wrist, burnt there as though
 
 94 CLARIMONDE 
 
 branded by a glowing iron. It was she. 
 "Unhappy man! Unhappy man! What 
 hast thou done?" she exclaimed in a low 
 voice, and immediately disappeared in the 
 crowd. 
 
 The aged bishop passed by. He cast a 
 severe and scrutinizing look upon me. My 
 face presented the wildest aspect imagin- 
 able; I blushed and turned pale alternately; 
 dazzling lights flashed before my eyes. A 
 companion took pity on me. He seized my 
 arm and led me out. I could not possibly 
 have found my way back to the seminary 
 unassisted. At the corner of a street, while 
 the young priest's attention was momen- 
 tarily turned in another direction, a negro 
 page, fantastically garbed, approached me, 
 and without pausing on his way slipped into 
 my hand a little pocket-book with gold-em- 
 broidered corners, at the same time giving 
 me a sign to hide it. I concealed it in my 
 sleeve, and there kept it until I found my- 
 self alone in my cell. Then I opened the 
 clasp. There were only two leaves within, 
 bearing the words, " Clarimonde. At the 
 Concini Palace." So little acquainted was
 
 CLARIMONDE 95 
 
 I at that time with the things of this world 
 that I had never heard of Clarimonde, cele- 
 brated as she was, and I had no idea as to 
 where the Concini Palace was situated. I 
 hazarded a thousand conjectures, each more 
 extravagant than the last; but, in truth, I 
 cared little whether she were a great lady or 
 a courtesan, so that I could but see her once 
 more. 
 
 My love, although the growth of a single 
 hour, had taken imperishable root. I did 
 not even dream of attempting to tear it up, 
 so fully was I convinced such a thing would 
 be impossible. That woman had completely 
 taken possession of me. One look from her 
 had sufficed to change my very nature. She 
 had breathed her will into my life, and I no 
 longer lived in myself, but in her and for 
 her. I gave myself up to a thousand ex- 
 travagancies. I kissed the place upon my 
 hand which she had touched, and I repeated 
 her name over and over again for hours in 
 succession. I only needed to close my eyes 
 in order to see her distinctly as though she 
 were actually present; and I reiterated to 
 myself the words she had uttered in my ear
 
 96 CLARIMONDE 
 
 at the church porch: " Unhappy man ! Un- 
 happy man! What hast thou done?" I 
 comprehended at last the full horror of my 
 situation, and the funereal and awful re- 
 straints of the state into which I had just 
 entered became clearly revealed to me. To 
 be a priest ! that is, to be chaste, to never 
 love, to observe no distinction of sex or age, 
 to turn from the sight of all beauty, to put 
 out one's own eyes, to hide forever crouch- 
 ing in the chill shadows of some church or 
 cloister, to visit none but the dying, to 
 watch by unknown corpses, and ever bear 
 about with one the black soutane as a garb 
 of mourning for one's self, so that your very 
 dress might serve as a pall for your coffin. 
 
 And I felt life rising within me like a sub- 
 terranean lake, expanding and overflowing; 
 my blood leaped fiercely through my ar- 
 teries; my long-restrained youth suddenly 
 burst into active being, like the aloe which 
 blooms but once in a hundred years, and 
 then bursts into blossom with a clap of 
 thunder. 
 
 What could I do in order to see Clari- 
 monde once more ? I had no pretext to
 
 CLARIMONDE 97 
 
 offer for desiring to leave the seminary, not 
 knowing any person in the city. I would 
 not even be able to remain there but a short 
 time, and was only waiting my assignment 
 to the curacy which I must thereafter oc- 
 cupy. I tried to remove the bars of the 
 window; but it was at a fearful height from 
 the ground, and I found that as I had no 
 ladder it would be useless to think of escap- 
 ing thus. And, furthermore, I could de- 
 scend thence only by night in any event, 
 and afterward how should I be able to find 
 my way through the inextricable labyrinth 
 of streets ? All these difficulties, which to 
 many would have appeared altogether insig- 
 nificant, were gigantic to me, a poor semi- 
 narist who had fallen in love only the day 
 before for the first time, without experience, 
 without money, without attire. 
 
 " Ah ! " cried I to myself in my blindness, 
 " were I not a priest I could have seen her 
 every day ; I might have been her lover, her 
 spouse. Instead of being wrapped in this 
 dismal shroud of mine I would have had gar- 
 ments of silk and velvet, golden chains, a 
 sword, and fair plumes like other handsome 
 
 3
 
 98 CLARIMONDE 
 
 young cavaliers. My hair, instead of being 
 dishonored by the tonsure, would flow down 
 upon my neck in waving curls; I would have 
 a fine waxed mustache; I would be a gal- 
 lant." But one hour passed before an altar, 
 a few hastily articulated words, had forever 
 cut me off from the number of the living, 
 and I had myself sealed down the stone of 
 my own tomb; I had with my own hand 
 bolted the gate of my prison ! 
 
 I went to the window. The sky was 
 beautifully blue ; the trees had donned their 
 spring robes; nature seemed to be making 
 parade of an ironical joy. The Place was 
 filled with people, some going, others com- 
 ing; young beaux and young beauties were 
 sauntering in couples toward the groves and 
 gardens; merry youths passed by, cheerily 
 trolling refrains of drinking songs it was 
 all a picture of vivacity, life, animation, 
 gayety, which formed a bitter contrast with 
 my mourning and my solitude. On the 
 steps of the gate sat a young mother playing 
 with her child. She kissed its little rosy 
 mouth still impearled with drops of milk, 
 and performed, in order to amuse it, a thou-
 
 CLARIMONDE 99 
 
 sand divine little puerilities such as only 
 mothers know how to invent. The father 
 standing at a little distance smiled gently 
 upon the charming group, and with folded 
 arms seemed to hug his joy to his heart. I 
 could not endure that spectacle. I closed 
 the window with violence, and flung myself 
 on my bed, my heart filled with frightful 
 hate and jealousy, and gnawed my fingers 
 and my bedcovers like a tiger that has passed 
 ten days without food. 
 
 I know not how long I remained in this 
 condition, but at last, while writhing on the 
 bed in a fit of spasmodic fury, I suddenly 
 perceived the Abbe" Serapion, who was stand- 
 ing erect in the centre of the room, watching 
 me attentively. Filled with shame of my- 
 self, I let my head fall upon my breast and 
 covered my face with my hands. 
 
 " Romuald, my friend, something very ex- 
 traordinary is transpiring within you," ob- 
 served Serapion, after a few moments' 
 silence; "your conduct is altogether inex- 
 plicable. You always so quiet, so pious, 
 so gentle you to rage in your cell like a 
 wild beast ! Take heed, brother do not
 
 100 CLARIMONDE 
 
 listen to the suggestions of the devil. The 
 Evil Spirit, furious that you have conse- 
 crated yourself forever to the Lord, is prowl- 
 ing around you like a ravening wolf and 
 making a last effort to obtain possession of 
 you. Instead of allowing yourself to be 
 conquered, my dear Romuald, make to your- 
 self a cuirass of prayers, a buckler of morti- 
 fications, and combat the enemy like a val- 
 iant man ; you will then assuredly overcome 
 him. Virtue must be proved by tempta- 
 tion, and gold comes forth purer from the 
 hands of the assayer. Fear not. Never 
 allow yourself to become discouraged. The 
 most watchful and steadfast souls are at mo- 
 ments liable to such temptation. Pray, fast, 
 meditate, and the Evil Spirit will depart 
 from you." 
 
 The words of the Abb6 S6rapion restored 
 me to myself, and I became a little more 
 calm. " I came," he continued, " to tell 
 you that you have been appointed to the 
 
 curacy of C . The priest whp had charge 
 
 of it has just died, and Monseigneur the 
 Bishop has ordered me to have you installed 
 there at once. Be ready, therefore, to start
 
 CLARIMONDE IOI 
 
 to-morrow." I responded with an inclina- 
 tion of the head, and the Abb6 retired. I 
 opened my missal and commenced reading 
 some prayers, but the letters became con- 
 fused and blurred under my eyes, the thread 
 of the ideas entangled itself hopelessly in 
 my brain, and the volume at last fell from 
 my hands without my being aware of it. 
 
 To leave to-morrow without having been 
 able to see her again, to add yet another 
 barrier to the many already interposed be- 
 tween us, to lose forever all hope of being 
 able to meet her, except, indeed, through a 
 miracle ! Even to write her, alas ! would be 
 impossible, for by whom could I despatch 
 my letter ? With my sacred character of 
 priest, to whom could I dare unbosom my- 
 self, in whom could I confide ? I became a 
 prey to the bitterest anxiety. 
 
 Then suddenly recurred to me the words 
 of the Abb S6rapion regarding the artifices 
 of the devil; and the strange character of 
 the adventure, the supernatural beauty of 
 Clarimonde, the phosphoric light of her eyes, 
 the burning imprint of her hand, the agony 
 into which she had thrown me, the sudden
 
 102 CLARIMONDE 
 
 change wrought within me when all my piety 
 vanished in a single instant these and other 
 things clearly testified to the work of the 
 Evil One, and perhaps that satiny hand was 
 but the glove which concealed his claws. 
 Filled with terror at these fancies, I again 
 picked up the missal which had slipped from 
 my knees and fallen upon the floor, and 
 once more gave myself up to prayer. 
 
 Next morning Se"rapion came to take me 
 away. Two mules freighted with our mis- 
 erable valises awaited us at the gate. He 
 mounted one, and I the other as well as I 
 knew how. 
 
 As we passed along the streets of the city, 
 I gazed attentively at all the windows and 
 balconies in the hope of seeing Clarimonde, 
 but it was yet early in the morning, and the 
 city had hardly opened its eyes. Mine 
 sought to penetrate the blinds and window- 
 curtains of all the palaces before which we 
 were passing. S6rapion doubtless attributed 
 this curiosity to my admiration of the archi- 
 tecture, for he slackened the pace of his ani- 
 mal in order to give me time to look around 
 me. At last we passed the city gates and
 
 CLARIMONDE IOJ 
 
 commenced to mount the hill beyond. 
 When we arrived at its summit I turned to 
 take a last look at the place where Clari- 
 monde dwelt. The shadow of a great cloud 
 hung over all the city; the contrasting colors 
 of its blue and red roofs were lost in the uni- 
 form half-tint, through which here and there 
 floated upward, like white flakes of foam, 
 the smoke of freshly kindled fires. By a 
 singular optical effect one edifice, which sur- 
 passed in height all the neighboring build- 
 ings that were still dimly veiled by the 
 vapors, towered up, fair and lustrous with 
 the gilding of a solitary beam of sunlight 
 although actually more than a league away 
 it seemed quite near. The smallest details 
 of its architecture were plainly distinguish- 
 able the turrets, the platforms, the win- 
 dow-casements, and even the swallow-tailed 
 weather vanes. 
 
 " What is that palace I see over there, all 
 lighted up by the sun ?" I asked Se>apion. 
 He shaded his eyes with his hand, and hav- 
 ing looked in the direction indicated, re- 
 plied: "It is the ancient palace which the 
 Prince Concini has given to the courte-
 
 104 CLARIMONDE 
 
 san Clarimonde. Awful things are done 
 there!" 
 
 At that instant, I know not yet whether 
 it was a reality or an illusion, I fancied I 
 saw gliding along the terrace a shapely white 
 figure, which gleamed for a moment in pass- 
 ing and as quickly vanished. It was Clari- 
 monde. 
 
 Oh, did she know that at that very hour, 
 all feverish and restless from the height of 
 the rugged road which separated me from 
 her and which, alas! I could never more de- 
 scend I was directing my eyes upon the 
 palace where she dwelt, and which a mock- 
 ing beam of sunlight seemed to bring nigh 
 to me, as though inviting me to enter therein 
 as its lord ? Undoubtedly she must have 
 known it, for her soul was too sympatheti- 
 cally united with mine not to have felt its 
 least emotional thrill, and that subtle sym- 
 pathy it must have been which prompted 
 her to climb although clad only in her 
 night-dress to the summit of the terrace, 
 amid the icy dews of the morning. 
 
 The shadow gained the palace, and the 
 scene became to the eye only a motionless
 
 CLARIMONDE 105 
 
 ocean of roofs and gables, amid which one 
 mountainous undulation was distinctly visi- 
 ble. Serapion urged his mule forward, my 
 own at once followed at the same gait, and 
 a sharp angle in the road at last hid the city 
 of S forever from my eyes, as I was des- 
 tined never to return thither. At the close 
 of a weary three-days' journey through dis- 
 mal country fields, we caught sight of the 
 cock upon the steeple of the church which 
 I was to take charge of, peeping above the 
 trees, and after having followed some wind- 
 ing roads fringed with thatched cottages and 
 little gardens, we found ourselves in front 
 of the faade, which certainly possessed few 
 features of magnificence. A porch orna- 
 mented with some mouldings, and two or 
 three pillars rudely hewn from sandstone; 
 a tiled roof with counterforts of the same 
 sandstone as the pillars, that was all. To 
 the left lay the cemetery, overgrown with 
 high weeds, and having a great iron cross 
 rising up in its centre; to the right stood 
 the presbytery, under the shadow of the 
 church. It was a house of the most extreme 
 simplicity and frigid cleanliness. We en-
 
 106 CLARIMONDE 
 
 tered the enclosure. A few chickens were 
 picking up some oats scattered upon the 
 ground ; accustomed, seemingly, to the 
 black habit of ecclesiastics, they showed no 
 fear of our presence and scarcely troubled 
 themselves to get out of our way. A hoarse, 
 wheezy barking fell upon our ears, and we 
 saw an aged dog running toward us. 
 
 It was my predecessor's dog. He had 
 dull bleared eyes, grizzled hair, and every 
 mark of the greatest age to which a dog can 
 possibly attain. I patted him gently, and 
 he proceeded at once to march along beside 
 me with an air of satisfaction unspeakable. 
 A very old woman, who had been the house- 
 keeper of the former cur, also came to meet 
 us, and after having invited me into a little 
 back parlor, asked whether I intended to 
 retain her. I replied that I would take care 
 of her, and the dog, and the chickens, and 
 all the furniture her master had bequeathed 
 her at his death. At this she became fairly 
 transported with joy, and the Abb Serapion 
 at once paid her the price which she asked 
 for her little property. 
 
 As soon as my installation was over, the
 
 CLARIMONDE IO7 
 
 Abb Se"rapion returned to the seminary. I 
 was, therefore, left alone, with no one but 
 myself to look to for aid or counsel. The 
 thought of Clarimonde again began to haunt 
 me, and in spite of all my endeavors to ban- 
 ish it, I always found it present in my medi- 
 tations. One evening, while promenading in 
 my little garden along the walks bordered 
 with box-plants, I fancied that I saw through 
 the elm-trees the figure of a woman, who fol- 
 lowed my every movement, and that I beheld 
 two sea-green eyes gleaming through the 
 foliage ; but it was only an illusion, and on 
 going round to the other side of the garden, 
 I could find nothing except a footprint on 
 the sanded walk a footprint so small that 
 it seemed to have been made by the foot of 
 a child. The garden was enclosed by very 
 high walls. I searched every nook and cor- 
 ner of it, but could discover no one there. 
 I have never succeeded in fully accounting 
 for this circumstance, which, after all, was 
 nothing compared with the strange things 
 which happened to me afterward. 
 
 For a whole year I lived thus, filling all 
 the duties of my calling with the most scru-
 
 108 CLARIMONDE 
 
 pulous exactitude, praying and fasting, ex- 
 horting and lending ghostly aid to the sick, 
 and bestowing alms even to the extent of 
 frequently depriving myself of the very nec- 
 essaries of life. But I felt a great aridness 
 within me, and the sources of grace seemed 
 closed against me. I never found that hap- 
 piness which should spring from the fulfil- 
 ment of a holy mission ; my thoughts were 
 far away, and the words of Clarimonde were 
 ever upon my lips like an involuntary re- 
 frain. Oh, brother, meditate well on this! 
 Through having but once lifted my eyes to 
 look upon a woman, through one fault ap- 
 parently so venial, I have for years remained 
 a victim to the most miserable agonies, and 
 the happiness of my life has been destroyed 
 forever. 
 
 I will not longer dwell upon those defeats, 
 or on those inward victories invariably fol- 
 lowed by yet more terrible falls, but will at 
 once proceed to the facts of my story. One 
 night my door-bell was long and violently 
 rung. The aged housekeeper arose and 
 opened to the stranger, and the figure of a 
 man, whose complexion was deeply bronzed,
 
 CLARIMONDE log 
 
 and who was richly clad in a foreign cos- 
 tume, with a poniard at his girdle, appeared 
 under the rays of Barbara's lantern. Her 
 first impulse was one of terror, but the 
 stranger reassured her, and stated that he 
 desired to see me at once on matters relat- 
 ing to my holy calling. Barbara invited him 
 upstairs, where I was on the point of retir- 
 ing. The stranger told me that his mistress, 
 a very noble lady, was lying at the point of 
 death, and desired to see a priest. I replied 
 that I was prepared to follow him, took with 
 me the sacred articles necessary for extreme 
 unction, and descended in all haste. Two 
 horses black as the night itself stood with- 
 out the gate, pawing the ground with im- 
 patience, and veiling their chests with long 
 streams of smoky vapor exhaled from their 
 nostrils. He held the stirrup and aided me 
 to mount upon one; then, merely laying his 
 hand upon the pummel of the saddle, he 
 vaulted on the other, pressed the animal's 
 sides with his knees, and loosened rein. 
 The horse bounded forward with the velocity 
 of an arrow. Mine, of which the stranger 
 held the bridle, also started off at a swift
 
 110 CLARIMONDE 
 
 gallop, keeping up with his companion. 
 We devoured the road. The ground flowed 
 backward beneath us in a long streaked line 
 of pale gray, and the black silhouettes of the 
 trees seemed fleeing by us on either side like 
 an army in rout. We passed through a for- 
 est so profoundly gloomy that I felt my flesh 
 creep in the chill darkness with superstitious 
 fear. The showers of bright sparks which 
 flew from the stony road under the ironshod 
 feet of our horses, remained glowing in our 
 wake like a fiery trail ; and had anyone at 
 that hour of the night beheld us both my 
 guide and myself he must have taken us 
 for two spectres riding upon nightmares. 
 Witch-fires ever and anon flitted across the 
 road before us, and the night-birds shrieked 
 fearsomely in the depth of the woods be- 
 yond, where we beheld at intervals glow 
 the phosphorescent eyes of wildcats. The 
 manes of the horses became more and more 
 dishevelled, the sweat streamed over their 
 flanks, and their breath came through their 
 nostrils hard and fast. But when he found 
 them slacking pace, the guide reanimated 
 them by uttering a strange, guttural, un-
 
 CLARIMONDE III 
 
 earthly cry, and the gallop recommenced 
 with fury. At last the whirlwind race 
 ceased ; a huge black mass pierced through 
 with many bright points of light suddenly 
 rose before us, the hoofs of our horses 
 echoed louder upon a strong wooden draw- 
 bridge, and we rode under a great vaulted 
 archway which darkly yawned between two 
 enormous towers. Some great excitement 
 evidently reigned in the castle. Servants 
 with torches were crossing the courtyard in 
 every direction, and above lights were as- 
 cending and descending from landing to 
 landing. I obtained a confused glimpse of 
 vast masses of architecture columns, ar- 
 cades, flights of steps, stairways a royal 
 voluptuousness and elfin magnificence of 
 construction worthy of fairyland. A negro 
 page the same who had before brought me 
 the tablet from Clarimode, and whom I in- 
 stantly recognized approached to aid me in 
 dismounting, and the major-domo, attired 
 in black velvet with a gold chain about his 
 neck, advanced to meet me, supporting him- 
 self upon an ivory cane. Large tears were 
 falling from his eyes and streaming over his
 
 112 CLARIMONDE 
 
 cheeks and white beard. 'Too late!" he 
 cried, sorrowfully shaking his venerable 
 head. ' Too late, sir priest ! But if you 
 have not been able to save the soul, come 
 at least to watch by the poor body." 
 
 He took my arm and conducted me to the 
 death chamber. I wept not less bitterly 
 than he, for I had learned that the dead one 
 was none other than that Clarimonde whom 
 I had so deeply and so wildly loved. A 
 prie-dieu stood at the foot of the bed; a 
 bluish flame flickering in a bronze patera 
 filled all the room with a wan, deceptive 
 light, here and there bringing out in the 
 darkness at intervals some projection of fur- 
 niture or cornice. In a chiselled urn upon 
 the table there was a faded white rose, 
 whose leaves excepting one that still held 
 had all fallen, like odorous tears, to the 
 foot of the vase. A broken black mask, a 
 fan, and disguises of every variety, which 
 were lying on the arm-chairs, bore witness 
 that death had entered suddenly and unan- 
 nounced into that sumptuous dwelling. 
 Without daring to cast my eyes upon the 
 bed, I knelt down and commenced to re-
 
 CLARIMONDE 113 
 
 peat the Psalms for the Dead, with exceed- 
 ing fervor, thanking God that he had placed 
 the tomb between me and the memory of 
 this woman, so that I might thereafter 
 be able to utter her name in my prayers as 
 a name forever sanctified by death. But 
 my fervor gradually weakened, and I fell 
 insensibly into a reverie. That chamber 
 bore no semblance to a chamber of death. 
 In lieu of the foetid and cadaverous odors 
 which I had been accustomed to breathe 
 during such funereal vigils, a languorous 
 vapor of Oriental perfume I know not what 
 amorous odor of woman softly floated 
 through the tepid air. That pale light 
 seemed rather a twilight gloom contrived 
 for voluptuous pleasure, than a substi- 
 tute for the yellow-flickering watch-tapers 
 which shine by the side of corpses. I 
 thought upon the strange destiny which en- 
 abled me to meet Clarimonde again at the 
 very moment when she was lost to me for- 
 ever, and a sigh of regretful anguish escaped 
 from my breast. Then it seemed to me 
 that some one behind me had also sighed, 
 and I turned round to look. It was only an 
 8
 
 1 14 CLARIMONDE 
 
 echo. But in that moment my eyes fell 
 upon the bed of death which they had till 
 then avoided. The red damask curtains, 
 decorated with large flowers worked in em- 
 broidery, and looped up with gold bullion, 
 permitted me to behold the fair dead, lying 
 at full length, with hands joined upon her 
 bosom. She was covered with a linen wrap- 
 ping of dazzling whiteness, which formed a 
 strong contrast with the gloomy purple of 
 the hangings, and was of so fine a texture 
 that it concealed nothing of her body's 
 charming form, and allowed the eye to fol- 
 low those beautiful outlines undulating like 
 the neck of a swan which even death had 
 not robbed of their supple grace. She 
 seemed an alabaster statue executed by 
 some skilful sculptor to place upon the tomb 
 of a queen, or rather, perhaps, like a slum- 
 bering maiden over whom the silent snow 
 had woven a spotless veil. 
 
 I could no longer maintain my constrained 
 attitude of prayer. The air of the alcove 
 intoxicated me, that febrile perfume of half- 
 faded roses penetrated my very brain, and I 
 commenced to pace restlessly up and down
 
 CLARIMONDE IIS 
 
 the chamber, pausing at each turn before 
 the bier to contemplate the graceful corpse 
 lying beneath the transparency of its shroud. 
 Wild fancies came thronging to my brain. 
 I thought to myself that she might not, per- 
 haps, be really dead; that she might only 
 have feigned death for the purpose of bring- 
 ing me to her castle, and then declaring her 
 love. At one time I even thought I saw 
 her foot move under the whiteness of the 
 coverings, and slightly disarrange the long, 
 straight folds of the winding sheet. 
 
 And then I asked myself: " Is this indeed 
 Clarimonde ? What proof have I that it is 
 she ? Might not that black page have 
 passed into the service of some other lady ? 
 Surely, I must be going mad to torture and 
 afflict myself thus!" But my heart an- 
 swered with a fierce throbbing: " It is she; 
 it is she indeed!" I approached the bed 
 again, and fixed my eyes with redoubled at- 
 tention upon the object of my incertitude. 
 Ah, must I confess it ? That exquisite per- 
 fection of bodily form, although purified and 
 made sacred by the shadow of death, affected 
 me more voluptuously than it should have
 
 Il6 CLARIMONDE 
 
 done, and that repose so closely resembled 
 slumber that one might well have mistaken 
 it for such. I forgot that I had come there 
 to perform a funeral ceremony; I fancied 
 myself a young bridegroom entering the 
 chamber of the bride, who all modestly hides 
 her fair face, and through coyness seeks to 
 keep herself wholly veiled. Heartbroken 
 with grief, yet wild with hope, shuddering 
 at once with fear and pleasure, I bent over 
 her and grasped the corner of the sheet. I 
 lifted it back, holding my breath all the 
 while through fear of waking her. My 
 arteries throbbed with such violence that I 
 felt them hiss through my temples, and the 
 sweat poured from my forehead in streams, 
 as though I had lifted a mighty slab of mar- 
 ble. There, indeed, lay Clarimonde, even 
 as I had seen her at the church on the day 
 of my ordination. She was not less charm- 
 ing than then. With her, death seemed but 
 a last coquetry. The pallor of her cheeks, 
 the less brilliant carnation of her lips, her 
 long eyelashes lowered and relieving their 
 dark fringe against that white skin, lent her 
 an unspeakably seductive aspect of melan-
 
 CLARIMONDE 117 
 
 choly chastity and mental suffering; her 
 long loose hair, still intertwined with some 
 little blue flowers, made a shining pillow for 
 her head, and veiled the nudity of her shoul- 
 ders with its thick ringlets; her beautiful 
 hands, purer, more diaphanous than the 
 Host, were crossed on her bosom in an atti- 
 tude of pious rest and silent prayer, which 
 served to counteract all that might have 
 proven otherwise too alluring even after 
 death in the exquisite roundness and ivory 
 polish of her bare arms from which the pearl 
 bracelets had not yet been removed. I re- 
 mained long in mute contemplation, and the 
 more I gazed, the less could I persuade 
 myself that life had really abandoned that 
 beautiful body forever. I do not know 
 whether it was an illusion or a reflection of 
 the lamplight, but it seemed to me that the 
 blood was again commencing to circulate 
 under that lifeless pallor, although she re- 
 mained all motionless. I laid my hand 
 lightly on her arm ; it was cold, but not 
 colder than her hand on the day when it 
 touched mine at the portals of the church. 
 I resumed my position, bending my face
 
 Il8 CLARIMONDE 
 
 above her, and bathing her cheeks with the 
 warm dew of my tears. Ah, what bitter 
 feelings of despair and helplessness, what 
 agonies unutterable did I endure in that 
 long watch ! Vainly did I wish that I could 
 have gathered all my life into one mass that 
 I might give it all to her, and breathe into 
 her chill remains the flame which devoured 
 me. The night advanced, and feeling the 
 moment of eternal separation approach, I 
 could not deny myself the last sad sweet 
 pleasure of imprinting a kiss upon the dead 
 lips of her who had been my only love. . . . 
 Oh, miracle! A faint breath mingled itself 
 with my breath, and the mouth of Clari- 
 monde responded to the passionate pressure 
 of mine. Her eyes unclosed, and lighted 
 up with something of their former brilliancy; 
 she uttered a long sigh, and uncrossing her 
 arms, passed them around my neck with a 
 look of ineffable delight. " Ah, it is thou, 
 Romuald!" she murmured in a voice lan- 
 guishingly sweet as the last vibrations of a 
 harp. " What ailed thee, dearest ? I waited 
 so long for thee that I am dead ; but we are 
 now betrothed; I can see thee and visit
 
 CLARIMONDE 119 
 
 tliee. Adieu, Romuald, adieu ! I love thee. 
 That is all I wished to tell thee, and I give 
 thee back the life which thy kiss for a mo- 
 ment recalled. We shall soon meet again." 
 
 Her head fell back, but her arms yet en- 
 circled me, as though to retain me still. A 
 furious whirlwind suddenly burst in the 
 window, and entered the chamber. The last 
 remaining leaf of the white rose for a mo- 
 ment palpitated at the extremity of the stalk 
 like a butterfly's wing, then it detached itself 
 and flew forth through the open casement, 
 bearing with it the soul of Clarimonde. The 
 lamp was extinguished, and I fell insensible 
 upon the bosom of the beautiful dead. 
 
 When I came to myself again I was lying 
 on the bed in my little room at the presby- 
 tery, and the old dog of the former cur was 
 licking my hand which had been hanging 
 down outside of the covers. Barbara, all 
 trembling with age and anxiety, was busy- 
 ing herself about the room, opening and 
 shutting drawers, and emptying powders 
 into glasses. On seeing me open my eyes, 
 the old woman uttered a cry of joy, the dog 
 yelped and wagged his tail, but I was still
 
 12O CLAR1MONDE 
 
 so weak that I could not speak a single word 
 or make the slightest motion. Afterward I 
 learned that I had lain thus for three days, 
 giving no evidence of life beyond the faint- 
 est respiration. Those three days do not 
 reckon in my life, nor could I ever imagine 
 whither my spirit had departed during those 
 three days ; I have no recollection of aught 
 relating to them. Barbara told me that the 
 same coppery-complexioned man who came 
 to seek me on the night of my departure 
 from the presbytery, had brought me back 
 the next morning in a close litter, and de- 
 parted immediately afterward. When I be- 
 came able to collect my scattered thoughts, 
 I reviewed within my mind all the circum- 
 stances of that fateful night. At first I 
 thought I had been the victim of some magi- 
 cal illusion, but ere long the recollection of 
 other circumstances, real and palpable in 
 themselves, came to forbid that supposition. 
 I could not believe that I had been dream- 
 ing, since Barbara as well as myself had seen 
 the strange man with his two black horses, 
 and described with exactness every detail of 
 his figure and apparel. Nevertheless it ap-
 
 CLAR1MONDE 121 
 
 peared that none knew of any castle in the 
 neighborhood answering to the description 
 of that in which I had again found Clari- 
 monde. 
 
 One morning I found the Abb Serapion 
 in my room. Barbara had advised him that 
 I was ill, and he had come with all speed to 
 see me. Although this haste on his part 
 testified to an affectionate interest in me, 
 yet his visit did not cause me the pleasure 
 which it should have done. The Abb Se>a- 
 pion had something penetrating and inquisi- 
 torial in his gaze which made me feel very 
 ill at ease. His presence filled me with em- 
 barrassment and a sense of guilt. At the 
 first glance he divined my interior trouble, 
 and I hated him for his clairvoyance. 
 
 While he inquired after my health in hyp- 
 ocritically honeyed accents, he constantly 
 kept his two great yellow lion-eyes fixed 
 upon me, and plunged his look into my soul 
 like a sounding lead. Then he asked me 
 how I directed my parish, if I was happy in 
 it, how I passed the leisure hours allowed 
 me in the intervals of pastoral duty, whether 
 I had become acquainted with many of the
 
 122 CLARIMONDE 
 
 inhabitants of the place, what was my favor- 
 ite reading, and a thousand other such ques- 
 tions. I answered these inquiries as briefly 
 as possible, and he, without ever waiting 
 for my answers, passed rapidly from one 
 subject of query to another. That conver- 
 sation had evidently no connection with 
 what he actually wished to say. At last, 
 without any premonition, but as though 
 repeating a piece of news which he had 
 recalled on the instant, and feared might 
 otherwise be forgotten subsequently, he sud- 
 denly said, in a clear vibrant voice, which 
 rang in my ears like the trumpets of the 
 Last Judgment: 
 
 ' The great courtesan Clarimonde died a 
 few days ago, at the close of an orgie which 
 lasted eight days and eight nights. It was 
 something infernally splendid. The abomi- 
 nations of the banquets of Belshazzar and 
 Cleopatra were reenacted there. Good God, 
 what age are we living in ? The guests were 
 served by swarthy slaves who spoke an un- 
 known tongue, and who seemed to me to be 
 veritable demons. The livery of the very 
 least among them would have served for the
 
 CLARIMONDE 123 
 
 gala-dress of an emperor. There have always 
 been very strange stories told of this Clari- 
 monde, and all her lovers came to a violent 
 or miserable end. They used to say that 
 she was a ghoul, a female vampire; but I 
 believe she was none other than Beelzebub 
 himself." 
 
 He ceased to speak and commenced to re- 
 gard me more attentively than ever, as 
 though to observe the effect of his words on 
 me. I could not refrain from starting when 
 I heard him utter the name of Clarimonde, 
 and this news of her death, in addition to 
 the pain it caused me by reason of its coin- 
 cidence with the nocturnal scenes I had wit- 
 nessed, filled me with an agony and terror 
 which my face betrayed, despite my utmost 
 endeavors to appear composed. Se>apion 
 fixed an anxious and severe look upon me, 
 and then observed: " My son, I must warn 
 you that you are standing with foot raised 
 upon the brink of an abyss; take heed lest 
 you fall therein. Satan's claws are long, 
 and tombs are not always true to their trust. 
 The tombstone of Clarimonde should be 
 sealed down with a triple seal, for, if report
 
 124 CLARIMONDE 
 
 be true, it is not the first time she has died. 
 May God watch over you, Romuald ! " 
 
 And with these words the Abb walked 
 slowly to the door. I did not see him again 
 
 at that time, for he left for S almost 
 
 immediately. 
 
 I became completely restored to health 
 and resumed my accustomed duties. The 
 memory of Clarimonde and the words of 
 the old Abb6 were constantly in my mind ; 
 nevertheless no extraordinary event had oc- 
 curred to verify the funereal predictions of 
 S6rapion, and I had commenced to believe 
 that his fears and my own terrors were over- 
 exaggerated, when one night I had a strange 
 dream. I had hardly fallen asleep when I 
 heard my bed-curtains drawn apart, as their 
 rings slided back upon the curtain rod with 
 a sharp sound. I rose up quickly upon my 
 elbow, and beheld the shadow of a woman 
 standing erect before me. I recognized 
 Clarimonde immediately. She bore in her 
 hand a little lamp, shaped like those which 
 are placed in tombs, and its light lent her 
 fingers a rosy transparency, which extended 
 itself by lessening degrees even to the opaque
 
 CLARIMONDE 125 
 
 and milky whiteness of her bare arm. Her 
 only garment was the linen winding-sheet 
 which had shrouded her when lying upon 
 the bed of death. She sought to gather its 
 folds over her bosom as though ashamed of 
 being so scantily clad, but her little hand 
 was not equal to the task. She was so white 
 that the color of the drapery blended with 
 that of her flesh under the pallid rays of the 
 lamp. Enveloped with this subtle tissue 
 which betrayed all the contour of her body, 
 she seemed rather the marble statue of some 
 fair antique bather than a woman endowed 
 with life. But dead or living, statue or 
 woman, shadow or body, her beauty was 
 still the same, only that the green light of 
 her eyes was less brilliant, and her mouth, 
 once so warmly crimson, was only tinted 
 with a faint tender rosiness, like that of her 
 cheeks. The little blue flowers which I had 
 noticed entwined in her hair were withered 
 and dry, and had lost nearly all their leaves, 
 but this did not prevent her from being 
 charming so charming that notwithstand- 
 ing the strange character of the adventure, 
 and the unexplainable manner in which she
 
 126 CLARIMONDE 
 
 had entered my room, I felt not even for a 
 moment the least fear. 
 
 She placed the lamp on the table and 
 seated herself at the foot of my bed ; then 
 bending toward me, she said, in that voice 
 at once silvery clear and yet velvety in its 
 sweet softness, such as I never heard from 
 any lips save hers : 
 
 " I have kept thee long in waiting, dear 
 Romuald, and it must have seemed to thee 
 that I had forgotten thee. But I come from 
 afar off, very far off, and from a land whence 
 no other has ever yet returned. There is 
 neither sun nor moon in that land whence I 
 come: all is but space and shadow; there is 
 neither road nor pathway : no earth for the 
 foot, no air for the wing ; and nevertheless 
 behold me here, for Love is stronger than 
 Death and must conquer him in the end. 
 Oh what sad faces and fearful things I have 
 seen on my way hither! What difficulty 
 my soul, returned to earth through the 
 power of will alone, has had in finding its 
 body and reinstating itself therein ! What 
 terrible efforts I had to make ere I could 
 lift the ponderous slab with which they had
 
 CLARIMONDE 127 
 
 covered me! See, the palms of my poor 
 hands are all bruised ! Kiss them, sweet 
 love, that they may be healed! " She laid 
 the cold palms of her hands upon my mouth, 
 one after the other. I kissed them, indeed, 
 many times, and she the while watched me 
 with a smile of ineffable affection. 
 
 I confess to my shame that I had entirely 
 forgotten the advice of the Abbe Serapion 
 and the sacred office wherewith I had been 
 invested. I had fallen without resistance, 
 and at the first assault. I had not even 
 made the least effort to repel the tempter. 
 The fresh coolness of Clarimonde's skin 
 penetrated my own, and I felt voluptuous 
 tremors pass over my whole body. Poor 
 child ! in spite of all I saw afterward, I can 
 hardly yet believe she was a demon ; at least 
 she had no appearance of being such, and 
 never did Satan so skilfully conceal his claws 
 and horns. She had drawn her feet up be- 
 neath her, and squatted down on the edge 
 of the couch in an attitude full of negligent 
 coquetry. From time to time she passed 
 her little hand through my hair and twisted 
 it into curls, as though trying how a new
 
 128 CLARIMONDE 
 
 style of wearing it would become my face. 
 I abandoned myself to her hands with the 
 most guilty pleasure, while she accompanied 
 her gentle play with the prettiest prattle. 
 The most remarkable fact was that I felt no 
 astonishment whatever at so extraordinary 
 an adventure, and as in dreams one finds no 
 difficulty in accepting the most fantastic 
 events as simple facts, so all these circum- 
 stances seemed to me perfectly natural in 
 themselves. 
 
 " I loved thee long ere I saw thee, dear 
 Romuald, and sought thee everywhere. 
 Thou wast my dream, and I first saw thee 
 in the church at the fatal moment. I said 
 at once, ' It is he ! ' I gave thee a look into 
 which I threw all the love I ever had, all the 
 love I now have, all the love I shall ever 
 have for thee a look that would have 
 damned a cardinal or brought a king to his 
 knees at my feet in view of all his court. 
 Thou remainedst unmoved, preferring thy 
 God to me ! 
 
 " Ah, how jealous I am of that God whom 
 thou didst love and still lovest more than 
 me!
 
 CLARIMONDE 129 
 
 " Woe is me, unhappy one that I am ! I 
 can never have thy heart all to myself, I 
 whom thou didst recall to life with a kiss 
 dead Clarimonde, who for thy sake bursts 
 asunder the gates of the tomb, and comes 
 to consecrate to thee a life which she has 
 resumed only to make thee happy! " 
 
 All her words were accompanied with the 
 most impassioned caresses, which bewildered 
 my sense and my reason to such an extent, 
 that I did not fear to utter a frightful blas- 
 phemy for the sake of consoling her, and to 
 declare that I loved her as much as God. 
 
 Her eyes rekindled and shone like chryso- 
 prases. " In truth? in very truth? as much 
 as God !" she cried, flinging her beautiful 
 arms around me. " Since it is so, thou wilt 
 come with me ; thou wilt follow me whither- 
 soever I desire. Thou wilt cast away thy 
 ugly black habit. Thou shalt be the proud- 
 est and most envied of cavaliers; thou shalt 
 be my lover ! To be the acknowledged lover 
 of Clarimonde, who has refused even a Pope, 
 that will be something to feel proud of! 
 Ah, the fair, unspeakably happy existence, 
 the beautiful golden life we shall live to- 
 9
 
 130 CLARIMONDE 
 
 gether ! And when shall we depart, my fair 
 sir?" 
 
 "To-morrow! To-morrow!" I cried in 
 my delirium. 
 
 ' To-morrow, then, so let it be! " she an- 
 swered. " In the meanwhile I shall have 
 opportunity to change my toilet, for this is 
 a little too light and in nowise suited for a 
 voyage. I must also forthwith notify all 
 my friends who believe me dead, and mourn 
 for me as deeply as they are capable of 
 doing. The money, the dresses, the car- 
 riages all will be ready. I shall call for 
 thee at this same hour. Adieu, dear heart ! ' ' 
 And she lightly touched my forehead with 
 her lips. The lamp went out, the curtains 
 closed again, and all became dark; a leaden, 
 dreamless sleep fell on me and held me un- 
 conscious until the morning following, 
 
 I awoke later than usual, and the recollec- 
 tion of this singular adventure troubled me 
 during the whole day. I finally persuaded 
 myself that it was a mere vapor of my 
 heated imagination. Nevertheless its sensa- 
 tions had been so vivid that it was difficult 
 to persuade myself that they were not real,
 
 CLARIMONDE IJI 
 
 and it was not without some presentiment 
 of what was going to happen that I got into 
 bed at last, after having prayed God to drive 
 far from me all thoughts of evil, and to pro- 
 tect the chastity of my slumber. 
 
 I soon fell into a deep sleep, and my 
 dream was continued. The curtains again 
 parted, and I beheld Clarimonde, not as on 
 the former occasion, pale in her pale wind- 
 ing-sheet, with the violets of death upon 
 her cheeks, but gay, sprightly, jaunty, in a 
 superb travelling dress of green velvet, 
 trimmed with gold lace, and looped up on 
 either side to allow a glimpse of satin petti- 
 coat. Her blond hair escaped in thick ring- 
 lets from beneath a broad black felt hat, 
 decorated with white feathers whimsically 
 twisted into various shapes. In one hand 
 she held a little riding whip terminated by a 
 golden whistle. She tapped me lightly with 
 it, and exclaimed: " Well, my fine sleeper, 
 is this the way you make your preparations ? 
 I thought I would find you up and dressed. 
 Arise quickly, we have no time to lose." 
 
 I leaped out of bed at once. 
 
 "Come, dress yourself, and let us go,"
 
 132 CLARIMONDE 
 
 she continued, pointing to a little package 
 she had brought with her. " The horses are 
 becoming impatient of delay and champing 
 their bits at the door. We ought to have 
 been by this time at least ten leagues dis- 
 tant from here." 
 
 I dressed myself hurriedly, and she handed 
 me the articles of apparel herself one by one, 
 bursting into laughter from time to time at 
 my awkwardness, as she explained to me the 
 use of a garment when I had made a mis- 
 take. She hurriedly arranged my hair, and 
 this done, held up before me a little pocket 
 mirror of Venetian crystal, rimmed with 
 silver filigree-work, and playfully asked : 
 ' How dost find thyself now ? Wilt engage 
 me for thy valet de chambre ? " 
 
 I was no longer the same person, and I 
 could not even recognize myself. I resem- 
 bled my former self no more than a finished 
 statue resembles a block of stone. My old 
 face seemed but a coarse daub of the one 
 reflected in the mirror. I was handsome, 
 and my vanity was sensibly tickled by the 
 metamorphosis. That elegant apparel, that 
 richly embroidered vest had made of me a
 
 CLARIMONDE 133 
 
 totally different personage, and I marvelled 
 at the power of transformation owned by a 
 few yards of cloth cut after a certain pat- 
 tern. The spirit of my costume penetrated 
 my very skin, and within ten minutes more 
 I had become something of a coxcomb. 
 
 In order to feel more at ease in my new 
 attire, I took several turns up and down the 
 room. Clarimonde watched me with an air 
 of maternal pleasure, and appeared well sat- 
 isfied with her ^ work. "Come, enough of 
 this child's-play! Let us start, Romuald, 
 dear. We have far to go, and we may not 
 get there in time." She took my hand and 
 led me forth. All the doors opened before 
 her at a touch, and we passed by the dog 
 without awaking him. 
 
 At the gate we found Margheritone wait- 
 ing, the same swarthy groom who had once 
 before been my escort. He held the bridles 
 of three horses, all black like those which 
 bore us to the castle one for me, one for 
 him, one for Clarimonde. Those horses 
 must have been Spanish genets born of mares 
 fecundated by a zephyr, for they were fleet 
 as the wind itself, and the moon, which had
 
 134 CLARIMONDE 
 
 just risen at our departure to light us on the 
 way, rolled over the sky like a wheel de- 
 tached from her own chariot. We beheld 
 her on the right leaping from tree to tree, 
 and putting herself out of breath in the 
 effort to keep up with us. Soon we came 
 upon a level plain where, hard by a clump of 
 trees, a carriage with four vigorous horses 
 awaited us. We entered it, and the postil- 
 ions urged their animals into a mad gallop. 
 I had one arm around Clarimonde's waist, 
 and one of her hands clasped in mine; her 
 head leaned upon my shoulder, and I felt 
 her bosom, half bare, lightly pressing against 
 my arm. I had never known such intense 
 happiness. In that hour I had forgotten 
 everything, and I no more remembered hav- 
 ing ever been a priest than I remembered 
 what I had been doing in my mother's 
 womb, so great was the fascination which 
 the evil spirit exerted upon me. From that 
 night my nature seemed in some sort to 
 have become halved, and there were two 
 men within me, neither of whom knew the 
 other. At one moment I believed myself a 
 priest who dreamed nightly that he was a
 
 CLARIMONDE 135 
 
 gentleman, at another that I was a gentleman 
 who dreamed he was a priest. I could no 
 longer distinguish the dream from the real- 
 ity, nor could I discover where the reality 
 began or where ended the dream. The ex- 
 quisite young lord and libertine railed at the 
 priest, the priest loathed the dissolute habits 
 of the young lord. Two spirals entangled 
 and confounded the one with the other, yet 
 never touching, would afford a fair repre- 
 sentation of this bicephalic life which I lived. 
 Despite the strange character of my condi- 
 tion, I do not believe that I ever inclined, 
 even for a moment, to madness. I always 
 retained with extreme vividness all the per- 
 ceptions of my two lives. Only there was 
 one absurd fact which I could not explain 
 to myself namely, that the consciousness 
 of the same individuality existed in two men 
 so opposite in character. It was an anomaly 
 for which I could not account whether I 
 believed myself to be the cur6 of the little 
 
 village of C , or // Signor Romualdo, the 
 
 titled lover of Clarimonde. 
 
 Be that as it may, I lived, at least I be- 
 lieved that I lived, in Venice. I have never
 
 136 CLARIMONDE 
 
 been able to discover rightly how much of 
 illusion and how much of reality there was 
 in this fantastic adventure. We dwelt in a 
 great palace on the Canaleio, filled with fres- 
 coes and statues, and containing two Titians 
 in the noblest style of the great master, 
 which were hung in Clarimonde's chamber. 
 It was a palace well worthy of a king. We 
 had each our gondola, our barcarolli in fam- 
 ily livery, our music hall, and our special 
 poet. Clarimonde always lived upon a mag- 
 nificent scale; there was something of Cleo- 
 patra in her nature. As for me, I had the 
 retinue of a prince's son, and I was regarded 
 with as much reverential respect as though 
 I had been of the family of one of the twelve 
 Apostles or the four Evangelists of the Most 
 Serene Republic. I would not have turned 
 aside to allow even the Doge to pass, and I 
 do not believe that since Satan fell from 
 heaven, any creature was ever prouder or 
 more insolent than I. I went to the Ridot- 
 to, and played with a luck which seemed 
 absolutely infernal. I received the best of 
 all society the sons of ruined families, 
 women of the theatre, shrewd knaves, para-
 
 CLARIMONDE 137 
 
 sites, hectoring swashbucklers. But not- 
 withstanding the dissipation of such a life, 
 I always remained faithful to Clarimonde. 
 I loved her wildly. She would have excited 
 satiety itself, and chained inconstancy. To 
 have Clarimonde was to have twenty mis- 
 tresses ; aye, to possess all women : so mo- 
 bile, so varied of aspect, so fresh in new 
 charms was she all in herself a very chame- 
 leon of a woman, in sooth. She made you 
 commit with her the infidelity you would 
 have committed with another, by donning 
 to perfection the character, the attraction, 
 the style of beauty of the woman who ap- 
 peared to please you. She returned my love 
 a hundred-fold, and it was in vain that the 
 young patricians and even the Ancients of 
 the Council of Ten made her the most mag- 
 nificent proposals. A Foscari even went so 
 far as to offer to espouse her. She rejected 
 all his overtures. Of gold she had enough. 
 She wished no longer for anything but love 
 a love youthful, pure, evoked by herself, 
 and which should be a first and last passion. 
 I would have been perfectly happy but for 
 a cursed nightmare which recurred every
 
 138 CLARIMONDE 
 
 night, and in which I believed myself to be 
 a poor village cure", practising mortification 
 and penance for my excesses during the day. 
 Reassured by my constant association with 
 her, I never thought further of the strange 
 manner in which I had become acquainted 
 with Clarimonde. But the words of the 
 Abbe" Se>apion concerning her recurred often 
 to my memory, and never ceased to cause 
 me uneasiness. 
 
 For some time the health of Clarimonde 
 had not been so good as usual; her com- 
 plexion grew paler day by day. The phy- 
 sicians who were summoned could not com- 
 prehend the nature of her malady and knew 
 not how to treat it. They all prescribed 
 some insignificant remedies, and never called 
 a second time. Her paleness, nevertheless, 
 visibly increased, and she became colder and 
 colder, until she seemed almost as white and 
 dead as upon that memorable night in the 
 unknown castle. I grieved with anguish 
 unspeakable to behold her thus slowly perish- 
 ing; and she, touched by my agony, smiled 
 upon me sweetly and sadly with the fateful 
 smile of those who feel that they must die.
 
 CLARIMONDE 139 
 
 One morning I was seated at her bedside, 
 and breakfasting from a little table placed 
 close at hand, so that I might not be obliged 
 to leave her for a single instant. In the act 
 of cutting some fruit I accidentally inflicted 
 rather a deep gash on my finger. The blood 
 immediately gushed forth in a little purple 
 jet, and a few drops spurted upon Clari- 
 monde. Her eyes flashed, her face sud- 
 denly assumed an expression of savage and 
 ferocious joy such as I had never before ob- 
 served in her. She leaped out of her bed 
 with animal agility the agility, as it were, 
 of an ape or a cat and sprang upon my 
 wound, which she commenced to suck with 
 an air of unutterable pleasure. She swal- 
 lowed the blood in little mouthfuls, slowly 
 and carefully, like a connoisseur tasting a 
 wine from Xeres or Syracuse. Gradually 
 her eyelids half closed, and the pupils of her 
 green eyes became oblong instead of round. 
 From time to time she paused in order to 
 kiss my hand, then she would recommence 
 to press her lips to the lips of the wound in 
 order to coax forth a few more ruddy drops. 
 When she found that the blood would no
 
 146 CLARIMONDE 
 
 longer come, she arose with eyes liquid and 
 brilliant, rosier than a May dawn ; her face 
 full and fresh, her hand warm and moist 
 in fine, more beautiful than ever, and in the 
 most perfect health. 
 
 " I shall not die! I shall not die!" she 
 cried, clinging to my neck, half mad with 
 joy. " I can love thee yet for a long time. 
 My life is thine, and all that is of me comes 
 from thee. A few drops of thy rich and 
 noble blood, more precious and more potent 
 than all the elixirs of the earth, have given 
 me back life." 
 
 This scene long haunted my memory, and 
 inspired me with strange doubts in regard to 
 Clarimonde; and the same evening, when 
 slumber had transported me to my presby- 
 tery, I beheld the Abbe" S6rapion, graver 
 and more anxious of aspect than ever. He 
 gazed attentively at me, and sorrowfully ex- 
 claimed: " Not content with losing your 
 soul, you now desire also to lose your body. 
 Wretched young man, into how terrible a 
 plight have you fallen ! " The tone in which 
 he uttered these words powerfully affected 
 me, but in spite of its vividness even that
 
 CLARIMONDE 141 
 
 impression was soon dissipated, and a thou- 
 sand other cares erased it from my mind. 
 At last one evening, while looking into a 
 mirror whose traitorous position she had not 
 taken into account, I saw Clarimonde in the 
 act of emptying a powder into the cup of 
 spiced wine which she had long been in the 
 habit of preparing after our repasts. I took 
 the cup, feigned to carry it to my lips, and 
 then placed it on the nearest article of furni- 
 ture as though intending to finish it at my 
 leisure. Taking advantage of a moment 
 when the fair one's back was turned, I threw 
 the contents under the table, after which I 
 retired to my chamber and went to bed, 
 fully resolved not to sleep, but to watch and 
 discover what should come of all this mys- 
 tery. I did not have to wait long. Clari- 
 monde entered in her night-dress, and hav- 
 ing removed her apparel, crept into bed and 
 lay down beside me. When she felt assured 
 that I was asleep, she bared my arm, and 
 drawing a gold pin from her hair, com- 
 menced to murmur in a low voice: 
 
 One drop, only one drop! One ruby at 
 the end of my needle. . . . Since thou
 
 142 CLARIMONDE 
 
 lovest me yet, I must not die! . . . Ah, 
 poor love ! His beautiful blood, so brightly 
 purple, I must drink it. Sleep, my only 
 treasure! Sleep, my god, my child! I will 
 do thee no harm ; I will only take of thy life 
 what I must to keep my own from being 
 forever extinguished. But that I love thee 
 so much, I could well resolve to have other 
 lovers whose veins I could drain ; but since 
 I have known thee all other men have be- 
 come hateful to me. . . . Ah, the beauti- 
 ful arm ! How round it is! How white it 
 is ! How shall I ever dare to prick this 
 pretty blue vein!" And while thus mur- 
 muring to herself she wept, and I felt her 
 tears raining on my arm as she clasped it 
 with her hands. At last she took the re- 
 solve, slightly punctured me with her pin, 
 and commenced to suck up the blood which 
 oozed from the place. Although she swal- 
 lowed only a few drops, the fear of weaken- 
 ing me soon seized her, and she carefully 
 tied a little band around my arm, afterward 
 rubbing the wound with an unguent which 
 immediately cicatrized it. 
 
 Further doubts were impossible. The
 
 CLARIMONDE 143 
 
 Abb Srapion was right. Notwithstanding 
 this positive knowledge, however, I could 
 not cease to love Clarimonde, and I would 
 gladly of my own accord have given her all 
 the blood she required to sustain her facti- 
 tious life. Moreover, I felt but little fear of 
 her. The woman seemed to plead with me 
 for the vampire, and what I had already 
 heard and seen sufficed to reassure me com- 
 pletely. In those days I had plenteous 
 veins, which would not have been so easily 
 exhausted as at present ; and I would not 
 have thought of bargaining for my blood, 
 drop by drop. I would rather have opened 
 myself the veins of my arm and said to her: 
 " Drink, and may my love infiltrate itself 
 throughout thy body together with my 
 blood!" I carefully avoided ever making 
 the least reference to the narcotic drink she 
 had prepared for me, or to the incident of 
 the pin, and we lived in the most perfect 
 harmony. 
 
 Yet my priestly scruples commenced to 
 torment me more than ever, and I was at a 
 loss to imagine what new penance I could 
 invent in order to mortify and subdue my
 
 144 CLARIMONDE 
 
 flesh. Although these visions were involun- 
 tary, and though I did not actually partici- 
 pate in anything relating to them, I could 
 not dare to touch the body of Christ with 
 hands so impure and a mind defiled by such 
 debauches whether real or imaginary. In 
 the effort to avoid falling under the influ- 
 ence of these wearisome hallucinations, I 
 strove to prevent myself from being over- 
 come by sleep. I held my eyelids open with 
 my fingers, and stood for hours together 
 leaning upright against the wall, fighting 
 sleep with all my might; but the dust of 
 drowsiness invariably gathered upon my 
 eyes at last, and finding all resistance use- 
 less, I would have to let my arms fall in the 
 extremity of despairing weariness, and the 
 current of slumber would again bear me 
 away to the perfidious shores. Serapion 
 addressed me with the most vehement ex- 
 hortations, severely reproaching me for my 
 softness and want of fervor. Finally, one 
 day when I was more wretched than usual, 
 he said to me: " There is but one way by 
 which you can obtain relief from this con- 
 tinual torment, and though it is an extreme
 
 CLARIMONDE 145 
 
 measure it must be made use of; violent 
 diseases require violent remedies. I know 
 where Clarimonde is buried. It is necessary 
 that we shall disinter her remains, and that 
 you shall behold in how pitiable a state the 
 object of your love is. Then you will no 
 longer be tempted to lose your soul for the 
 sake of an unclean corpse devoured by 
 worms, and ready to crumble into dust. 
 That will assuredly restore you to yourself." 
 For my part, I was so tired of this double 
 life that I at once consented, desiring to 
 ascertain beyond a doubt whether a priest 
 or a gentleman had been the victim of delu- 
 sion. I had become fully resolved either to 
 kill one of the two men within me for the 
 benefit of the other, or else to kill both, for 
 so terrible an existence could not last long 
 and be endured. The Abbe" Serapion pro- 
 vided himself with a mattock, a lever, and a 
 lantern, and at midnight we wended our way 
 
 to the cemetery of , the location and 
 
 place of which were perfectly familiar to 
 him. After having directed the rays of the 
 dark lantern upon the inscriptions of several 
 tombs, we came at last upon a great slab,
 
 146 CLARIMONDE 
 
 half concealed by huge weeds and devoured 
 by mosses and parasitic plants, whereupon 
 we deciphered the opening lines of the 
 epitaph : 
 
 Here lies Clarimonde 
 
 Who was famed in her life-time 
 
 As the fairest of women.* 
 
 "It is here without a doubt," muttered 
 Se'rapion, and placing his lantern on the 
 ground, he forced the point of the lever 
 under the edge of the stone and commenced 
 to raise it. The stone yielded, and he pro- 
 ceeded to work with the mattock. Darker 
 and more silent than the night itself, I stood 
 by and watched him do it, while he, bend- 
 ing over his dismal toil, streamed with sweat, 
 panted, and his hard-coming breath seemed 
 to have the harsh tone of a death rattle. It 
 was a weird scene, and had any persons from 
 
 * Ici git Clarimonde 
 Qui fut de son vivant 
 La plus belle du monde. 
 
 The broken beauty of the lines is unavoidably lost 
 in the tran?tetion.
 
 CLARIMONDE 147 
 
 without beheld us, they would assuredly 
 have taken us rather for profane wretches 
 and shroud-stealers than for priests of God. 
 There was something grim and fierce in 
 Srapion's zeal which lent him the air of a 
 demon rather than of an apostle or an angel, 
 and his great aquiline face, with all its stern 
 features brought out in strong relief by the 
 lantern-light, had something fearsome in it 
 which enhanced the unpleasant fancy. I 
 felt an icy sweat come out upon my fore- 
 head in huge beads, and my hair stood up 
 with a hideous fear. Within the depths of 
 my own heart I felt that the act of the aus- 
 tere Se"rapion was an abominable sacrilege ; 
 and I could have prayed that a triangle of 
 fire would issue from the entrails of the dark 
 clouds, heavily rolling above us, to reduce 
 him to cinders. The owls which had been 
 nestling in the cypress-trees, startled by the 
 gleam of the lantern, flew against it from 
 time to time, striking their dusty wings 
 against its panes, and uttering plaintive cries 
 of lamentation ; wild foxes yelped in the far 
 darkness, and a thousand sinister noises de- 
 tached themselves from the silence. At last
 
 148 CLARIMONDE 
 
 Se>apion's mattock struck the coffin itself, 
 making its planks reecho with a deep sono- 
 rous sound, with that terrible sound noth- 
 ingness utters when stricken. He wrenched 
 apart and tore up the lid, and I beheld Clari- 
 monde, pallid as a figure of marble, with 
 hands joined ; her white winding-sheet made 
 but one fold from her head to her feet. A 
 little crimson drop sparkled like a speck of 
 dew at one corner of her colorless mouth. 
 S6rapion, at this spectacle, burst into fury: 
 " Ah, thou art here, demon! Impure cour- 
 tesan! Drinker of blood and gold!" And 
 he flung holy water upon the corpse and the 
 coffin, over which he traced the sign of the 
 cross with his sprinkler. Poor Clarimonde 
 had no sooner been touched by the blessed 
 spray than her beautiful body crumbled into 
 dust, and became only a shapeless and 
 frightful mass of cinders and half-calcined 
 bones. 
 
 " Behold your mistress, my Lord Rom- 
 uald!" cried the inexorable priest, as he 
 pointed to these sad remains. ' Will you 
 be easily tempted after this to promenade 
 on the Lido or at Fusina with your beauty ? ' '
 
 CLARIMONDE 149 
 
 I covered my face with my hands, a vast 
 ruin had taken place within me. I returned 
 to my presbytery, and the noble Lord Rom- 
 uald, the lover of Clarimonde, separated 
 himself from the poor priest with whom he 
 had kept such strange company so long. 
 But once only, the following night, I saw 
 Clarimonde. She said to me, as she had said 
 the first time at the portals of the church : 
 'Unhappy man! Unhappy man! What 
 hast thou done ? Wherefore have hearkened 
 to that imbecile priest ? Wert thou not 
 happy ? And what harm had I ever done 
 thee that thou shouldst violate my poor 
 tomb, and lay bare the miseries of my noth- 
 ingness ? All communication between our 
 souls and our bodies is henceforth forever 
 broken. Adieu ! Thou wilt yet regret me ! ' ' 
 She vanished in air as smoke, and I never 
 saw her more. 
 
 Alas ! she spoke truly indeed. I have re- 
 gretted her more than once, and I regret her 
 still. My soul's peace has been very dearly 
 bought. The love of God was not too much 
 to replace such a love as hers. And this, 
 brother, is the story of my youth. Never
 
 150 CLARIMONDE 
 
 gaze upon a woman, and walk abroad only 
 with eyes ever fixed upon the ground; for 
 however chaste and watchful one may be, 
 the error of a single moment is enough to 
 make one lose eternity.
 
 Arria Marcella
 
 MARCELLA 
 
 A SOUVENIR OF POMPEII 
 
 THREE young friends, who had under- 
 taken an Italian tour together last year, 
 visited the Studii Museum at Naples, where 
 the various antique objects exhumed from 
 the ashes of Pompeii and Herculaneum have 
 been collected. 
 
 They scattered through the halls, inspect- 
 ing the mosaics, the bronzes, the frescoes 
 detached from the walls of the dead city, 
 each following the promptings of his own 
 particular taste in such matters; and when- 
 ever one of the party encountered something 
 especially curious, he summoned his com- 
 rades with cries of delight, much to the scan- 
 dal of the taciturn English visitors, and the
 
 154 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 staid bourgeois who studiously thumbed 
 their catalogues. 
 
 But the youngest of the three, who had 
 paused before a glass case, appeared wholly 
 deaf to the exclamations of his comrades, so 
 deeply had he become absorbed in contem- 
 plation. The object that he seemed to be 
 examining with so much interest was a 
 black mass of coagulated cinders, bearing a 
 hollow imprint. One might easily have mis- 
 taken it for the fragment of some statue- 
 mould, broken in the casting. The trained 
 eye of an artist would have readily therein 
 recognized the impression of a perfect bosom 
 and a flank as faultless in its outlines as a 
 Greek statue. It is well known, indeed the 
 commonest traveller's guide will tell you, 
 that this lava, in cooling about the body of 
 a woman, preserved its charming contours. 
 Thanks to the caprice of the eruption that 
 destroyed four cities, that noble form, 
 though crumbled to dust nearly two thou- 
 sand years ago, has come down to us ; the 
 rounded loveliness of a throat has lived 
 through the centuries in which so many em- 
 pires perished without even leaving the
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 155 
 
 traces of their existence ; chance-imprinted 
 upon the volcanic scoriae, that seal of beauty 
 remains unobliterated. 
 
 Finding that he still remained absorbed in 
 contemplation, Octavian's friends returned 
 to where he stood; and Max, touching his 
 shoulder, caused him to start like one sur- 
 prised in a secret. Evidently Octavian had 
 not been aware of the approach of Max or 
 Fabio. 
 
 " Come, Octavian," exclaimed Max, " do 
 not stay lingering whole hours before every 
 cabinet, else we shall get late for the train 
 and miss seeing Pompeii to-day." 
 
 'What is our comrade looking at?" 
 asked Fabio, drawing near. " Ah, the im- 
 print found in the house of Arrius Dio- 
 medes!" And he turned a peculiar, quick 
 glance upon Octavian. 
 
 Octavian slightly blushed, took Max's 
 arm, and the visit terminated without fur- 
 ther incident. On leaving the Studii Mu- 
 seum, the three friends entered a corricolo, 
 and were driven to the railway station. The 
 corricolo, with its great red wheels, its tracket 
 seat studded with brass nails, and its thin,
 
 I$6 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 spirited horse harnessed like a Spanish mule, 
 and galloping at full speed over the great 
 slabs of lava pavement, is too familiar to 
 need description here, especially as we are 
 not recording impressions of a trip to Naples, 
 but the simple narrative of an adventure 
 which, although true, may seem both fan- 
 tastic and incredible in the extreme. 
 
 The railroad by which Pompeii is reached 
 runs for almost its entire length by the sea, 
 whose long volutes of foam advance to un- 
 roll themselves upon a beach of blackish 
 sand resembling sifted charcoal. This beach 
 has actually been formed by lava-streams 
 and volcanic cinders, and its deep tone forms 
 a strong contrast with the blue of the sky 
 and the blue of the waters. The earth alone, 
 in that sunny brightness, seems able to re- 
 tain a shadow. 
 
 The villages bordered or traversed by the 
 railway Portici, celebrated in one of Au- 
 ber's operas ; Resina, Torre del Graeco, Torre 
 dell' Annunziata, whose dwellings with their 
 arcades and terraced roofs attract the travel- 
 ler's gaze have, notwithstanding the inten- 
 sity of the sunlight and the southern love
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 157 
 
 for whitewashing, something of a Plutonian 
 and ferruginous character like Birmingham 
 or Manchester. The very dust is black 
 there. An impalpable soot clings to every- 
 thing. One feels that the mighty forge of 
 Vesuvius is panting and smoking only a few 
 paces off. 
 
 The three friends left the station at Pom- 
 peii, laughing among themselves at the odd 
 commingling of antique and modern ideas 
 suggested by the sign, " Pompeii Station " 
 a Graeco-Roman city and a railway depot ! 
 
 They crossed the cotton-field, with its flut- 
 tering white bolls, between the railway and 
 the disinterred city, and at the inn which 
 has been built just without the ancient ram- 
 part they took a guide, or, more correctly 
 speaking, the guide took them, a calamity 
 which is not easily avoided in Italy. 
 
 It was one of those delightful days so com- 
 mon in Naples, when the brilliancy of the 
 sunlight and the transparency of the air 
 cause objects to take such hues as in the 
 North would be deemed fabulous, and ap- 
 pear indeed to belong to the world of dreams 
 rather than to that of realities. The North-
 
 158 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 ern visitor who has once looked upon that 
 glow of azure and gold is apt to carry back 
 with him into the depths of his native fogs 
 an incurable nostalgia. 
 
 Having shaken off a corner of her cinder 
 shroud, the resurrected city again rose with 
 her thousand details under a dazzling day. 
 The cone of Vesuvius, furrowed with striae 
 of blue, rosy, and violet-hued lavas, ruddily 
 bronzed by the sun, towered sharply defined 
 in the background. A thin haze, almost 
 imperceptible in the sunlight, hooded the 
 blunt crest of the mountain. At first sight 
 it might have been taken for one of those 
 clouds which shadow the brows of lofty 
 peaks on the fairest days. Upon a nearer 
 view, slender threads of white vapor could 
 be perceived rising from the mountain-sum- 
 mit, as from the orifices of a perfuming pan, 
 to reunite above in a light cloud. The vol- 
 cano, being that day in a good humor, 
 smoked his pipe very peacefully; and but 
 for the example of Pompeii, buried at his 
 feet, no one would ever have suspected him 
 of being by nature any more ferocious than 
 Montmartre. On the other side fair hills,
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 159 
 
 with outlines voluptuously undulating like 
 the hips of a woman, barred the horizon ; 
 and, further yet, the sea, that in other days 
 bore biremes and triremes under the ram- 
 parts of the city, extended its azure bound- 
 ary. 
 
 Of all spectacles, the sight of Pompeii is 
 one of the most surprising. This sudden 
 backward leap of nineteen centuries aston- 
 ishes even the least comprehensive and most 
 prosaic natures. Two paces lead you from 
 the antique life to the life of to-day, and 
 from Christianity to paganism. Thus, when 
 the three friends beheld those streets wherein 
 the forms of a vanished past are preserved 
 yet intact, they were strangely and pro- 
 foundly affected, however well prepared by 
 the study of books and drawings they might 
 have been. Octavian, above all, seemed 
 stricken with stupefaction, and like a man 
 walking in his sleep, mechanically followed 
 the guide, without hearing the monotonous 
 nomenclature that the varlet had learned by 
 heart and recited like a lesson. 
 
 He gazed wildly on those ruts hollowed 
 out in the cyclopean pavements of the streets
 
 160 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 by the chariot wheels, and which seem to 
 be of yesterday, so fresh do they appear; 
 those inscriptions in red letters skilfully 
 traced upon the surfaces of the walls by 
 rapid strokes of the brush (theatrical adver- 
 tisements, notices of houses to let, votive 
 formulas, signs, announcements of all de- 
 scriptions, not less curious than a freshly 
 discovered fragment of the walls of Paris, 
 with advertising bills and placards attached, 
 would prove a thousand years hence for the 
 unknown people of the future) ; those houses, 
 whose shattered roofs permit one to pene- 
 trate at a glance into all those interior mys- 
 teries, all those domestic details which his- 
 torians invariably neglect, and whereof the 
 secrets die with dying civilizations; those 
 fountains that even now seem scarcely dried 
 up ; that forum whose restoration was inter- 
 rupted by the great catastrophe, and whose 
 architraves and columns, all ready cut and 
 sculptured, still seem waiting in their purity 
 of angle to be lifted into place; those tem- 
 ples, consecrated, in that mythologic age 
 when atheists were yet unknown, to gods 
 that have long ceased to be; those shops
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA l6l 
 
 wherein the merchant only is missing; that 
 public tavern where may still be seen the 
 circular stain of the drinking cups upon the 
 marble; that barracks with its ochre and 
 minium-painted columns, on which the sol- 
 diers scratched grotesque caricatures of bat- 
 tle, and those juxtaposed double theatres 
 of song and drama which might even now 
 resume their entertainments, were not the 
 companies who performed in them turned 
 long since to clay, and at present occupied 
 perchance in closing the bunghole of a cask 
 or stopping a crevice in the wall, after the 
 fashion of Alexander's ashes or Caesar's dust, 
 according to the melancholy reflections of 
 Hamlet ! 
 
 Fabio mounted upon the thymele of the 
 tragic theatre while Max and Octavian 
 climbed to the upper benches; and there, 
 with extravagant gestures, he commenced 
 to recite whatever poetical fragments came 
 to his memory, much to the terror of the 
 lizards, who fled, vibrating their tails, and 
 hid themselves in the joints of the ruined 
 stonework. Although the brazen or earthen 
 vessels formerly used to reverberate sounds 
 ii
 
 1 62 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 no longer existed, Fabio's voice sounded 
 none the less full and vibrant. 
 
 The guide then conducted them across the 
 open fields which overlie those portions of 
 Pompeii still buried, to the amphitheatre 
 situated at the other end of the city. They 
 passed under those trees whose roots plunge 
 down through the roofs of the edifices in- 
 terred, displacing tiles, cleaving ceilings 
 asunder, and disjointing columns; and they 
 traversed the farms where vulgar vegetables 
 sprout above wonders of art material im- 
 ages of that oblivion wherewith time covers 
 all things. 
 
 The amphitheatre caused them little sur- 
 prise. They had seen that of Verona, vaster 
 and equally well preserved ; besides, the 
 arrangement of such antique arenas was as 
 familiar to them as that of those in which 
 bull-fights are held in Spain, and which they 
 much resemble save in solidity of construc- 
 tion and beauty of material. 
 
 Accordingly they soon retraced their foot- 
 steps and gained the Street of Fortune by a 
 cross-path, listening half-distractedly to the 
 cicerone, who named each house they passed
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 163 
 
 by the name which had been given it imme- 
 diately upon its discovery, owing to some 
 characteristic peculiarity the House of the 
 Brazen Bull, the House of the Faun, the 
 House of the Ship, the Temple of Fortune, 
 the House of Meleager, the Tavern of For- 
 tune, at the angle of the Consular Road (Via 
 Consularia), the Academy of Music, the 
 Public Market, the Pharmacy, the Surgeon's 
 Shop, the Custom House, the House of 
 the Vestals, the Inn of Albinus, the Ther- 
 mopolium, and so on until they came to 
 that gate which leads to the Street of the 
 Tombs. 
 
 Within the interior arch of this brick-built 
 gate, once adorned with statues which have 
 long since disappeared, may be noticed two 
 deep grooves designed to receive a sliding 
 portcullis, after the style of a mediaeval don- 
 jon, to which era, indeed, one might have 
 supposed such a defence peculiar. 
 
 ' Who," exclaimed Max to his friends, 
 " could have dreamed of finding in Pompeii, 
 the Graeco-Latin city, a gate so romantically 
 Gothic ? Fancy some belated Roman knight 
 blowing his horn before this entrance, sum-
 
 164 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 moning them to raise the portcullis, like a 
 page of the fifteenth century! " 
 
 ' There is nothing new under the sun," 
 replied Fabio; "and the aphorism itself is 
 not new, inasmuch as it was formulated by 
 Solomon." 
 
 " Perhaps there may be something new 
 under the moon," observed Octavian, with 
 a smile of melancholy irony. 
 
 " My dear Octavian," cried Max, who 
 during this little conversation had paused 
 before an inscription traced in rubric upon 
 the outer wall, " wilt behold the combats 
 of the gladiators ? See the advertisement ! 
 Combat and chase on the 5th day of the 
 nones of April; the masts of the velarium 
 will be rigged; twenty pairs of gladiators 
 will fight during the nones ; if you fear for 
 the delicacy of your complexion, be assured 
 that the awnings will be spread ; and as you 
 might in any case prefer to visit the amphi- 
 theatre early, these men will cut each other's 
 throats in the morning matutini erunt. 
 Nothing could be more considerate." 
 
 Thus chatting, the three friends followed 
 that sepulchre-fringed road which, according
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 165 
 
 to our modern ideas, would be a lugubrious 
 avenue for any city, but which had no sad 
 significations for the ancients, whose tombs 
 contained in lieu of hideous corpses only 
 a pinch of dust abstract idea of death ! 
 Art beautified these last resting-places, 
 and, as Goethe says, the pagan decorated 
 sarcophagi and funeral urns with the images 
 of life. 
 
 It was therefore, doubtless, that Fabio 
 and Max could visit, with a lively curiosity 
 and a joyous sense of being, such as they 
 could not have felt in any Christian ceme- 
 tery, those funeral monuments, all gayly 
 gilded by the sun, which, as they stood by 
 the wayside, seemed still trying to cling to 
 life, and inspired none of those chill feelings 
 of repulsion, none of those fantastic terrors 
 evoked by our modern dismal places of sepul- 
 ture. They paused before the tomb of 
 Mammia, the public priestess, near which a 
 tree (either a cypress or a willow) is grow- 
 ing; they seated themselves in the hemi- 
 cycle of the triclinium, where the funeral 
 feasts were held, laughing like fortunate 
 heirs; they read with mock solemnity the
 
 1 66 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 epitaphs of Navoleia, Labeon, and the Arria 
 family, silently followed by Octavian, who 
 seemed more deeply touched than his care- 
 less companions by the fate of those dead of 
 two thousand years ago. 
 
 Thus they came to the villa of Arrius 
 Diomedes, one of the finest residences in 
 Pompeii. It is approached by a flight of 
 brick steps, and after entering the door-way, 
 which is flanked by two small lateral col- 
 umns, one finds himself in a court resem- 
 bling the patio which occupies the centre of 
 Spanish and Moorish dwellings, and which 
 the ancients termed impluvium or cav&dium. 
 Fourteen columns of brick, overlaid with 
 stucco, once supported on four sides a por- 
 tico or covered peristyle, not unlike a con- 
 vent cloister, and beneath which one could 
 walk secure from the rain. This courtyard 
 is paved in mosaic with brick and white mar- 
 ble, which presents a subdued and pleasing 
 effect of color. In its centre a quadrilateral 
 marble basin, which still exists, formerly 
 caught the rain-water that dripped from the 
 roof of the portico. It was a strange ex- 
 perience, entering thus into the life of the
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 167 
 
 antique world, and treading with well- 
 blacked boots upon the marbles worn smooth 
 by the sandals and buskins of the contem- 
 poraries of Augustus and Tiberius. 
 
 The cicerone led them through the exedra 
 or summer parlor, which opened to the sea, 
 to receive its cooling breezes. It was there 
 that the family received company, and took 
 their siesta during those burning hours when 
 prevailed the mighty zephyr of Africa, laden 
 with languors and storms. He brought 
 them into the basilica, a long open gallery 
 which lighted the various apartments, and in 
 which clients and visitors erst awaited the 
 call of the Nomenclator. Then he con- 
 ducted them to the white marble terrace, 
 whence extended a broad view of verdant 
 gardens and blue sea. Then he showed 
 them the Nymph&um, or Hall of Baths, with 
 its yellow-painted walls, its stucco columns, 
 its mosaic pavement, and its marble bathing- 
 basin which had contained so many of the 
 lovely bodies that have long since passed 
 away like shadows; the cubiculum, where 
 flitted so many dreams from the Ivory Gate, 
 and whose alcoves contrived in the wall
 
 l68 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 were once closed by a conopeum or curtain, 
 of which the bronze rings still lie upon the 
 floor ; the tetrastyle, or Hall of Recreation ; 
 the Chapel of the Lares; the Cabinet of 
 Archives; the Library; the Museum of 
 Paintings; the gyn&ceum or women's apart- 
 ment, comprising a suite of small chambers, 
 now half fallen into ruin, but whose walls 
 yet bear traces of paintings and arabesques, 
 like fair cheeks from which the rouge has 
 been but half wiped off. 
 
 Having fully inspected all these, they de- 
 scended to the lower floor, for the ground is 
 much lower on the garden side than it is on 
 the side of the Street of the Tombs. They 
 traversed eight halls painted in antique red, 
 whereof one has its walls hollowed with 
 architectural niches, after that style of which 
 we have to-day a good example in the vesti- 
 bule of the Hall of the Ambassadors at the 
 Alhambra, and finally they came to a sort 
 of cave or cellar, whose purpose was clearly 
 indicated by eight earthen amphorae propped 
 up against the wall, and once perfumed, 
 doubtless, like the odes of Horace with the 
 wines of Crete, Falernia, or Massica.
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 169 
 
 One solitary bright ray of sunshine 
 streamed through a narrow aperture above, 
 half choked by nettles, whose light-traversed 
 leaves it transformed into emeralds and to- 
 pazes, and this gay natural detail seemed to 
 smile opportunely through the sadness of 
 the place. 
 
 " It was here," observed the cicerone, in 
 his customary indifferent tone, " that among 
 seventeen others was found the skeleton of 
 the lady whose mould is exhibited at the 
 Naples Museum. She wore gold rings, and 
 the shreds of her fine tunic still clung to the 
 mass of cinders which have preserved her 
 shape." 
 
 The guide's commonplace phrases deeply 
 affected Octavian. He made the man point 
 out to him the exact spot where the pre- 
 cious remains had been discovered, and had 
 it not been for the restraining presence of 
 his friends, he would have abandoned him- 
 self to some extravagant lyrism. His chest 
 heaved, his eyes glistened with a furtive 
 moisture. Though blotted out by twenty 
 centuries of oblivion, that catastrophe 
 touched him like a recent misfortune. Not
 
 170 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 even the death of a mistress or a friend could 
 have affected him more profoundly; and 
 while Max and Fabio had their backs turned, 
 a tear, two thousand years late, fell upon 
 the spot where that woman, with whom he 
 felt he had fallen retrospectively in love, had 
 perished, suffocated by the hot cinders of 
 the volcano. 
 
 " Enough of this archaeology," cried Fa- 
 bio. ' We do not propose to write disserta- 
 tions upon an ancient jug or a tile of the age 
 of Julius Caesar in order to obtain member- 
 ships in some provincial academy. These 
 classic souvenirs give me the stomachache. 
 Let us go to dinner if such a thing be pos- 
 sible in that picturesque hostelry, where I 
 fear we shall be served with fossil beefsteaks 
 and fresh eggs laid prior to the death of 
 Pliny." 
 
 " I will not exclaim with Boileau: 
 
 1 Un sot, quelquefois, ouvre un avis important,'" 
 
 exclaimed Max, with a laugh. " That 
 would be ill-mannered, but your idea is a 
 good one. Still, I think it would have been
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 171 
 
 pleasant to banquet here, on some triclini- 
 um, reclining after the antique fashion, and 
 waited upon by slaves according to the style 
 of Lucullus or Trimalchio. It is true that I 
 see no oysters from Lake Lucrinus, the tur- 
 bots and mullets from the Adriatic are want- 
 ing, the Apuleian boar cannot be had in 
 market, and the loaves and honey-cakes on 
 exhibition in the Naples Museum lie, hard 
 as stones, beside their green-gray moulds. 
 Even raw macaroni sprinkled with caccia- 
 cavallo, detestable as it may be, is certainly 
 better than nothing. What does friend Oc- 
 tavian think about it ? " 
 
 Octavian, who was deeply regretting that 
 he had not happened to be in Pompeii on 
 the day of the eruption, so that he might 
 have saved the lady of the gold rings, and 
 thereby merited her love, had not heard a 
 syllable of this gastronomic conversation. 
 Only the last two words uttered by Max had 
 fallen upon his ears, and feeling no desire to 
 broach a discussion, he gave a random nod 
 of assent, upon which the amicable party re- 
 traced the road along the ramparts to the inn. 
 
 The table was placed under a sort of open
 
 172 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 porch which served as a vestibule to the hos- 
 telry, whose rough cast walls were decorated 
 with various daubs that the host entitled 
 " Salvator Rosa," " Espagnolet," " Cav- 
 alier Massimo," and other celebrated names 
 of the Neapolitan School, which he deemed 
 himself bound to extol. 
 
 ' Venerable host," cried Fabio, " do not 
 waste your eloquence to no purpose. We 
 are not Englishmen, and we prefer young 
 women to old canvases. Better send us 
 your wine-list by that handsome brunette 
 with the velvety eyes whom I just now per- 
 ceived on the stairway." 
 
 Finding that his guests did not belong to 
 the mystifiable class of Philistines and bour- 
 geois, the palforio ceased to vaunt his gal- 
 lery in order to glorify his cellar. To begin 
 with, he had all the best vintages : Chateau 
 Margaux, Grand Lafitte which had been 
 twice to the Indies, Sillery de Moe't, Hoch- 
 meyer, scarlet wine, port and porter, ale 
 and ginger beer, white and red Lachryma- 
 Christi, Caprian, and Falernian. 
 
 " What, you have Falernian wine, animal ! 
 And put it at the end of your list ! And you
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 173 
 
 dare to subject us to an unendurable oeno- 
 logical litany!" cried Max, leaping at the 
 inn-keeper's throat with burlesque fury. 
 " Why, you have no sentiment of local col- 
 or. You are unworthy to live in this an- 
 tique neighborhood. Is it even good, this 
 Falernian wine of yours ? Was it put in 
 amphorae under the Consul Plancus Con- 
 sule Planco ? ' ' 
 
 " I know nothing about the Consul Plan- 
 cus, and my wine is not put in amphorae, 
 but it is good, and worth ten carlins a bot- 
 tle," answered the inn-keeper. 
 
 Day had faded away and the night came, 
 a serene, transparent night, clearer, as- 
 suredly, than full midday in London. The 
 earth had tints of azure, and the sky silvery 
 reflections of inconceivable sweetness. The 
 air was so still that the flames of the candles 
 on the table did not oscillate. 
 
 A young boy, playing a flute, approached 
 the table, and standing there, with his eyes 
 fixed upon the three guests, performed upon 
 his sweet and melodious instrument, one of 
 those popular airs in a minor key which have 
 a penetrating charm.
 
 174 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 Perhaps that lad was a direct descendant 
 of the flute-player who marched before 
 Duilius. 
 
 " Our repast is assuming quite an antique 
 aspect. We only need some Gaditanian 
 dancing women and ivy garlands," ex- 
 claimed Max, as he helped himself to a 
 great bumper of Falernian wine. 
 
 " I feel myself in the humor for making 
 Latin quotations like a feuilleton in the 
 Dtbats. Stanzas of odes come back to my 
 memory," added Max. 
 
 "Keep them to yourself!" cried Fabio 
 and Octavian, justly alarmed. " Nothing 
 is so indigestible as Latin at dinner." 
 
 Among young men with cigars in their 
 mouths and elbows on the table, who find 
 themselves contemplating a certain number 
 of empty flagons, especially when the wine 
 has been capitally good, conversation never 
 fails to turn upon women. Each explained 
 his own system, whereof the following is a 
 fair summary : 
 
 Fabio cared only for youth and beauty. 
 Voluptuous and positive, he found no plea- 
 sure in illusions, and had no preferences in
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 175 
 
 love. A peasant girl would have pleased 
 his fancy as well as a princess, provided she 
 were beautiful. The body rather than its 
 apparel attracted him. He laughed much 
 at certain of his friends who were enamored 
 of so many yards of lace and silk, and he 
 declared it were more rational to fall in love 
 with the stock of a fashionable marchand des 
 nouveautts. These opinions, which were 
 rational enough in the main, and which he 
 made no attempt to conceal, caused him to 
 pass for an eccentric. 
 
 Max, less of an artist than Fabio, cared 
 only for difficult undertakings, complicated 
 intrigues. He sought resistances to van- 
 quish, virtues to seduce, and played at love 
 as at a game of chess, with long-premedi- 
 tated moves, reserved ambuscades, and 
 stratagems worthy of Polybius. In a draw- 
 ing-room he would always choose the woman 
 who seemed least in sympathy with him for 
 the object of attack. To make her pass by 
 skilful transition from aversion to love 
 afforded him delicious pleasure. To impose 
 himself upon characters which strove to 
 repel him, and master wills that rebelled
 
 176 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 against his influence, seemed to him the 
 sweetest of all triumphs. Like those hun- 
 ters who, through rain, sunshine, or snow, 
 through fields and woods, and over plains, 
 pursue with excessive fatigue and uncon- 
 querable ardor some miserable quarry which 
 in three cases out of four they would not 
 deign to eat, so Max, having once captured 
 his prey, troubled himself no further about 
 it, and at once started off on another chase. 
 As for Octavian, he confessed that reality 
 itself had little charm for him, not because 
 he indulged in student-dreams, all moulded 
 of lilies and roses like one of Demoustier's 
 madrigals, but because there were too many 
 prosaic and repulsive details surrounding all 
 beauty, too many doting and decorated 
 fathers, coquettish mothers who wore nat- 
 ural flowers in false hair, ruddy-faced cousins 
 meditating proposals, ridiculous aunts in 
 love with little dogs. An acquatinta engrav- 
 ing after Horace Vernet or Delaroche, hung 
 up in a woman's room, would have been 
 sufficient to check a growing passion within 
 him. More poetical even than amorous, he 
 wanted a terrace on Isola-Bella, in Lake
 
 , ARRIA MARCELLA 177 
 
 Maggiore, under the light of a full moon to 
 frame a rendezvous. He would have wished 
 to elevate his love above the midst of com- 
 mon life, and transport its scenes to the 
 stars. Thus he had by turns fallen fruit- 
 lessly and madly in love with all the grand 
 feminine types preserved by history or art. 
 Like Faust, he had loved Helen, and would 
 have wished that the undulations of the ages 
 might bear to him one of those sublime per- 
 sonifications of human desires and dreams, 
 whose forms, to mortal eyes invisible, live 
 immortally beyond Space and Time. He 
 had created for himself an ideal seraglio, 
 with Semiramis, Aspasia, Cleopatra, Diana 
 of Poitiers, Jane of Arragon. At times also 
 he had fallen in love with statues, and one 
 day, passing before the Venus of Milo in the 
 Museum, he cried out passionately: " Oh, 
 who will restore thy arms that thou may'st 
 crush me upon thy marble bosom!" At 
 Rome, the sight of a matted mass of long 
 thick human hair, exhumed from an antique 
 tomb, had thrown him into a fantastic de- 
 lirium. He had attempted, through the 
 medium of a few of those hairs, obtained by 
 13
 
 1 78 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 a golden bribe from the custodian, and 
 placed in the hands of a clairvoyant of great 
 power, to evoke the shade and form of the 
 dead; but the conducting fluid the subtle 
 odyle had evaporated during the lapse of 
 so many years, and the apparition could no 
 more come forth out of the eternal night. 
 
 As Fabio had divined before the glass 
 cabinet in the Studii Museum, the imprint 
 discovered in the cellar at the villa of Arrius 
 Diomedes had excited in Octavian wild im- 
 pulses toward a retrospective ideal. He 
 longed to soar beyond Life and Time and 
 transport himself in spirit to the age of 
 Titus. 
 
 Max and Fabio retired to their room, and 
 being somewhat heavy-headed from the 
 classic fumes of the Falernian, were soon 
 sound asleep. Octavian, who had more 
 than once suffered the full glass to remain 
 before him untasted, not wishing to disturb 
 by a grosser intoxication the poetic drunken- 
 ness which boiled in his brain, felt from the 
 agitation of his nerves that sleep would not 
 come to him, a,nc] left the hostelry on tiptoe
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 179 
 
 that he might cool his brow and calm his 
 thoughts in the night air. 
 
 His feet bore him unawares to the en- 
 trance which leads into the dead city. He 
 removed the wooden bar that closed it, and 
 wandered into the ruins beyond. 
 
 The moon illuminated the pale houses 
 with her white beams, dividing the streets 
 into double-edged lines of silvery white and 
 bluish shadow. This nocturnal day, with 
 its subdued tints, disguised the degradation 
 of the buildings. The mutilated columns, 
 the facades streaked with fugitive lizards, 
 the roofs crumbled in by the eruption, were 
 less noticeable than when beheld under the 
 clear, raw light of the sun. The lost parts 
 were completed by the half-tint of shadow, 
 and here and there one brusque beam of 
 light, like a touch of sentiment in a picture- 
 sketch, marked where a whole edifice had 
 crumbled away. The silent genii of the 
 night seemed to have repaired the fossil city 
 for some representation of fantastic life. 
 
 At times Octavian fancied that he saw 
 vague human forms in the shadow, but they 
 vanished the moment they approached the
 
 l8o ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 edge of the lighted portion of the street. A 
 low whispering, an indefinite hum, floated 
 through the silence. Our promenader at 
 first attributed them to a fluttering in his 
 eyes, to a buzzing in his ears; it might even, 
 he thought, be merely an optical delusion, 
 coupled with the sighing of the sea-breezes, 
 or the flight of some snake or lizard through 
 the nettles, for in nature all things live, even 
 death ; all things make themselves heard, 
 even silence. Nevertheless he felt a kind of 
 involuntary terror, a slight trembling, that 
 might have been caused by the cold night 
 air, but which made his flesh creep. Could 
 it be that his comrades, actuated by the 
 same impulses as himself, were seeking him 
 among the ruins ? Those dimly seen forms 
 and those indistinct sounds of footsteps! 
 Might it not have been only Max and Fabio 
 walking and chatting together, who had just 
 disappeared round the corner of a cross- 
 road ? But Octavian felt to his dismay that 
 this very natural explanation could not be 
 true, and the arguments which he made to 
 himself in favor of it were the reverse of 
 convincing. The solitude and the shadow
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA l8l 
 
 were peopled with invisible beings whom he 
 was disturbing. He had fallen into the 
 midst of a mystery, and it seemed that they 
 were awaiting his departure in order to com- 
 mence again. Such were the extravagant 
 ideas that floated through his brain, and ob- 
 tained no little verisimilitude from the hour, 
 the place, and the thousand alarming details 
 which those can well understand who have 
 ever found themselves alone by night in the 
 midst of some vast ruin. 
 
 Passing before a house which he had at- 
 tentively observed during the day, and which 
 the moon shone fully upon, he beheld in 
 perfect integrity a certain portico whereof 
 he had vainly attempted to restore the de- 
 sign in fancy. Four Ionic columns fluted 
 for half their height and their shafts purple- 
 robed with minium tints sustained a cyma- 
 tium adorned with polychromatic ornaments 
 that the artist seemed only to have com- 
 pleted the day before. Upon one side wall 
 of the entrance a Laconian molossus, painted 
 in encaustic, and accompanied by the warn- 
 ing inscription " Cave canem," barked at the 
 moon and the visitor with pictured fury.
 
 1 82 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 On the mosaic threshold the word HAVE, 
 in Oscan and Latin characters, saluted the 
 guest with its friendly syllables. The outer 
 surfaces of the walls, tinted with ochre and 
 rubric, were unmarred by a single crack. 
 The house had grown a story higher; and 
 the tiled roof, now surmounted by a bronze 
 acroterium, projected an intact outline 
 against the light blue of the sky, where a 
 few stars were growing pale. 
 
 This strange restoration effected between 
 afternoon and evening by some unknown 
 architect greatly puzzled Octavian, who felt 
 certain of having the same day seen that 
 very house in a lamentable state of ruin. 
 The mysterious reconstructor had labored 
 with great despatch, for all the neighboring 
 dwellings had the same fresh, new look; all 
 the pillars were coiffed with their capitals; 
 not a single stone, a brick, a pellicle of 
 stucco or a scale of paint was wanting upon 
 the shining surfaces of the fagades ; and 
 through the intervals of the peristyles sur- 
 rounding the marble basin of the cavaedium 
 one could catch glimpses of white laurels 
 and bayroses, myrtles and pomegranates.
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 183 
 
 Surely all the historians were mistaken ; the 
 eruption had never taken place, or else the 
 needle of Time had moved backward twenty 
 secular hours upon the dial of Eternity ! 
 
 In the climax of his astonishment, Octa- 
 vian commenced to wonder whether he 
 might not actually be sleeping upon his feet, 
 and walking in a dream. He even seriously 
 asked himself whether madness might not 
 be parading its hallucinations before his 
 eyes; but he soon felt himself compelled 
 to admit that he was neither asleep nor 
 mad. 
 
 A singular change had taken place in the 
 atmosphere. Vague rose-tints were blend- 
 ing through brightening shades of violet with 
 the faintly azure tints of moonlight ; the sky 
 commenced to glow brightly along its bor- 
 ders; daylight seemed about to dawn. Oc- 
 tavian took out his watch: it marked the 
 hour of midnight. Fearing that it might 
 have stopped, he pressed the spring of the 
 repeating mechanism. It struck twelve 
 times. It was midnight beyond a doubt, 
 and yet the brightness ever increased. The 
 moon sank through the azure which became
 
 14 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 momentarily more and more luminous. The 
 sun rose! 
 
 Then Octavian, to whom all ideas of time 
 had become hopelessly confused, was able 
 to convince himself that he was walking, not 
 through a dead Pompeii, the chill corpse of 
 a city half-shrouded, but through a living, 
 youthful, intact Pompeii over which the tor- 
 rents of burning mud from Vesuvius had 
 never flowed. 
 
 An inconceivable prodigy had transported 
 him, a Frenchman of the nineteenth cen- 
 tury, back to the age of Titus, not in spirit 
 only, but in reality; or else had called up 
 before him from the depths of the past a 
 desolated city with its vanished inhabitants, 
 for a man clothed in the antique fashion had 
 just passed out of a neighboring house. 
 
 This man wore his hair short, and his face 
 was closely shaven ; he was dressed in a 
 brown tunic and a grayish mantle, the ends 
 of which were well tucked up so as not to 
 impede his movements. He walked at a 
 rapid gait, bordering upon a run, and passed 
 by Octavian without perceiving him. He 
 carried on his arm a basket made of Spanish
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 185 
 
 broom, and proceeded toward the Forum 
 Nundinarium. He was evidently a slave, 
 some Davus, going to market beyond a 
 doubt. 
 
 The noise of wheels became audible, and 
 an antique wagon, drawn by white oxen and 
 loaded with vegetables, came along the 
 street. Beside the team walked a peasant 
 with legs bare and sunburnt, and feet san- 
 dal-shod who was clad in a sort of canvas 
 shirt puffed out about the waist ; a conical 
 straw hat hanging at his shoulders, and de- 
 pending from his neck by the chin-band, left 
 his face exposed to view a type of face un- 
 known in these days a forehead low and 
 traversed by salient, knotty lines, hair black 
 and curly, eyes tranquil as those of his oxen, 
 and a neck like that of the rustic Hercules. 
 As he gravely pricked his animals with the 
 goad, his statuesque attitudes would have 
 thrown Ingres into ecstasy. 
 
 The peasant perceived Octavian and ap- 
 peared surprised, but he proceeded on his 
 way without being able, doubtless, to find 
 any explanation for the appearance of this 
 strange-looking personage, and in his rustic
 
 186 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 simplicity willingly leaving the solution of 
 the enigma to those wiser than himself. 
 
 Campanian peasants also appeared on the 
 scene, driving before them asses laden with 
 skins of wine, and ringing their brazen bells. 
 Their physiognomies differed from those of 
 the modern peasants as a medallion differs 
 from a sou. 
 
 Gradually the city became peopled, like 
 one of those panoramic pictures at first deso- 
 late, but which by a sudden change of light 
 become animated with personages previously 
 invisible. 
 
 Octavian's feelings had undergone a 
 change. Only a short time before, amid the 
 deceitful shadows of the night, he had fallen 
 a prey to that uneasiness from which the 
 bravest are not exempt amid such disquiet- 
 ing and fantastic surroundings as reason can- 
 not explain. His vague terror had ulti- 
 mately yielded to a profound stupefaction. 
 The distinctness of his perceptions forbade 
 him to doubt the testimony of his senses, 
 yet what he beheld seemed altogether con- 
 trary to reason. Feeling still but half con- 
 vinced, he sought by the authentication of
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 187 
 
 minor actual details to assure himself that 
 he was not the victim of hallucination. 
 Those figures which passed before his eyes 
 could not be phantoms, for the living sun 
 shone upon them with unmistakable reality, 
 and their shadows, elongated in the morning 
 light, fell upon the pavement and the walls. 
 Without the faintest understanding of 
 what had befallen him, Octavian, ravished 
 with delight to find one of his most cherished 
 dreams realized, no longer attempted to re- 
 sist the fate of his adventure. He aban- 
 doned himself to the mystery of these mar- 
 vels without any further attempt to explain 
 them ; he averred to himself that since he 
 had been permitted, by virtue of some mys- 
 terious power, to live for a few hours in a 
 vanished age, he would not waste time in 
 efforts to solve an incomprehensible prob- 
 lem, and he proceeded fearlessly gazing to 
 right and left upon this scene at once so old 
 and yet so new to him. But to what epoch 
 of Pompeiian life had he been transported ? 
 An aedile inscription engraved upon a wall 
 showed him by the names of public person- 
 ages there recorded, that it was about the
 
 1 88 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 commencement of the reign of Titus, or in 
 the year 79 of our own era. A sudden 
 thought flashed across Octavian's mind. 
 The woman whose mould he had seen in the 
 museum at Naples must be living, inasmuch 
 as the eruption of Vesuvius by which she 
 had perished took place on the 24th of Au- 
 gust in this very year: he might therefore 
 discover her, behold her, speak to her! . . . 
 The mad longing which had seized him at 
 the sight of that mass of cinders moulded 
 upon a divinely perfect form, was perhaps 
 about to be fully satisfied, for surely naught 
 could be impossible to a love which had had 
 the strength to make Time itself recoil, and 
 the same hour to pass twice through the 
 sand-glass of Eternity! 
 
 While Octavian was abandoning himself 
 to these reflections, beautiful young girls 
 were passing by on their way to the foun- 
 tains, all balancing urns upon their heads 
 with their white finger-tips, and patricians 
 clad in white togas bordered with purple 
 bands were proceeding toward the Forum, 
 each followed by an escort of clients. The 
 buyers commenced to throng about the
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 189 
 
 booths, which were all designated by sculp- 
 tured or pictured signs, and recalled by rea- 
 son of their shape and small dimensions the 
 moresque booths of Algiers. Over most of 
 them a glorious phallus of baked and painted 
 clay, together with the inscription, Hie habi- 
 tat Felicitas, testified to superstitious pre- 
 cautions against the evil eye. Octavian also 
 noticed an amulet shop, whose shelves were 
 stocked with horns, bifurcated branches of 
 coral, and little figures of Priapus in gold, 
 like those worn in Naples even at this day 
 as a safeguard against the jettatura, and he 
 thought to himself that a superstition often 
 outlives a religion. 
 
 Following the sidewalk which borders each 
 street in Pompeii (and deprives the English 
 of all claim to this invention), Octavian sud- 
 denly found himself face to face with a beau- 
 tiful young man of about his own age, clad 
 in a saffron-colored tunic, and a mantle of 
 snowy linen as supple as cashmere. The 
 sight of Octavian in his frightful modern 
 hat, girthed about with a scanty black frock- 
 coat, his legs confined in pantaloons, and his
 
 IQO ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 feet cramped in well-polished boots, seemed 
 to surprise the young Pompeiian in much 
 the same way as one of us would feel aston- 
 ished to meet on the Boulevard de Gand 
 some Iowa Indian or native of Butocudo, be- 
 decked with his feathers, necklace of bear's- 
 claws, or whimsical tattooing. Neverthe- 
 less, being a well-bred young man, he did 
 not burst out laughing in Octavian's face, 
 and pitying the poor barbarian who had lost 
 his way, no doubt, in that Graeco-Roman 
 city, he said to him in a soft, clear voice: 
 
 ' ' A dvena, salve ! ' ' 
 
 Nothing could be more natural than that 
 an inhabitant of Pompeii, in the reign of the 
 divine, most powerful, and most august Em- 
 peror Titus, should speak Latin, yet Octa- 
 vian started at hearing this dead tongue in a 
 living mouth. It was then, indeed, that he 
 congratulated himself on having been pro- 
 ficient in his college studies, and taken the 
 honors at the annual examinations. The 
 Latin taught him by the University served 
 him in good stead on that unique occasion, 
 and calling back to mind some souvenirs of 
 his college course, he returned the salutation
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA Igl 
 
 of the Pompeiian after the style of De viris 
 illustribus and Selectee e profanis, in a toler- 
 ably intelligible manner, but with a Parisian 
 accent which forced the young man to smile 
 despite himself. 
 
 " Perhaps it will be easier for you to con- 
 verse in Greek," said the Pompeiian. " I 
 am also acquainted with that language, for 
 I studied at Athens." 
 
 " I am even less familiar with Greek than 
 with Latin," replied Octavian. " I am from 
 the land of Gaul from Paris from Lu- 
 tetia." 
 
 " I know that country. My grandfather 
 served under the great Julius Caesar in the 
 Gallic wars. But what a strange dress you 
 wear! The Gauls whom I saw at Rome 
 were not thus attired." 
 
 Octavian attempted to explain to the 
 young Pompeiian that twenty centuries had 
 rolled by since the conquest of Gaul by 
 Julius Caesar, and that the fashions had 
 changed; but he forgot his Latin, and in- 
 deed, to tell the truth, he had but little to 
 forget. 
 
 " My name is Rufus Holconius, and my
 
 IQ2 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 house is at your service," said the young 
 man, " unless, indeed, you prefer the free- 
 dom of the tavern. It is hard by the pub- 
 lic-house of Albinus, near the gate of the 
 suburb of Augustus Felix and the Inn of 
 Sarinus, son of Publius, just at the second 
 turn ; but if you wish, I will be your guide 
 through this city, in which you do not seem 
 to be acquainted. Young barbarian, I like 
 you, although you endeavored to impose 
 upon my credulity by pretending that the 
 Emperor Titus, who now reigns, died two 
 thousand years ago, and that the Nazarean 
 (whose infamous followers were plastered 
 with pitch and burned to illuminate Nero's 
 gardens) rules sole master of the deserted 
 heavens whence the great gods have fallen ! 
 By Pollux!" he continued as his eyes fell 
 upon a rubric inscription at a street-corner, 
 " you have just come in good time. The 
 Casina of Plautus, which has quite recently 
 been put upon the stage, will be played to- 
 day. It is a curious and laughable comedy 
 which will amuse you, even if you only com- 
 prehend the pantomime of it. Come with 
 me, It is nearly time for the play already,
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 193 
 
 I will find you a place in the seat set apart 
 for guests and strangers." And Rufus Hol- 
 conius led the way toward the little comic 
 theatre which the three friends had visited 
 during the day. 
 
 The Frenchman and the citizen of Pom- 
 peii proceeded along the Street of the Foun- 
 tains of Abundance and the Street of the 
 Theatres, passing by the College, the Tem- 
 ple of Isis, and the Studio of the Sculptor, 
 and entered the Odeon or Comic Theatre 
 by a lateral vomitory. Through the recom- 
 mendations of Holconius, Octavian obtained 
 a seat near the proscenium in a part of the 
 theatre corresponding to our private boxes 
 which front upon the stage. All eyes were 
 immediately turned upon him with good- 
 natured curiosity, and a low whispering arose 
 all through the amphitheatre. 
 
 The play had not yet commenced, and 
 Octavian profited by the interval to examine 
 the building. The semicircular seats, ter- 
 minated at either end by a magnificent lion's 
 paw sculptured in Vesuvian lava, receded, 
 broadening as they rose, from an empty 
 space corresponding to our parterre, but 
 13
 
 194 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 much narrower and paved in mosaic with 
 Greek marble. The rows of seats widened 
 above one another in regular gradation ac- 
 cording to distance, and four stairways, cor- 
 responding with the vomitories, and sloping 
 from the base to the summit of the amphi- 
 theatre, divided it into five cunei or wedge- 
 shaped compartments, with the broad end 
 uppermost. The spectators, all furnished 
 with tickets consisting of little slips of ivory, 
 upon which were indicated in numerical or- 
 der the row, division, and seat, together 
 with the name of the play and its author, 
 took their places without confusion. The 
 magistrates, nobility, married men, young 
 folks, and the soldiers who attracted atten- 
 tion by the gleaming of their bronze helmets 
 all occupied different rows of seats. 
 
 It was an admirable spectacle. Those 
 beautiful togas and great white mantles dis- 
 played in the first row of seats, contrasting 
 with the vari-colored garments of the women 
 seated in the circle above, and the gray 
 capes of the populace who were assigned to 
 the upper benches near the columns which 
 supported the roof, and between which were
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA Ig5 
 
 visible glimpses of a sky intensely blue as 
 the azure background of the Panathenaea. 
 
 A fine spray aromatized with saffron fell 
 from the friezes above in imperceptible mist, 
 at once cooling and purifying the air. Oc- 
 tavian thought of the fetid emanations which 
 vitiate the atmosphere of our modern the- 
 atres theatres so uncomfortable that they 
 may justly be considered places of torture 
 rather than places of amusement, and he 
 found that modern civilization had not, after 
 all, made much progress. 
 
 The curtain, sustained by a transverse 
 beam, sank into the depths of the orches- 
 tra; the musicians took their seats, and the 
 Prologue appeared in grotesque attire, his 
 face concealed by a frightful mask which 
 fitted the head like a helmet. 
 
 Having saluted the audience and de- 
 manded applause, the Prologue commenced 
 a merry argumentation. Old plays, he said, 
 were like old wine which improves with age ; 
 and Casina, so dear to the old, should not 
 be less so to the young: all could take pleas- 
 ure in it, some because they were familiar 
 with it, others because they were not.
 
 196 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 Moreover, the play had been carefully re- 
 mounted, and should be heard with a cheer- 
 ful mind, without thinking about one's debts 
 or one's creditors, for people were not liable 
 to be arrested at the theatre. It was a 
 happy day, the weather was fair, and the 
 halcyons hovered over the Forum. 
 
 Then he gave an analysis of the comedy 
 about to be performed by the actors, with 
 that minuteness of detail which shows how 
 little the element of surprise entered into 
 the theatrical pleasures of the ancient. He 
 told how the aged Stalino, being enamored 
 of his beautiful slave Casina, desired to 
 marry her to his farmer Olympio, a com- 
 plaisant spouse whose place he himself would 
 fill on the nuptial night; and how Lyco- 
 strata, wife of Stalino, in order to thwart the 
 luxury of her vicious husband, sought to 
 unite Casina in marriage to the groom Cha- 
 linus with the further idea of favoring the 
 amours of her son in fine, how the deceived 
 Stalino mistook a young slave in disguise for 
 Casina, who, being discovered to be free, 
 and of free birth, espouses the young master 
 whom she loves and by whom she is beloved.
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA Ip7 
 
 As in a reverie, the young Frenchman 
 watched the actors with their bronze- 
 mouthed masks, exerting themselves upon 
 the stage; the slaves ran hither and thither, 
 feigning great haste; the old man wagged 
 his head and extended his trembling hand ; 
 the matron with high words and scornful 
 mien strutted in her importance and quar- 
 relled with her husband, to the great delight 
 of the audience. All these personages made 
 their entrances and exits through three doors 
 contrived in the foundation-wall and com- 
 municating with the green-room of the 
 actors. The house of Stalino occupied one 
 corner of the stage, and that of his old friend 
 Alcesimus faced it on the opposite side. 
 These decorations, although very well 
 painted, represented the idea of a place 
 rather than the place itself, like most of the 
 vague scenery of the classic theatres. 
 
 When the nuptial procession, pompously 
 escorting the false Casina, entered upon the 
 stage, a mighty burst of laughter, such as 
 Homer attributes to the gods, rang through 
 all the amphitheatre, and thunders of ap- 
 plause evoked the vibrating echoes of the
 
 198 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 enclosure, but 'Octavian heard no more and 
 saw no more of the play. 
 
 In the circle of seats occupied by the 
 women, he had just beheld a creature of 
 marvellous beauty. From that moment all 
 the other charming faces which had attracted 
 his attention became eclipsed as the stars 
 before the face of Phcebus all vanished, all 
 disappeared as in a dream ; a mist clouded 
 the circles of seats with their swarming mul- 
 titudes, and the high-pitched voices of the 
 actors seemed lost in infinite distance. 
 
 His heart received a sudden shock as of 
 electricity, and it seemed to him that sparks 
 flew from his breast when the eyes of that 
 woman turned upon him. 
 
 She was dark and pale. Her locks, crisp- 
 flowing and black as the tresses of Night, 
 streamed backward over her temples after 
 the fashion of the Greeks, and in her pallid 
 face beamed soft, melancholy eyes, heavy 
 with an indefinable expression of voluptuous 
 sadness and passionate ennui. Her mouth, 
 with its disdainful curves, protested by the 
 living warmth of its burning crimson against 
 the tranquil pallor of her cheeks, and the
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 199 
 
 curves of her neck presented those pure and 
 beautiful outlines now to be found only in 
 statues. Her arms were naked to the shoul- 
 der, and from the peaks of her splendid 
 bosom, which betrayed its superb curves be- 
 neath a mauve-rose tunic, fell two graceful 
 folds of drapery that seemed to have been 
 sculptured in marble by Phidias or Cleo- 
 menes. 
 
 The sight of that bosom, so faultless in 
 contour, so pure in its outlines, magnetic- 
 ally affected Octavian. It seemed to him 
 that those rich curves corresponded perfectly 
 to that hollow mould in the museum at 
 Naples which had thrown him into so ardent 
 a reverie, and from the depths of his heart a 
 voice cried out to him that this woman was 
 indeed the same who had been suffocated in 
 the villa of Arrius Diomedes by the cinders 
 of Vesuvius. What prodigy, then, enabled 
 him to behold her living, and witnessing the 
 performance of the Casinaoi Plautus ? But 
 he forbore to seek an explanation of the 
 problem. For that matter, how did he him- 
 self happen to be there ? He accepted the 
 fact of his presence as in dreams we never
 
 266 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 question the intervention of persons actually 
 long dead, but who seem to act nevertheless 
 like living people; besides, his emotion for- 
 bade him to reason. For him the Wheel of 
 Time had left its track, and his all-conquer- 
 ing love had chosen its place among the ages 
 passed away. He found himself face to face 
 with his chimera, one of the most unattain- 
 able of all, a retrospective chimera. The 
 cup of his whole life had in a single instant 
 been filled to overflowing. 
 
 While gazing upon that face, at once so 
 calm and passionate, so cold and yet so re- 
 plete with warmth, so dead, yet so radiant 
 with life, he felt that he beheld before him 
 his first and last love, his cup of supreme 
 intoxication ; he felt all the memories of all 
 the women whom he ever believed that he 
 had loved, vanish like impalpable shadows, 
 and his heart became once more virginally 
 pure of all anterior passion. The past was 
 dead within him. 
 
 Meanwhile the fair Pompeiian, resting her 
 chin upon the palm of her hand, turned 
 upon Octavian, though feigning the while 
 to be absorbed in the performance, the vel-
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 2OI 
 
 vet gaze of her nocturnal eyes, and that look 
 fell upon him heavy and burning as a jet of 
 molten lead. Then she turned to whisper 
 some words in the ear of a maid seated at 
 her side. 
 
 The performance closed. The crowd 
 poured out of the theatre through the vomi- 
 tories, and Octavian, disdaining the kindly 
 offices of his friend Holconius, rushed to the 
 nearest doorway. He had scarcely reached 
 the entrance when a hand was lightly laid 
 upon his arm, and a feminine voice ex- 
 claimed in tones at once low yet so distinct 
 that not a syllable escaped him: 
 
 " I am Tyche Novaleia, entrusted with 
 the pleasures of Arria Marcella, daughter of 
 Arrius Diomedes. My mistress loves you. 
 Follow me." 
 
 Arria Marcella had just entered her litter, 
 borne by four strong Syrian slaves, naked to 
 the waist, whose bronze torsos shone under 
 the sunlight. The curtain of the litter was 
 drawn aside, and a pale hand, starred with 
 brilliant rings, waved a friendly signal to 
 Octavian, as though in confirmation of the 
 attendant's words. Then the purple folds
 
 202 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 of the curtain fell again, and the litter was 
 borne away to the rhythmical sound of the 
 footsteps of the slaves. 
 
 Tyche conducted Octavian along winding 
 byways, tripping lightly across the streets 
 over the stepping-stones which connected 
 the foot-paths, and between which the 
 wheels of the chariots rolled, wending her 
 way through the labyrinth with that cer- 
 tainty which bears witness to thorough 
 familiarity with a city. Octavian noticed 
 that he was traversing portions of Pompeii 
 which had never been excavated, and which 
 were in consequence totally unknown to 
 him. Among so many other equally strange 
 circumstances, this caused him no astonish- 
 ment. He had made up his mind to be as- 
 tonished at nothing. Amid all this archaic 
 phantasmagory, which would have driven an 
 antiquarian mad with joy, he no longer saw 
 anything save the dark, deep eyes of Arria 
 Marcella, and that superb bosom which had 
 vanquished even Time, and which Destruc- 
 tion itself had sought to preserve. 
 
 They arrived at last before a private gate 
 which opened to admit them, and closed
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 2O3 
 
 again as soon as they had entered, and Oc- 
 tavian found himself in a court surrounded 
 by Ionic columns of Greek marble, painted 
 bright yellow for half their height and 
 crowned with capitals relieved with blue and 
 red ornaments. A wreath of aristolochia 
 suspended its great green heart-shaped leaves 
 from the projections of the architecture like 
 a natural arabesque, and near a marble basin 
 framed in plants one flaming rose towered 
 on a single stalk a plume-flower in the midst 
 of natural flowers. The walls were adorned 
 with panelled fresco-work, representing fanci- 
 ful architecture or imaginary landscape views. 
 Octavian obtained only a hurried glance 
 at all these details, for Tyche immediately 
 placed him in the hands of the slaves who 
 had charge of the bath, and who subjected 
 him, notwithstanding his impatience, to all 
 the refinements of the antique thermce. 
 After having submitted to the several neces- 
 sary degrees of vapor-heat, endured the 
 scraper of the strigillarius, and felt cosmetics 
 and perfumed oils poured over him in 
 streams, he was reclothed with a white 
 tunic, and again met Tyche at the opposite
 
 204 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 door, who took him by the hand and con- 
 ducted him into another apartment gor- 
 geously decorated. 
 
 Upon the ceiling were painted, with a 
 purity of design, brilliancy of color, and free- 
 dom of touch which bespoke the hand of a 
 great master rather than of the mere ordi- 
 nary decorator, Mars, Venus, and Love. A 
 frieze composed of deer, hares, and birds, 
 disporting themselves amid rich foliage, ran 
 around the apartment above a wainscoting 
 of cipollino marble; the mosaic pavement, 
 a marvellous work from the hand, perhaps, 
 of Sosimus of Pergamos, represented ban- 
 quet-scenes in relief, with a perfection of art 
 which deluded the eye. 
 
 At the further end of the hall, upon a 
 biclinium, or double couch, reclined Arria 
 Marcella in an attitude which recalled the 
 reclining woman of Phidias, upon the pedi- 
 ment of the Parthenon, Her pearl-em- 
 broidered shoes lay at the foot of the couch, 
 and her beautiful bare foot, purer and whiter 
 than marble, extended from beneath the 
 light covering of byssus which had been 
 thrown over her.
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 205 
 
 Two earrings, fashioned in the form of 
 balance-scales, and bearing pearls in either 
 scale, trembled in the light against her pale 
 cheeks. A necklace of golden balls, with 
 pear-shaped pendants attached, hung down 
 upon her bosom, which the negligent folds 
 of a straw-colored peplum, with a Greek 
 border in black lines, had left half uncov- 
 ered ; a gold and black fillet passed and glit- 
 tered here and there through her ebon 
 tresses, for she had changed her dress upon 
 returning from the theatre, and around her 
 arm, like the asp about the arm of Cleo- 
 patra, a golden serpent with jewelled eyes 
 entwined itself in many folds and sought to 
 bite its own tail. 
 
 Close by the double couch had been placed 
 a little table, supported upon griffins' paws, 
 inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and freighted 
 with different viands served upon dishes of 
 silver and gold, or of earthenware enamelled 
 with costly paintings. A Phasian bird, 
 cooked in its plumage, was visible, and also 
 various fruits which are seldom seen together 
 in any one season. 
 
 Everything seemed to indicate that a guest
 
 206 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 was expected. The floor had been strewn 
 with fresh flowers, and the amphorae of wine 
 were plunged into urns filled with snow. 
 
 Arria Marcella made a sign to Octavian to 
 lie down upon the biclinium beside her and 
 share her repast. Half-maddened with as- 
 tonishment and love, the young man took 
 at random a few mouthfuls from the plates 
 extended to him by little curly-haired Asiatic 
 slaves, who wore short tunics. Arria did 
 not eat, but she frequently raised to her lips 
 an opal-tinted myrrhine vase filled with a 
 wine darkly purple like thickened blood. 
 As she drank an imperceptible rosy vapor 
 mounted to her cheeks from her heart, the 
 heart that had never throbbed for so many 
 centuries; nevertheless, her bare arm, which 
 Octavian lightly touched in the act of rais- 
 ing his cup, was cold as the skin of a serpent 
 or the marble of a tomb. 
 
 " Ah, when you paused in the Studii 
 Museum to contemplate the mass of har- 
 dened clay which still preserves my form," 
 exclaimed Arria Marcella, turning her long, 
 liquid eyes upon Octavian, " and your
 
 ARRTA MARCELLA 2O/ 
 
 thoughts were ardently directed to me, my 
 spirit felt it in that world where I float, in- 
 visible to vulgar eyes. Faith makes God, 
 and love makes woman. One is truly dead 
 only when one is no longer loved. Your 
 desire has restored life to me. The mighty 
 invocation of your heart overcame the dim 
 distances that separated us." 
 
 The idea of amorous invocation which the 
 young woman spoke of entered into the 
 philosophic beliefs of Octavian, beliefs which 
 we ourselves are not far from sharing. 
 
 In effect, nothing dies; all things are eter- 
 nal. No power can annihilate that which 
 once had being. Every action, every word, 
 every thought which has fallen into the uni- 
 versal ocean of being, therein creates circles 
 which travel, and increase in travelling, even 
 to the confines of eternity. To vulgar eyes 
 only do natural forms disappear, and the 
 spectres which have thence detached them- 
 selves people Infinity. Paris, in some un- 
 known region of space, continues to carry off 
 Helen. The galley of Cleopatra still floats 
 down with swelling sails of silk upon the 
 azure current of an ideal Cydnus. A few
 
 208 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 passionate and powerful minds have been 
 able to recall before them ages apparently 
 long passed away, and to restore to life per- 
 sonages dead to all the world beside. Faust 
 has had for his mistress the daughter of 
 Tyndarus, and conducted her to his Gothic 
 castle in the depths of the mysterious abysses 
 of Hades. Octavian had been able to live a 
 day under the reign of Titus, and to make 
 himself beloved of Arria Marcella, daughter 
 of Arrius Diomedes, she who was at that 
 moment lying upon an antique couch beside 
 him in a city destroyed for all the rest of 
 the world. 
 
 " From my disgust with other women," 
 replied Octavian, " from the unconquerable 
 reverie which attracted me toward its radi- 
 ant shapes as to stars that lure on, I knew 
 that I could never love save beyond the con- 
 fines of Time and Space. It was you that 
 I awaited; and that frail vestige of your 
 being, preserved by the curiosity of men, 
 ha:', by its secret magnetism placed me in 
 communication with your spirit. I know 
 not if you be a dream or a reality, a phan- 
 tom or a woman ; if, like Ixion, I press but
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 209 
 
 a cloud to my cheated breast ; if I am only 
 the victim of some vile spell of sorcery but 
 what I do truly know is that you will be my 
 first and my last love." 
 
 " May Eros, son of Aphrodite, hear your 
 promise," returned Arria Marcella, drop- 
 ping her head upon the shoulder of her 
 lover, who lifted her in a passionate em- 
 brace. " Oh, press me to your young 
 breast ! Envelop me with your warm breath. 
 I am cold through having remained so long 
 without love." And against his heart Oc- 
 tavian felt that beautiful bosom rise and fall, 
 whose mould he had that very morning ad- 
 mired through the glass of a cabinet in the 
 museum. The coolness of that beautiful 
 flesh penetrated him through his tunic and 
 made him burn. The gold and black fillet 
 had become detached from Arria's head, 
 passionately thrown back, and her hair 
 streamed like a black river over the purple 
 pillow. 
 
 The slaves had removed the table. A 
 
 confused sound of sighs and kisses was alone 
 
 audible. The pet quails, indifferent to this 
 
 amorous scene, plundered the crumbs of the 
 
 14
 
 210 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 banquet upon the mosaic pavement, utter- 
 ing sharp little cries. 
 
 Suddenly the brazen rings of the curtain 
 which closed the entrance to the apartment 
 slided back upon the curtain-rod, and an 
 aged man of stern demeanor and wrapped in 
 a great brown mantle appeared upon the 
 threshold. His gray beard was divided into 
 two points after the manner of the Naza- 
 reans. His face seemed furrowed by the 
 suffering of ascetic mortifications, and a lit- 
 tle cross of black wood was suspended from 
 his neck, leaving no doubt as to his faith. 
 He belonged to the sect, then new, of the 
 Disciples of Christ. 
 
 On perceiving him, Arria Marcella, over- 
 whelmed with confusion, hid her face in the 
 folds of her mantle, like a bird which puts 
 its head under its wing at the approach of 
 an enemy from whom it cannot escape, to 
 save itself at least from the horror of seeing 
 him, while Octavian, rising on his elbow, 
 stared fixedly at the provoking being who 
 had thus abruptly interrupted his happiness. 
 
 "Arria, Arria!" exclaimed the austere 
 personage in a voice of reproach, " did not
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 211 
 
 your lifetime suffice for your misconduct, 
 and must your infamous amours encroach 
 upon centuries to which they do not belong ? 
 Can you not leave the living in their sphere ? 
 Have not your ashes cooled since the day 
 when you perished unrepentant beneath the 
 rain of volcanic fire ? So, then, even two 
 thousand years have not sufficed to calm your 
 passion, and your voracious arms still draw to 
 your heartless breast of marble the poor mad- 
 men whom your philters have intoxicated! " 
 
 " Arrius, father, mercy! Do not crush 
 me in the name of that morose religion which 
 was never mine ! I believed in our ancient 
 gods, who loved life and youth and beauty 
 and pleasure. Do not hurl me back into 
 pale nothingness! Let me enjoy this life 
 that love has given back to me ! " 
 
 " Silence, impious woman ! Speak not to 
 me of your gods, which are demons. Let 
 this man, whom you have fettered with your 
 impure seductions, depart hence. Draw 
 him no more beyond the circle of that life 
 which God measured out for him. Return 
 to the Limbo of paganism with your Asiatic, 
 Roman, or Greek lovers, Young Christian,
 
 212 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 forsake that larva, who would seem to you 
 more hideous than Empousa or Phorkyas, 
 could you but see her as she is! " 
 
 Pale and frozen with horror, Octavian tried 
 to speak, but his voice clung to his throat, 
 according to the expression of Virgil. 
 
 ' Will you obey me, Arria ? " imperiously 
 cried the tall old man. 
 
 "No, never!" responded Arria, with 
 flashing eyes, dilated nostrils, and passion- 
 trembling lips, as she suddenly encircled the 
 body of Octavian with her beautiful statu- 
 esque arms, cold, hard, and rigid as marble. 
 Her furious beauty, enhanced by the struggle, 
 shone forth at that supreme moment with su- 
 pernatural brightness, as though to leave its 
 imperishable souvenir with her young lover. 
 ' Then, unhappy woman," exclaimed the 
 old man, " I must needs employ extreme 
 measures, and render your nothingness pal- 
 pable and visible to this fascinated child." 
 And in a voice of command he pronounced 
 a formula of exorcism that banished from 
 Arria's cheeks the purple tints with which 
 the black wine from the myrrhine vase had 
 suffused them.
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 2 13 
 
 At the same moment the distant bell of 
 one of those hamlets which border the sea- 
 coast, or lie hidden in the mountain hollows, 
 rang out the first peal of the angelus. 
 
 A sob of agony burst from the broken 
 heart of the young woman at that sound. 
 Octavian felt her encircling arms untwine, 
 the draperies which covered her sank fold 
 on fold, as though the contours which sus- 
 tained them had suddenly given way, and 
 the wretched night-walker beheld on the 
 banquet-couch beside him only a handful of 
 cinders mingled with a few fragments of cal- 
 cined bones, among which gold bracelets and 
 jewelry glittered, together with such other 
 shapeless remains as were found in excavat- 
 ing the villa of Arrius Diomedes. 
 
 He uttered one fearful cry and became 
 insensible. 
 
 The old man had disappeared, the sun 
 rose, and the hall, so brilliantly decorated 
 but a short time before, became only a dis- 
 mantled ruin. 
 
 After a heavy slumber, inspired by the 
 libations of the previous evening, Max and
 
 214 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 Fabio started from their sleep, and at once 
 called their comrade, whose room adjoined 
 their own, with one of those burlesque rally- 
 ing cries which are so commonly made use 
 of by travellers. Octavian, for the best of 
 reasons, returned no answer. Fabio and 
 Max, hearing no response, entered their 
 friend's chamber and perceived that the bed 
 had not been disturbed. 
 
 " He must have fallen asleep in some 
 chair," said Fabio, " without being able to 
 get to bed, for our good Octavian cannot 
 bear much liquor; and most likely he is tak- 
 ing an early walk to dissipate the fumes of 
 the wine in the fresh morning air." 
 
 " But he did not drink much," returned 
 Max, in a thoughtful manner. " All this 
 seems very strange to me. Let us go and 
 find him!" 
 
 Accompanied by the cicerone, the two 
 friends searched all the streets, squares, 
 cross-roads, and alleys of Pompeii, entering 
 every curious building where they thought 
 Octavian might be occupied in copying a 
 painting or taking down an inscription, and 
 finally discovered him lying insensible upon
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 215 
 
 the disjointed mosaic pavement of a small 
 ruined chamber. They had much difficulty 
 in restoring him to consciousness, and on 
 reviving, his only explanation of the circum- 
 stance was that he had taken a fancy to see 
 Pompeii by moonlight, and had been seized 
 with a sudden faintness, which would doubt- 
 less result in nothing serious. 
 
 The little party returned by rail to Naples, 
 as they had come, and the same evening, 
 from their private box at the San Carlo, 
 Max and Fabio watched through their opera 
 glasses a troupe of nymphs dancing in a 
 ballet, under the leadership of Amalia Fer- 
 raris, the danseuse then in vogue, all wearing 
 under their gauzy skirts frightful green 
 drawers, which made them look like so many 
 frogs stung by a tarantula. Pale, with wo- 
 ful eyes, and the general air of one crushed 
 by suffering, Octavian seemed to doubt the 
 reality of what transpired upon the stage, so 
 difficult did he find it to resume the senti- 
 ments of real life after the marvellous ad- 
 ventures of the night. 
 
 From the time of that visit to Pompeii 
 Octavian fell into a dismal melancholy,
 
 2l6 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 which the good-humored pleasantry of his 
 companions rather aggravated than soothed. 
 The image of Arria Marcella haunted him 
 incessantly, and the sad termination of his 
 fantastic good fortune had never destroyed 
 its charm. 
 
 Unable to contain his misery, he returned 
 secretly to Pompeii, and once again wan- 
 dered among the ruins by moonlight as be- 
 fore, his heart palpitating with maddening 
 hope; but the hallucination never returned. 
 He saw only the lizards fleeing over the 
 stones, he heard only the screams of the 
 startled night-birds. He met his friend Ru- 
 fus Holconius no more, Tyche came not to 
 lay her supple hand upon his arm, Arria 
 Marcella obstinately slumbered in her dust. 
 
 Abandoning all hope, Octavian finally mar- 
 ried a charming young English girl, who is 
 madly in love with him. He is perfectly 
 well behaved to his wife, yet Ellen, with 
 that subtle instinct of the heart which noth- 
 ing can deceive, feels that her husband is 
 enamored of another. But of whom ? That 
 is a mystery which the most unflagging 
 watchfulness cannot enable her to unravel.
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 217 
 
 Octavian never entertains actresses. In so- 
 ciety he addresses to women only the most 
 commonplace gallantries. He even returned 
 with the greatest coldness the marked ad- 
 vances of a certain Russian princess cele- 
 brated for her beauty and her coquetry. A 
 secret drawer, opened during her husband's 
 absence, afforded no confirmation of infidel- 
 ity to Ellen's suspicions. But how could 
 she permit herself to be jealous of Arria 
 Marcella, daughter of Arrius Diomedes, the 
 freedman of Tiberius ?
 
 The Mummy's Foot
 
 THE MUMMVS fOOT 
 
 I HAD entered, in an idle mood, the shop 
 of one of those curiosity venders who are 
 called marchands de bric-a-brac in that Paris- 
 ian argot which is so perfectly unintelligible 
 elsewhere in France. 
 
 You have doubtless glanced occasionally 
 through the windows of some of these shops, 
 which have become so numerous now that 
 it is fashionable to buy antiquated furniture, 
 and that every petty stockbroker thinks he 
 must have his chambre au moyen dge. 
 
 There is one thing there which clings alike 
 to the shop of the dealer in old iron, the 
 ware-room of the tapestry maker, the labo- 
 ratory of the chemist, and the studio of the 
 painter : in all those gloomy dens where a 
 furtive daylight filters in through the win- 
 dow-shutters the most manifestly ancient 
 thing is dust. The cobwebs are more au-
 
 222 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 thentic than the guimp laces, and the old 
 pear-tree furniture on exhibition is actually 
 younger than the mahogany which arrived 
 but yesterday from America. 
 
 The warehouse of my bric-a-brac dealer 
 was a veritable Capharnaum. All ages and 
 all nations seemed to have made their ren- 
 dezvous there. An Etruscan lamp of red 
 clay stood upon a Boule cabinet, with ebony 
 panels, brightly striped by lines of inlaid 
 brass; a duchess of the court of Louis XV. 
 nonchalantly extended her fawn-like feet un- 
 der a massive table of the time of Louis 
 XIII., with heavy spiral supports of oak, 
 and carven designs of chimeras and foliage 
 intermingled. 
 
 Upon the denticulated shelves of several 
 sideboards glittered immense Japanese dishes 
 with red and blue designs relieved by gilded 
 hatching, side by side with enamelled works 
 by Bernard Palissy, representing serpents, 
 frogs, and lizards in relief. 
 
 From disembowelled cabinets escaped cas- 
 cades of silver-lustrous Chinese silks and 
 waves of tinsel, which an oblique sunbeam 
 shot through with luminous beads, while
 
 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 223 
 
 portraits of every era, in frames more or less 
 tarnished, smiled through their yellow var- 
 nish. 
 
 The striped breastplate of a damascened 
 suit of Milanese armor glittered in one cor- 
 ner; loves and nymphs of porcelain, Chinese 
 grotesques, vases of cttadon and crackle- 
 ware, Saxon and old Sevres cups encumbered 
 the shelves and nooks of the apartment. 
 
 The dealer followed me closely through 
 the tortuous way contrived between the piles 
 of furniture, warding off with his hand the 
 hazardous sweep of my coat-skirts, watch- 
 ing my elbows with the uneasy attention of 
 an antiquarian and a usurer. 
 
 It was a singular face, that of the mer- 
 chant; an immense skull, polished like a 
 knee, and surrounded by a thin aureole of 
 white hair, which brought out the clear sal- 
 mon tint of his complexion all the more 
 strikingly, lent him a false aspect of patri- 
 archal bonhomie, counteracted, however, by 
 the scintillation of two little yellow eyes 
 which trembled in their orbits like two louis- 
 d'or upon quicksilver. The curve of his 
 nose presented an aquiline silhouette, which
 
 224 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 suggested the Oriental or Jewish type. His 
 hands thin, slender, full of nerves which 
 projected like strings upon the finger-board 
 of a violin, and armed with claws like those 
 on the terminations of bats' wings shook 
 with senile trembling; but those convul- 
 sively agitated hands became firmer than 
 steel pincers or lobsters' claws when they 
 lifted any precious article an onyx cup, a 
 Venetian glass, or a dish of Bohemian crys- 
 tal. This strange old man had an aspect so 
 thoroughly rabbinical and cabalistic that he 
 would have been burnt on the mere testi- 
 mony of his face three centuries ago. 
 
 ' Will you not buy something from me 
 to-day, sir ? Here is a Malay kreese with 
 a blade undulating like flame. Look at 
 those grooves contrived for the blood to run 
 along, those teeth set backward so as to tear 
 out the entrails in withdrawing the weapon. 
 It is a fine character of ferocious arm, and 
 will look well in your collection. This two- 
 handed sword is very beautiful. It is the 
 work of Josepe de la Hera; and this coliche- 
 marde, with its fenestrated guard what a 
 superb specimen of handicraft ! "
 
 THE MUMMY S FOOT 225 
 
 " No; I have quite enough weapons and 
 instruments of carnage. I want a small 
 figure, something which will suit me as a 
 paper-weight, for I cannot endure those 
 trumpery bronzes which the stationers sell, 
 and which may be found on everybody's 
 desk." 
 
 The old gnome foraged among his ancient 
 wares, and finally arranged before me some 
 antique bronzes, so-called at least; frag- 
 ments of malachite, little Hindoo or Chinese 
 idols, a kind of poussah-toys in jade-stone, 
 representing the incarnations of Brahma or 
 Vishnoo, and wonderfully appropriate to the 
 very undivine office of holding papers and 
 letters in place. 
 
 I was hesitating between a porcelain 
 dragon, all constellated with warts, its 
 mouth formidable with bristling tusks and 
 ranges of teeth, and an abominable little 
 Mexican fetich, representing the god Vitzi- 
 liputzili au naturel, when I caught sight of 
 a charming foot, which I at first took for a 
 fragment of some antique Venus. 
 
 It had those beautiful ruddy and tawny 
 tints that lend to Florentine bronze that 
 15
 
 226 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 warm living look so much preferable to the 
 gray-green aspect of common bronzes, which 
 might easily be mistaken for statues in a 
 state of putrefaction. Satiny gleams played 
 over its rounded forms, doubtless polished 
 by the amorous kisses of twenty centuries, 
 for it seemed a Corinthian bronze, a work 
 of the best era of art, perhaps moulded by 
 Lysippus himself. 
 
 " That foot will be my choice," I said to 
 the merchant, who regarded me with an 
 ironical and saturnine air, and held out the 
 object desired that I might examine it more 
 fully. 
 
 I was surprised at its lightness. It was 
 not a foot of metal, but in sooth a foot of 
 flesh, an embalmed foot, a mummy's foot. 
 On examining it still more closely the very 
 grain of the skin, and the almost imper- 
 ceptible lines impressed upon it by the tex- 
 ture of the bandages, became perceptible. 
 The toes were slender and delicate, and ter- 
 minated by perfectly formed nails, pure and 
 transparent as agates. The great toe, 
 slightly separated from the rest, afforded a 
 happy contrast, in the antique style, to the
 
 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 227 
 
 position of the other toes, and lent it an 
 aerial lightness the grace of a bird's foot. 
 The sole, scarcely streaked by a few almost 
 imperceptible cross lines, afforded evidence 
 that it had never touched the bare ground, 
 and had only come in contact with the finest 
 matting of Nile rushes and the softest car- 
 pets of panther skin. 
 
 "Ha, ha, you want the foot of the Prin- 
 cess Hermonthis ! " exclaimed the merchant, 
 with a strange giggle, fixing his owlish eyes 
 upon me. " Ha, ha, ha! For a paper- 
 weight ! An original idea ! artistic idea ! 
 Old Pharaoh would certainly have been sur- 
 prised had some one told him that the foot 
 of his adored daughter would be used for a 
 paper-weight after he had had a mountain 
 of granite hollowed out as a receptacle for 
 the triple coffin, painted and gilded, cov- 
 ered with hieroglyphics and beautiful paint- 
 ings of the Judgment of Souls," continued 
 the queer little merchant, half audibly, as 
 though talking to himself. 
 
 " How much will you charge me for this 
 mummy fragment ? " 
 
 " Ah, the highest price I can get, for it is
 
 228 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 a superb piece. If I had the match of it 
 you could not have it for less than five hun- 
 dred francs. The daughter of a Pharaoh ! 
 Nothing is more rare." 
 
 " Assuredly that is not a common article, 
 but still, how much do you want ? In the 
 first place let me warn you that all my 
 wealth consists of just five louis. I can buy 
 anything that costs five louis, but nothing 
 dearer. You might search my vest pockets 
 and most secret drawers without even find- 
 ing one poor five-franc piece more." 
 
 " Five louis for the foot of the Princess 
 Hermonthis ! That is very little, very little 
 indeed. 'Tis an authentic foot," muttered 
 the merchant, shaking his head, and impart- 
 ing a peculiar rotary motion to his eyes. 
 ' Well, take it, and I will give you the ban- 
 dages into the bargain," he added, wrapping 
 the foot in an ancient damask rag. ' Very 
 fine! Real damask Indian damask which 
 has never been redyed. It is strong, and 
 yet it is soft," he mumbled, stroking the 
 frayed tissue with his fingers, through the 
 trade-acquired habit which moved him to 
 praise even an object of such little value
 
 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 229 
 
 that he himself deemed it only worth the 
 giving away. 
 
 He poured the gold coins into a sort of 
 mediaeval alms-purse hanging at his belt, 
 repeating : 
 
 "The foot of the Princess Hermonthis 
 to be used for a paper-weight ! ' ' 
 
 Then turning his phosphorescent eyes 
 upon me, he exclaimed in a voice strident 
 as the crying of a cat which has swallowed a 
 fish-bone: 
 
 " Old Pharaoh will not be well pleased. 
 He loved his daughter, the dear man ! " 
 
 ' You speak as if you were a contempo- 
 rary of his. You are old enough, goodness 
 knows! but you do not date back to the 
 Pyramids of Egypt," I answered, laugh- 
 ingly, from the threshold. 
 
 I went home, delighted with my acquisi- 
 tion. 
 
 With the idea of putting it to profitable 
 use as soon as possible, I placed the foot of 
 the divine Princess Hermonthis upon a heap 
 of papers scribbled over with verses, in them- 
 selves an undecipherable mosaic work of 
 erasures; articles freshly begun ; letters for-
 
 230 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 gotten, and posted in the table drawer in- 
 stead of the letter-box, an error to which 
 absent-minded people are peculiarly liable. 
 The effect was charming, bizarre, and ro- 
 mantic. 
 
 Well satisfied with this embellishment, I 
 went out with the gravity and pride becom- 
 ing one who feels that he has the ineffable 
 advantage over all the passers-by whom he 
 elbows, of possessing a piece of the Princess 
 Hermonthis, daughter of Pharaoh. 
 
 I looked upon all who did not possess, 
 like myself, a paper-weight so authentically 
 Egyptian as very ridiculous people, and it 
 seemed to me that the proper occupation of 
 every sensible man should consist in the 
 mere fact of having a mummy's foot upon 
 his desk. 
 
 Happily I met some friends, whose pres- 
 ence distracted me in my infatuation with 
 this new acquisition. I went to dinner with 
 them, for I could not very well have dined 
 with myself. 
 
 When I came back that evening, with my 
 brain slightly confused by a few glasses of 
 wine, a vague whiff of Oriental perfume deli-
 
 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 231 
 
 cately titillated my olfactory nerves. The 
 heat of the room had warmed the natron, 
 bitumen, and myrrh in which the para- 
 schistes, who cut open the bodies of the 
 dead, had bathed the corpse of the princess. 
 It was a perfume at once sweet and pene- 
 trating, a perfume that four thousand years 
 had not been able to dissipate. 
 
 The Dream of Egypt was Eternity. Her 
 odors have the solidity of granite and en- 
 dure as long. 
 
 I soon drank deeply from the black cup 
 of sleep. For a few hours all remained 
 opaque to me. Oblivion and nothingness 
 inundated me with their sombre waves. 
 
 Yet light gradually dawned upon the dark- 
 ness of my mind. Dreams commenced to 
 touch me softly in their silent flight. 
 
 The eyes of my soul were opened, and I 
 beheld my chamber as it actually was. I 
 might have believed myself awake but for 
 a vague consciousness which assured me 
 that I slept, and that something fantastic 
 was about to take place. 
 
 The odor of the myrrh had augmented in 
 intensity, and I felt a slight headache, which
 
 2;J2 THE MUMMY S FOOT 
 
 I very naturally attributed to several glasses 
 of champagne that we had drunk to the un- 
 known gods and our future fortunes. 
 
 I peered through my room with a feeling 
 of expectation which I saw nothing to jus- 
 tify. Every article of furniture was in its 
 proper place. The lamp, softly shaded by 
 its globe of ground crystal, burned upon its 
 bracket ; the water-color sketches shone un- 
 der their Bohemian glass ; the curtains hung 
 down languidly; everything wore an aspect 
 of tranquil slumber. 
 
 After a few moments, however, all this 
 calm interior appeared to become disturbed. 
 The woodwork cracked stealthily, the ash- 
 covered log suddenly emitted a jet of blue 
 flame, and the disks of the pateras seemed 
 like great metallic eyes, watching, like my- 
 self, for the things which were about to 
 happen. 
 
 My eyes accidentally fell upon the desk 
 where I had placed the foot of the Princess 
 Hermonthis. 
 
 Instead of remaining quiet, as behooved a 
 foot which had been embalmed for four 
 thousand years, it commenced to act in a
 
 THE MUMMY S FOOT 233 
 
 nervous manner, contracted itself, and leaped 
 over the papers like a startled frog. One 
 would have imagined that it had suddenly 
 been brought into contact with a galvanic 
 battery. I could distinctly hear the dry 
 sound made by its little heel, hard as the hoof 
 of a gazelle. 
 
 I became rather discontented with my ac- 
 quisition, inasmuch as I wished my paper- 
 weights to be of a sedentary disposition, and 
 thought it very unnatural that feet should 
 walk about without legs, and I commenced 
 to experience a feeling closely akin to fear. 
 
 Suddenly I saw the folds of my bed-cur- 
 tain stir, and heard a bumping sound, like 
 that caused by some person hopping on one 
 foot across the floor. I must confess I be- 
 came alternately hot and cold, that I felt a 
 strange wind chill my back, and that my 
 suddenly rising hair caused my night-cap to 
 execute a leap of several yards. 
 
 The bed-curtains opened and I beheld the 
 strangest figure imaginable before me. 
 
 It was a young girl of a very deep coffee- 
 brown complexion, like the bayadere Amani, 
 and possessing the purest Egyptian type of
 
 234 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 perfect beauty. Her eyes were almond- 
 shaped and oblique, with eyebrows so black 
 that they seemed blue; her nose was ex- 
 quisitely chiselled, almost Greek in its deli- 
 cacy of outline ; and she might indeed have 
 been taken for a Corinthian statue of bronze 
 but for the prominence of her cheek-bones 
 and the slightly African fulness of her lips, 
 which compelled one to recognize her as be- 
 longing beyond all doubt to the hieroglyphic 
 race which dwelt upon the banks of the 
 Nile. 
 
 Her arms, slender and spindle-shaped like 
 those of very young girls, were encircled by 
 a peculiar kind of metal bands and bracelets 
 of glass beads ; her hair was all twisted into 
 little cords, and she wore upon her bosom a 
 little idol-figure of green paste, bearing a 
 whip with seven lashes, which proved it to 
 be an image of Isis ; her brow was adorned 
 with a shining plate of gold, and a few traces 
 of paint relieved the coppery tint of her 
 cheeks. 
 
 As for her costume, it was very odd in- 
 deed. 
 
 Fancy zpagne, or skirt, all formed of little
 
 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 235 
 
 strips of material bedizened with red and 
 black hieroglyphics, stiffened with bitumen, 
 and apparently belonging to a freshly un- 
 bandaged mummy. 
 
 In one of those sudden flights of thought 
 so common in dreams I heard the hoarse 
 falsetto of the bric-a-brac dealer, repeating 
 like a monotonous refrain the phrase he had 
 uttered in his shop with so enigmatical an 
 intonation : 
 
 " Old Pharaoh will not be well pleased. 
 He loved his daughter, the dear man! " 
 
 One strange circumstance, which was not 
 at all calculated to restore my equanimity, 
 was that the apparition had but one foot; 
 the other was broken off at the ankle ! 
 
 She approached the table where the foot 
 was starting and fidgetting about more than 
 ever, and there supported herself upon the 
 edge of the desk. I saw her eyes fill with 
 pearly gleaming tears. 
 
 Although she had not as yet spoken, I 
 fully comprehended the thoughts which agi- 
 tated her. She looked at her foot for it 
 was indeed her own with an exquisitely 
 graceful expression of coquettish sadness,
 
 236 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 but the foot leaped and ran hither and 
 thither, as though impelled on steel springs. 
 
 Twice or thrice she extended her hand to 
 seize it, but could not succeed. 
 
 Then commenced between the Princess 
 Hermonthis and her foot which appeared 
 to be endowed with a special life of its own 
 a very fantastic dialogue in a most ancient 
 Coptic tongue, such as might have been 
 spoken thirty centuries ago in the syrinxes 
 of the land of Ser. Luckily I understood 
 Coptic perfectly well that night. 
 
 The Princess Hermonthis cried, in a voice 
 sweet and vibrant as the tones of a crystal 
 bell: 
 
 ' Well, my dear little foot, you always 
 flee from me, yet I always took good care of 
 you. I bathed you with perfumed water in 
 a bowl of alabaster ; I smoothed your heel 
 with pumice-stone mixed with palm oil; 
 your nails were cut with golden scissors and 
 polished with a hippopotamus tooth ; I was 
 careful to select tatbebs for you, painted and 
 embroidered and turned up at the toes, 
 which were the envy of all the young girls 
 in Egypt. You wore on your great toe rings
 
 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 237 
 
 bearing the device of the sacred Scarabaeus, 
 and you supported one of the lightest bodies 
 that a lazy foot could sustain." 
 
 The foot replied in a pouting and chagrined 
 tone: 
 
 ' You know well that I do not belong to 
 myself any longer. I have been bought and 
 paid for. The old merchant knew what he 
 was about. He bore you a grudge for hav- 
 ing refused to espouse him. This is an ill 
 turn which he has done you. The Arab 
 who violated your royal coffin in the subter- 
 ranean pits of the necropolis of Thebes was 
 sent thither by him. He desired to prevent 
 you from being present at the reunion of 
 the shadowy nations in the cities below. 
 Have you five pieces of gold for my ran- 
 som?" 
 
 "Alas, no! My jewels, my rings, my 
 purses of gold and silver were all stolen 
 from me," answered the Princess Hermon- 
 this, with a sob. 
 
 " Princess," I then exclaimed, " I never 
 retained anybody's foot unjustly. Even 
 though you have not got the five louis which 
 it cost me, I present it to you gladly. I
 
 238 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 should feel unutterably wretched to think 
 that I were the cause of so amiable a person 
 as the Princess Hermonthis being lame." 
 
 I delivered this discourse in a royally gal- 
 lant, troubadour tone which must have aston- 
 ished the beautiful Egyptian girl. 
 
 She turned a look of deepest gratitude 
 upon me, and her eyes shone with bluish 
 gleams of light. 
 
 She took her foot, which surrendered 
 itself willingly this time, like a woman about 
 to put on her little shoe, and adjusted it to 
 her leg with much skill. 
 
 This operation over, she took a few steps 
 about the room, as though to assure herself 
 that she was really no longer lame. 
 
 " Ah, how pleased my father will be ! He 
 who was so unhappy because of my mutila- 
 tion, and who from the moment of my birth 
 set a whole nation at work to hollow me out 
 a tomb so deep that he might preserve me 
 intact until that last day, when souls must 
 be weighed in the balance of Amenthi ! 
 Come with me to my father. He will re- 
 ceive you kindly, for you have given me 
 back my foot."
 
 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 239 
 
 I thought this proposition natural enough. 
 I arrayed myself in a dressing-gown of large- 
 flowered pattern, which lent me a very 
 Pharaonic aspect, hurriedly put on a pair of 
 Turkish slippers, and informed the Princess 
 Hermonthis that I was ready to follow her. 
 
 Before starting, Hermonthis took from 
 her neck the little idol of green paste, and 
 laid it on the scattered sheets of paper which 
 covered the table. 
 
 " It is only fair," she observed, smilingly, 
 " that I should replace your paper-weight." 
 
 She gave me her hand, which felt soft and 
 cold, like the skin of a serpent, and we de- 
 parted. 
 
 We passed for some time with the velocity 
 of an arrow through a fluid and grayish ex- 
 panse, in which half-formed silhouettes 
 flitted swiftly by us, to right and left. 
 
 For an instant we saw only sky and sea. 
 
 A few moments later obelisks commenced 
 to tower in the distance; pylons and vast 
 flights of steps guarded by sphinxes became 
 clearly outlined against the horizon. 
 
 We had reached our destination. 
 
 The princess conducted me to a mountain
 
 240 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 of rose-colored granite, in the face of which 
 appeared an opening so narrow and low that 
 it would have been difficult to distinguish it 
 from the fissures in the rock, had not its 
 location been marked by two stelae wrought 
 with sculptures. 
 
 Hermonthis kindled a torch and led the 
 way before me. 
 
 We traversed corridors hewn through the 
 living rock. Their walls, covered with hiero- 
 glyphics and paintings of allegorical proces- 
 sions, might well have occupied thousands 
 of arms for thousands of years in their for- 
 mation. These corridors of interminable 
 length opened into square chambers, in the 
 midst of which pits had been contrived, 
 through which we descended by cramp-irons 
 or spiral stairways. These pits again con- 
 ducted us into other chambers, opening into 
 other corridors, likewise decorated with 
 painted sparrow-hawks, serpents coiled in 
 circles, the symbols of the tau and pedum 
 prodigious works of art which no living eye 
 can ever examine interminable legends of 
 granite which only the dead have time to 
 read through all eternity.
 
 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 241 
 
 At last we found ourselves in a hall so 
 vast, so enormous, so immeasurable, that 
 the eye could not reach its limits. Files of 
 monstrous columns stretched far out of sight 
 on every side, between which twinkled livid 
 stars of yellowish flame; points of light 
 which revealed further depths incalculable 
 in the darkness beyond. 
 
 The Princess Hermonthis still held my 
 hand, and graciously saluted the mummies 
 of her acquaintance. 
 
 My eyes became accustomed to the dim 
 twilight, and objects became discernible. 
 
 I beheld the kings of the subterranean 
 races seated upon thrones grand old men, 
 though dry, withered, wrinkled like parch- 
 ment, and blackened with naphtha and bitu- 
 men all wearing/^<f/j of gold, and breast- 
 plates and gorgets glittering with precious 
 stones, their eyes immovably fixed like the 
 eyes of spinxes, and their long beards whit- 
 ened by the snow of centuries. Behind 
 them stood their peoples, in the stiff and 
 constrained posture enjoined by Egyptian 
 art, all eternally preserving the attitude pre- 
 scribed by the hieratic code. Behind thee 
 16
 
 242 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 nations, the cats, ibixes, and crocodiles con- 
 temporary with them rendered monstrous 
 of aspect by their swathing bands mewed, 
 flapped their wings, or extended their jaws 
 in a saurian giggle. 
 
 All the Pharaohs were there Cheops, 
 Chephrenes, Psammetichus, Sesostris, Ame- 
 notaph all the dark rulers of the pyramids 
 and syrinxes. On yet higher thrones sat 
 Chronos and Xixouthros, who was contem- 
 porary with the deluge, and Tubal Cain, 
 who reigned before it. 
 
 The beard of King Xixouthros had grown 
 seven times around the granite table, upon 
 which he leaned, lost in deep reverie, and 
 buried in dreams. 
 
 Farther back, through a dusty cloud, I 
 beheld dimly the seventy-two preadamite 
 kings, with their seventy-two peoples, for- 
 ever passed away. 
 
 After permitting me to gaze upon this 
 bewildering spectacle a few moments, the 
 Princess Hermonthis presented me to her 
 father Pharaoh, who favored me with a most 
 gracious nod. 
 
 ' ' I have found my foot again ! I have
 
 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 243 
 
 found my foot!" cried the princess, clap- 
 ping her little hands together with every 
 sign of frantic joy. " It was this gentleman 
 who restored it to me." 
 
 The races of Kemi, the races of Nahasi 
 all the black, bronzed, and copper-colored 
 nations repeated in chorus : 
 
 " The Princess Hermonthis has found her 
 foot again! " 
 
 Even Xixouthros himself was visibly 
 affected. 
 
 He raised his heavy eyelids, stroked his 
 mustache with his fingers, and turned upon 
 me a glance weighty with centuries. 
 
 " By Oms, the dog of Hell, and Tmei, 
 daughter of the Sun and of Truth, this is a 
 brave and worthy lad ! " exclaimed Pharaoh, 
 pointing to me with his sceptre, which was 
 terminated with a lotus-flower. 
 
 " What recompense do you desire ? " 
 
 Filled with that daring inspired by 
 dreams in which nothing seems impossible, 
 I asked him for the hand of the Princess 
 Hermonthis. The hand seemed to me a 
 very proper antithetic recompense for the 
 foot.
 
 244 THE MUMMY S FOOT 
 
 Pharaoh opened wide his great eyes of 
 glass in astonishment at my witty request. 
 
 ' What country do you come from, and 
 what is your age ? " 
 
 " I am a Frenchman, and I am twenty- 
 seven years old, venerable Pharaoh." 
 
 ' Twenty-seven years old, and he wishes 
 to espouse the Princess Hermonthis who 
 is thirty centuries old!" cried out at once 
 all the Thrones and all the Circles of Na. 
 tions. 
 
 Only Hermonthis herself did not seem to 
 think my request unreasonable. 
 
 " If you were even only two thousand 
 years old," replied the ancient king, " I 
 would willingly give you the princess, but 
 the disproportion is too great ; and, besides, 
 we must give our daughters husbands who 
 will last well. You do not know how to 
 preserve yourselves any longer. Even those 
 who died only fifteen centuries ago are 
 already no more than a handful of dust. 
 Behold, my flesh is solid as basalt, my bones 
 are bars of steel ! 
 
 " I will be present on the last day of the 
 world with the same body and the swne fea-
 
 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 245 
 
 tures which I had during my lifetime. My 
 daughter Hermonthis will last longer than a 
 statue of bronze. 
 
 " Then the last particles of your dust will 
 have been scattered abroad by the winds, 
 and even Isis herself, who was able to find 
 the atoms of Osiris, would scarce be able to 
 recompose your being. 
 
 " See how vigorous I yet remain, and how 
 mighty is my grasp," he added, shaking my 
 hand in the English fashion with a strength 
 that buried my rings in the flesh of my 
 fingers. 
 
 He squeezed me so hard that I awoke, 
 and found my friend Alfred shaking me by 
 the arm to make me get up. 
 
 " Oh, you everlasting sleeper! Must I 
 have you carried out into the middle of the 
 street, and fireworks exploded in your ears ? 
 It is afternoon. Don't you recollect your 
 promise to take me with you to see M. 
 Aguado's Spanish pictures ? " 
 
 "God! I forgot all, all about it," I an- 
 swered, dressing myself hurriedly. ' We 
 will go there at once. I have the permit 
 lying there on my desk."
 
 246 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 I started to find it, but fancy my astonish- 
 ment when I beheld, instead of the mummy's 
 foot I had purchased the evening before, the 
 little green paste idol left in its place by the 
 Princess Hermonthis!
 
 Omphale : A Rococo Story
 
 {WPHALE: 
 
 4 ROCOCO 
 
 STORY 
 
 MY uncle, the Chevalier de , resided 
 
 in a small mansion which looked out upon 
 the dismal Rue de Tournelles on one side, 
 and the equally dismal Boulevard St. An- 
 toine upon the other. Between the Boule- 
 vard and the house itself a few ancient elm- 
 trees, eaten alive by mosses and insects, 
 piteously extended their skeleton arms from 
 the depth of a species of sink surrounded by 
 high black walls. Some emaciated flowers 
 hung their heads languidly, like young girls 
 in consumption, waiting for a ray of sun- 
 shine to dry their half-rotten leaves. Weeds 
 had invaded the walks, which were almost 
 undistinguishable, owing to the length of 
 time that had elapsed since they were last
 
 250 OMPHALE : A ROCOCO STORY 
 
 raked. One or two goldfish floated rather 
 than swam in a basin covered with duck- 
 weed and half-choked by water plants. 
 
 My uncle called that his garden ! 
 
 Besides all the fine things above described 
 in my uncle's garden, there was also a rather 
 unpleasant pavilion, which he had entitled 
 the Dtlices, doubtless by antiphrasis. It 
 was in a state of extreme dilapidation. The 
 walls were bulging outwardly. Great masses 
 of detached plaster still lay among the net- 
 tles and wild oats where they had fallen. 
 The lower portions of the wall surfaces were 
 green with putrid mould. The woodwork 
 of the window-shutters and doors had been 
 badly sprung, and they closed only partially 
 or not at all. A species of decoration, 
 strongly suggestive of an immense kitchen- 
 pot with various effluvia radiating from it, 
 ornamented the main entrance, for in the 
 time of Louis XV., when it was the custom 
 to build Dtlices, there were always two en- 
 trances to such pleasure houses for precau- 
 tion's sake. The cornice, overburdened 
 with ovulos, foliated arabesques, and volutes, 
 had been badly dismantled by the infiltra-
 
 OMPHALE : A ROCOCO STORY 251 
 
 tion of rain-water. In short, the Dtlices of 
 
 my uncle, the Chevalier de , presented 
 
 a rather lamentable aspect. 
 
 This poor ruin, dating only from yester- 
 day, although wearing the dilapidated look 
 of a thousand years' decay a ruin of plas- 
 ter, not of stone, all cracked and warped, 
 covered with a leprosy of lichen growth, 
 moss-eaten and mouldy seemed to resem- 
 ble one of those precociously old men worn 
 out by filthy debauches. It inspired no feel- 
 ing of respect, for there is nothing in the 
 world so ugly and so wretched as either an 
 old gauze robe or an old plaster wall, two 
 things which ought not to endure, yet which 
 do. 
 
 It was in this pavilion that my uncle had 
 lodged me. 
 
 The interior was not less rococo than the 
 exterior, although remaining in a somewhat 
 better state of preservation. The bed was 
 hung with yellow lampas, spotted over with 
 large white flowers. An ornamental shell- 
 work clock ticked away upon a pedestal in- 
 laid with ivory and mother-of-pearl. A 
 wreath of ornamental roses coquettishly
 
 252 OMPHALE : A ROCOCO STORY 
 
 twined around a Venetian glass. Above the 
 door the Four Seasons were painted in 
 cameo. A fair lady with thickly powdered 
 hair, a sky-blue corset, and an array of rib- 
 bons of the same hue, who had a bow in her 
 right hand, a partridge in her left, a crescent 
 upon her forehead, and a leverette at her feet, 
 strutted and smiled with ineffable gracious- 
 ness from within a large oval frame. This 
 was one of my uncle's mistresses of old, 
 whom he had had painted as Diana. It 
 will scarcely be necessary to observe that 
 the furniture itself was not of the most mod- 
 ern style. There was, in fact, nothing to 
 prevent one from fancying himself living at 
 the time of the Regency, and the mytholog- 
 ical tapestry with which the walls were hung 
 rendered the illusion complete. 
 
 The tapestry represented Hercules spin- 
 ning at the feet of Omphale. The design 
 was tormented after the fashion of Vanloo, 
 and in the most Pompadour style possible 
 to imagine. Hercules had a spindle deco- 
 rated with rose-colored favors. He elevated 
 his little, finger with a peculiar and special 
 grace, like a marquis in the act of taking a
 
 OMPHALE : A ROCOCO STORY 253 
 
 pinch of snuff, while turning a white flake 
 of flax between his thumb and index finger. 
 His muscular neck was burdened with bows 
 of ribbons, rosettes, strings of pearls, and a 
 thousand other feminine gew-gaws, and a 
 large gorge-de-pigeon colored petticoat, with 
 two very large panniers, lent quite a gallant 
 air to the monster-conquering hero. 
 
 Omphale's white shoulders were half cov- 
 ered by the skin of the Nemean lion. Her 
 slender hand leaned upon her lover's knotty 
 club. Her lovely blonde hair, powdered to 
 ash-color, fell loosely over her neck a neck 
 as supple and undulating in its outlines as 
 the neck of a dove. Her little feet, true 
 realizations of the typical Andalusian or 
 Chinese foot, and which would have been 
 lost in Cinderella's glass slippers, were shod 
 with half-antique buskins of a tender lilac 
 color, sprinkled with pearls. In truth, she 
 was a charming creature. Her head was 
 thrown back with an adorable little mock 
 swagger, her dimpled mouth wore a delicious 
 little pout, her nostrils were slightly expanded, 
 her cheeks had a delicate glow an assassin * 
 * Beauty-spot.
 
 254 OMPHALE : A ROCOCO STORY 
 
 cunningly placed there relieved their beauty 
 in a wonderful way; she only needed a little 
 mustache to make her a first-class mousque- 
 taire. 
 
 There were many other personages also 
 represented in the tapestry the kindly 
 female attendant, the indispensable little 
 Cupid but they did not leave a sufficiently 
 distinct outline in my memory to enable me 
 to describe them. 
 
 In those days I was quite young not that 
 I wish to be understood as saying that I am 
 now very old ; but I was fresh from college, 
 and was to remain in my uncle's care until 
 I could choose a profession. If the good 
 man had been able to foresee that I should 
 embrace that of a fantastic story-writer, he 
 would certainly have turned me out of doors 
 forthwith and irrevocably disinherited me, 
 for he always entertained the most aristo- 
 cratic contempt for literature in general and 
 authors in particular. Like the fine gentle- 
 man that he was, it would have pleased him 
 to have had all those petty scribblers who 
 busy themselves in disfiguring paper, and 
 speaking irreverentially about people of qual-
 
 OMPHALE : A ROCOCO STORY 255 
 
 ity, hung or beaten to death by his attend- 
 ants. Lord have mercy on my poor uncle ! 
 He really esteemed nothing in the world 
 except the epistle to Zetulba. 
 
 Well, then, I had only just left college. 
 I was full of dreams and illusions. I was as 
 naive as a rosiere of Salency, perhaps more 
 so. Delighted at having no more pensums 
 to make, everything seemed to me for the 
 best in the best of all possible worlds. I be- 
 lieved in an infinity of things. I believed 
 in M. de Florian's shepherdess with her 
 combed and powdered sheep. I never for a 
 moment doubted the reality of Madame 
 Deshouliere's flock. I believed that there 
 were actually nine muses, as stated in Father 
 Jouvency's Appendix de Diis et Hero'ibus. 
 My recollections of Berquin and of Gessner 
 had created a little world for me in which 
 everything was rose-colored, sky-blue, and 
 apple-green. Oh, holy innocence ! sancta 
 simplicitas ! as Mephistopheles says. 
 
 When I found myself alone in this fine 
 room my own room, all to myself ! I felt 
 superlatively overjoyed. I made a careful 
 inventory of everything, even the smallest
 
 256 OMPHALE ; A ROCOCO STORY 
 
 article of furniture. I rummaged every cor- 
 ner, and explored the chamber in the fullest 
 sense of the word. I was in the fourth 
 heaven, as happy as a king, or rather as two 
 kings. After supper (for we used to sup at 
 my uncle's a charming custom, now obso- 
 lete, together with many other equally 
 charming customs which I mourn for with 
 all the heart I have left), I took my candle 
 and retired forthwith, so impatient did I 
 feel to enjoy my new dwelling-place. 
 
 While I was undressing I fancied that 
 Omphale's eyes had moved. I looked more 
 attentively in that direction, not without a 
 slight sensation of fear, for the room was 
 very large, and the feeble luminous penum- 
 bra which floated about the candle only 
 served to render the darkness still more vis- 
 ible. I thought I saw her turning her head 
 toward me. I became frightened in earnest, 
 and blew out the light. I turned my face 
 to the wall, pulled the bed-clothes over my 
 head, drew my night-cap down to my chin, 
 and finally went to sleep. 
 
 I did not dare to look at the accursed 
 tapestry again for several days.
 
 OMPHALE : A ROCOCO STORY 257 
 
 It may be well here, for the sake of im- 
 parting something of verisimilitude to the 
 very unlikely story I am about to relate, to 
 inform my fair readers that in those days I 
 was really a very pretty boy. I had the 
 handsomest eyes in the world, at least they 
 used to tell me so ; a much fairer complexion 
 than I have now, a true carnation tint; 
 curly brown hair, which I still have, and sev- 
 enteen years, which I have no longer. I 
 needed only a pretty stepmother to be a 
 very tolerable cherub. Unfortunately mine 
 was fifty-seven years of age, and had only 
 three teeth, which was too much of one 
 thing and too little of the other. 
 
 One evening, however, I finally plucked 
 up courage enough to take a peep at the fair 
 mistress of Hercules. She was looking at 
 me with the saddest and most languishing 
 expression possible. This time I pulled my 
 nightcap down to my very shoulders, and 
 buried my head in the coverlets. 
 
 I had a strange dream that night, if in- 
 deed it was a dream. 
 
 I heard the rings of my bed-curtains slid- 
 ing with a sharp squeak upon their curtain- 
 17
 
 2S8 OMPHALE : A ROCOCO STORY 
 
 */ 
 
 rods, as if the curtains had been suddenly 
 pulled back. I awoke, at least in my dream 
 it seemed to me that I awoke. I saw no one. 
 
 The moon shone full upon the window- 
 panes, and projected her wan bluish light 
 into the room. Vast shadows, fantastic 
 forms, were defined upon the floor and the 
 walls. The clock chimed a quarter, and the 
 vibration of the sound took a long time to 
 die away. It seemed like a sigh. The 
 plainly audible strokes of the pendulum 
 seemed like the pulsations of a young heart, 
 throbbing with passion. 
 
 I felt anything but comfortable, and a 
 very bewilderment of fear took possession 
 of me. 
 
 A furious gust of wind banged the shut- 
 ters and made the window-sashes tremble. 
 The woodwork cracked, the tapestry un- 
 dulated. I ventured to glance in the direc- 
 tion of Omphale, with a vague suspicion that 
 she was instrumental in all this unpleasant- 
 ness, for some secret purpose of her own. 
 I was not mistaken. 
 
 The tapestry became violently agitated. 
 Omphale detached herself from the wall and
 
 OMPHALE : A ROCOCO STORY 259 
 
 leaped lightly to the carpet. She came 
 straight toward my bed, after having first 
 turned herself carefully in my direction. I 
 fancy it will hardly be necessary to describe 
 my stupefaction. The most intrepid old 
 soldier would not have felt very comfortable 
 under similar circumstances, and I was 
 neither old nor a soldier. I awaited the end 
 of the adventure in terrified silence. 
 
 A flute-toned, pearly little voice sounded 
 softly in my ears, with that pretty lisp 
 affected during the Regency by marchion- 
 esses and people of high degree : 
 
 " Do I really frighten you, my child ? It 
 is true that you are only a child, but it is 
 not nice to be afraid of ladies, especially 
 when they are young ladies and only wish 
 you well. It is uncivil and unworthy of a 
 French gentleman. You must be cured of 
 such silly fears. Come, little savage, leave 
 off these foolish airs, and cease hiding your 
 head under the bedclothes. Your education 
 is by no means complete yet, my pretty 
 page, and you have not learned so very 
 much. In my time cherubs were more cour- 
 ageous. "
 
 260 OMPHALE : A ROCOCO STORY 
 
 " But, lady, it is because " 
 
 " Because it seems strange to you to find 
 me here instead of there," she said, biting 
 her ruddy lip with her white teeth, and 
 pointing toward the wall with her long taper 
 finger. " Well, in fact, the thing does not 
 look very natural, but were I to explain it 
 all to you, you would be none the wiser. 
 Let it be sufficient for you to know that you 
 are not in any danger." 
 
 " I am afraid you may be the the " 
 
 ' The devil out with the word ! is it 
 not ? That is what you wanted to say. 
 Well, at least you will grant that I am not 
 black enough for a devil, and that if hell 
 were peopled with devils shaped as I am, 
 one might have quite as pleasant a time 
 there as in Paradise." 
 
 And to prove that she was not flattering 
 herself, Omphale threw back her lion's skin 
 and allowed me to behold her exquisitely 
 moulded shoulders and bosom, dazzling in 
 their white beauty. 
 
 " Well, what do you think of me ?" she 
 exclaimed, with a pretty little air of satisfied 
 coquetry.
 
 OMPHALE : A ROCOCO STORY 261 
 
 " I think that even were you the devil 
 himself I should not feel afraid of you any 
 more, Madame Omphale." 
 
 " Ah, now you talk sensibly, but do not 
 call me madame, or Omphale. I do not wish 
 you to look upon me as a madame, and I am 
 no more Omphale than I am the devil." 
 ' Then who are you ? " 
 
 " I am the Marchioness de T . A 
 
 short time after I was married the marquis 
 had this tapestry made for my apartments, 
 and had me represented on it in the charac- 
 ter of Omphale. He himself figures there 
 as Hercules. That was a queer notion he 
 took, for God knows there never was any- 
 body in the world who bore less resemblance 
 to Hercules than the poor marquis ! It has 
 been a long time since this chamber was 
 occupied. I naturally love company, and I 
 almost died of ennui in consequence. It 
 gave me the headache. To be only with 
 one's husband is the same thing as being 
 alone. When you came I was overjoyed. 
 This dead room became reanimated. I had 
 found some one to feel interested in. I 
 watched you come in and go out, I heard
 
 262 OMPHALE : A ROCOCO STORY 
 
 you murmuring in your sleep, I watched you 
 reading, and my eyes followed the pages. 
 I found you were nicely behaved, and had a 
 fresh, innocent way about you that pleased 
 me. In short, I fell in love with you. I 
 tried to make you understand. I sighed. 
 You thought it was only the sighing of the 
 wind. I made signs to you. I looked at 
 you with languishing eyes, and only suc- 
 ceeded in frightening you terribly. So at 
 last in despair I resolved upon this rather 
 improper course which I have taken, to tell 
 you frankly what you could not take a hint 
 about. Now that you know I love you, I 
 hope that " 
 
 The conversation was interrupted at this 
 juncture by the grating of a key in the lock 
 of the chamber door. 
 
 Omphale started and blushed to the very 
 whites of her eyes. 
 
 " Adieu," she whispered, " till to-mor- 
 row." And she returned to her place on 
 the wall, walking backward, for fear that I 
 should see her reverse side, doubtless. 
 
 It was Baptiste, who came to brush my 
 clothes.
 
 OMPHALE : A ROCOCO STORY 263 
 
 ' You ought not to sleep with your bed- 
 curtains open, sir," he remarked. ' You 
 might catch a bad cold. This room is so 
 chilly." 
 
 The curtains were actually open, and as I 
 had been under the impression that I was 
 only dreaming, I felt very much astonished, 
 for I was certain that they had been closed 
 when I went to bed. 
 
 As soon as Baptiste left the room, I ran 
 to the tapestry. I felt it all over. It was 
 indeed a real woollen tapestry, rough to the 
 touch like any other tapestry. Omphale 
 resembled the charming phantom of the 
 night only as a dead body resembles a liv- 
 ing one. I lifted the hangings. The wall 
 was solid throughout. There were no 
 masked panels or secret doors. I only no- 
 ticed that a few threads were broken in the 
 groundwork of the tapestry where the feet 
 of Omphale rested. This afforded me food 
 for reflection. 
 
 All that day I remained buried in the 
 deepest brown study imaginable. I longed 
 for evening with a mingled feeling of anx- 
 iety and impatience. I retired early, re-
 
 264 OMPHALE : A ROCOCO STORY 
 
 solved on learning how this mystery was 
 going to end. I got into bed. The mar- 
 chioness did not keep me waiting long. She 
 leaped down from the tapestry in front of 
 the pier-glass, and dropped right by my 
 bed. She seated herself by my pillow, and 
 the conversation commenced. 
 
 I asked her questions as I had done the 
 evening before, and demanded explana- 
 tions. She eluded the former, and re- 
 plied in an evasive manner to the latter, 
 yet always after so witty a fashion that 
 within a quarter of an hour I felt no scru- 
 ples whatever in regard to my liaison with 
 her. 
 
 While conversing she passed her fingers 
 through my hair, tapped me gently on the 
 cheeks, and softly kissed my forehead. 
 
 She chatted and chatted in a pretty mock- 
 ing way, in a style at once elegantly polished 
 and yet familiar and altogether like a great 
 lady, such as I have never since heard from 
 the lips of any human being. 
 
 She was then seated upon the easy-chair 
 beside the bed. In a little while she slipped 
 one of her arms around my neck, and I felt
 
 OMPHALE: A ROCOCO STORY 265 
 
 her heart beating passionately against me. 
 It was indeed a charming and handsome real 
 woman, a veritable marchioness whom I 
 found beside me, poor student of seven- 
 teen ! There was more than enough to make 
 one lose his head, so I lost mine. I did not 
 know very well what was going to happen, 
 but I felt a vague presentiment that it would 
 displease the marquis. 
 
 " And Monsieur le Marquis, on the wall 
 up there what will he say ? " 
 
 The lion's skin had fallen to the floor, and 
 the soft lilac-colored buskins, filigreed with 
 silver, were lying beside my shoes. 
 
 "He will not say anything," replied the 
 marchioness, laughing heartily. " Do you 
 suppose he ever sees anything ? Besides, 
 even should he see, he is the most philo- 
 sophical and inoffensive husband in the 
 world. He is used to such things. Do you 
 love me, little one ?" 
 
 " Indeed I do, ever so much ! ever so 
 much!" 
 
 Morning dawned. My mistress stole 
 away.
 
 266 OMPHALE : A ROCOCO STORY 
 
 The day seemed to me frightfully long. 
 At last evening came. The same things 
 happened as on the evening before, and the 
 second night left no regrets for the first. 
 The marchioness became more and more 
 adorable, and this state of affairs continued 
 for a long time. As I never slept at night, 
 I wore a somnolent expression in the day- 
 time which did not augur well for me with 
 my uncle. He suspected something. He 
 probably listened at the door and heard 
 everything, for one fine morning he entered 
 my room so brusquely that Antoinette had 
 scarcely time to get back to her place on the 
 tapestry. 
 
 He was followed by a tapestry-hanger with 
 pincers and a ladder. 
 
 He looked at me with a shrewd and severe 
 expression which convinced me that he knew 
 all. 
 
 " This Marchioness de T is certainly 
 
 crazy. What the devil could have put it 
 into her head to fall in love with a brat 
 like that?" muttered my uncle between 
 his teeth. " She promised to behave her- 
 self.
 
 OMPHALE : A ROCOCO STORY 267 
 
 ' Jean, take that tapestry down, roll it 
 up, and put it in the garret." 
 
 Every word my uncle spoke went through 
 my heart like a poniard-thrust. 
 
 Jean rolled up my sweetheart Omphale, 
 otherwise the Marchioness Antoinette de 
 T , together with Hercules, or the Mar- 
 quis de T , and carried the whole thing 
 
 off to the garret. I could not restrain my 
 tears. 
 
 Next day my uncle sent me back in the 
 
 B diligence to my respectable parents, 
 
 to whom, you may feel assured, I never 
 breathed a word of my adventure. 
 
 My uncle died ; his house and furniture 
 were sold ; probably the tapestry was sold 
 with the rest. 
 
 But a long time afterward, while foraging 
 the shop of a bric-a-brac merchant in search 
 of oddities, I stumbled over a great dusty 
 roll of something covered with cobwebs. 
 
 "What is that?" I said to the Auver- 
 gnat. 
 
 ' That is a rococo tapestry representing 
 the amours of Madame Omphale and Mon- 
 sieur Hercule. It is genuine Beauvais,
 
 268 OMPHALE : A ROCOCO STORY 
 
 worked in silk, and in an excellent state of 
 preservation. Buy this from me for your 
 study. I will not charge you dear for it, 
 since it is you." 
 
 At the name of Omphale all my blood 
 rushed to my heart. 
 
 " Unroll that tapestry," I said to the mer- 
 chant in a hurried, gasping voice, like one 
 in a fever. 
 
 It was indeed she! I fancied that her 
 mouth smiled graciously at me, and that her 
 eye lighted up on meeting mine. 
 
 " How much do you ask ? " 
 
 " Well, I could not possibly let you have 
 it for any less than five hundred francs." 
 
 " I have not that much with me now. I 
 will get it and be back in an hour." 
 
 I returned with the money, but the tapes- 
 try was no longer there. An Englishman 
 had bargained for it during my absence, 
 offered six hundred francs for it, and taken 
 it away with him. 
 
 After all, perhaps it was best that it 
 should have been thus, and that I should 
 preserve this delicious souvenir intact. 
 They say one should never return to a first
 
 OMPHALE : A ROCOCO STORY 269 
 
 love, or look at the rose which one admired 
 the evening before. 
 
 And then I am no longer so young or so 
 pretty that tapestries should come down 
 from their walls to honor me.
 
 King Candaules
 
 lAULES 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 FIVE hundred years before the Trojan 
 war, and seventeen hundred and fifteen 
 years before our own era, there was a grand 
 festival at Sardes. King Candaules was 
 going to marry. The people were affected 
 with that sort of pleasurable interest and 
 aimless emotion wherewith any royal event 
 inspires the masses, even though it in no 
 wise concerns them, and transpires in supe- 
 rior spheres of life which they can never 
 hope to reach. 
 
 As soon as Phoebus-Apollo, standing in 
 his quadriga, had gilded to saffron the sum- 
 mits of fertile Mount Tmolus with his rays, 
 the good people of Sardes were all astir, 
 18
 
 274 KIN G CANDAULES 
 
 going and coming, mounting or descending 
 the marble stairways leading from the city 
 to the waters of the Pactolus, that opulent 
 river whose sands Midas filled with tiny 
 sparks of gold when he bathed in its stream. 
 One would have supposed that each one of 
 these good citizens was himself about to 
 marry, so solemn and important was the 
 demeanor of all. 
 
 Men were gathering in groups in the 
 Agora, upon the steps of the temples and 
 along the porticoes. At every street corner 
 one might have encountered women leading 
 by the hand little children, whose uneven 
 walk ill suited the maternal anxiety and im- 
 patience. Maidens were hastening to the 
 fountains, all with urns gracefully balanced 
 upon their heads, or sustained by their white 
 arms as with natural handles, so as to pro- 
 cure early the necessary water provision for 
 the household, and thus obtain leisure at 
 the hour when the nuptial procession should 
 pass. Washerwomen hastily folded the still 
 damp tunics and chlamidse, and piled them 
 upon mule-wagons. Slaves turned the mill 
 without any need of the overseer's whip to
 
 KING CANDAULES 275 
 
 tickle their naked and scar-seamed shoulders. 
 Sardes was hurrying itself to finish with 
 those necessary every-day cares which no 
 festival can wholly disregard. 
 
 The road along which the procession was 
 to pass had been strewn with fine yellow 
 sand. Brazen tripods, disposed along the 
 way at regular intervals, sent up to heaven 
 the odorous smoke of cinnamon and spike- 
 nard. These vapors, moreover, alone 
 clouded the purity of the azure above. The 
 clouds of a hymeneal day ought, indeed, to 
 be formed only by the burning of perfumes. 
 Myrtle and rose-laurel branches were strewn 
 upon the ground, and from the walls of the 
 palaces were suspended by little rings of 
 bronze rich tapestries, whereon the needles 
 of industrious captives intermingling wool, 
 silver, and gold had represented various 
 scenes in the history of the gods and heroes : 
 Ixion embracing the cloud ; Diana surprised 
 in the bath by Actaeon ; the shepherd Paris 
 as judge in the contest of beauty held upon 
 Mount Ida between Hera, the snowy-armed, 
 Athena of the sea-green eyes, and Aphro- 
 dite, girded with her magic cestus ; the old
 
 276 KING CANDAULES 
 
 men of Troy rising to honor Helena as she 
 passed through the Skaian gate, a subject 
 taken from one of the poems of the blind 
 man of Meles. Others exhibited in prefer- 
 ence scenes taken from the life of Heracles 
 the Theban, through flattery to Candaules, 
 himself a Heracleid, being descended from 
 the hero through Alcaeus. Others contented 
 themselves by decorating the entrances of 
 their dwellings with garlands and wreaths in 
 token of rejoicing. 
 
 Among the multitudes marshalled along 
 the way from the royal house even as far as 
 the gates of the city, through which the 
 young queen would pass on her arrival, con- 
 versation naturally turned upon the beauty 
 of the bride, whereof the renown had spread 
 throughout all Asia ; and upon the character 
 of the bridegroom, who, although not alto- 
 gether an eccentric, seemed nevertheless one 
 not readily appreciated from the common 
 standpoint of observation. 
 
 Nyssia, daughter of the Satrap Megabazus, 
 was gifted with marvellous purity of feature 
 and perfection of form ; at least such was the 
 rumor spread abroad by the female slaves
 
 KING CANDAULES 277 
 
 who attended her, and a few female friends 
 who had accompanied her to the bath ; for 
 no man could boast of knowing aught of 
 Nyssia save the color of her veil and the 
 elegant folds that she involuntarily im- 
 pressed upon the soft materials which robed 
 her statuesque body. 
 
 The barbarians did not share the ideas of 
 the Greeks in regard to modesty. While the 
 youths of Achaia made no scruple of allow- 
 ing their oil-anointed torsos to shine under 
 the sun in the stadium, and while the Spar- 
 tan virgins danced ungarmented before the 
 altar of Diana, those of Persepolis, Ebac- 
 tana, and Bactria, attaching more import- 
 ance to chastity of the body than to chastity 
 of mind, considered those liberties allowed 
 to the pleasure of the eyes by Greek man- 
 ner as impure and highly reprehensible, and 
 held no woman virtuous who permitted men 
 to obtain a glimpse of more than the tip of 
 her foot in walking, as it slightly deranged 
 the discreet folds of a long tunic. 
 
 Despite all this mystery, or rather, per- 
 haps, by very reason of this mystery, the 
 fame of Nyssia had not been slow to spread
 
 278 KING CANDAULES 
 
 throughout all Lydia, and become popular 
 there to such a degree that it had reached 
 even Candaules, although kings are ordi- 
 narily the most illy informed people in their 
 kingdoms, and live like the gods in a kind 
 of cloud which conceals from them the 
 knowledge of terrestrial things. 
 
 The Eupatridae of Sardes, who hoped that 
 the young king might, perchance, choose a 
 wife from their family, the hetairae of 
 Athens, of Samos, of Miletus and of Cyprus, 
 the beautiful slaves from the banks of the 
 Indus, the blonde girls brought at a vast ex- 
 pense from the depths of the Cimmerian 
 fogs, were heedful never to utter in the pres- 
 ence of Candaules, whether within hearing 
 or beyond hearing, a single word which bore 
 any relation to Nyssia. The bravest, in a 
 question of beauty, recoil before the pros- 
 pect of a contest in which they can antici- 
 pate being outrivalled. 
 
 And nevertheless no person in Sardes, or 
 even in Lydia, had beheld this redoubtable 
 adversary, no person save one solitary being, 
 who from the time of that encounter had 
 kept his lips as firmly closed upon the sub-
 
 KING CANDAULES 279 
 
 ject as though Harpocrates, the god of 
 silence, had sealed them with his finger, and 
 that was Gyges, chief of the guards of Can- 
 daules. One day Gyges, his mind filled 
 with various projects and vague ambitions, 
 had been wandering among the Bactrian 
 hills, whither his master had sent him upon 
 an important and secret mission. He was 
 dreaming of the intoxication of omnipotence, 
 of treading upon purple with sandals of gold, 
 of placing the diadem upon the brows of the 
 fairest of women. These thoughts made his 
 blood boil in his veins, and, as though to 
 pursue the flight of his dreams, he smote his 
 sinewy heel upon the foam-whitened flanks 
 of his Numidian horse. 
 
 The weather, at first calm, had changed 
 and waxed tempestuous like the warrior's 
 soul; and Boreas, his locks bristling with 
 Thracian frosts, his cheeks puffed out, his 
 arms folded upon his breast, smote the rain- 
 freighted clouds with the mighty beatings 
 of his wings. 
 
 A bevy of young girls who had been gath- 
 ering flowers in the meadow, fearing the 
 coming storm, were returning to the city in
 
 280 KING CANDAULES 
 
 all haste, each carrying her perfumed har- 
 vest in the lap of her tunic. Seeing a 
 stranger on horseback approaching in the 
 distance, they had hidden their faces in their 
 mantles, after the custom of the barbarians ; 
 but at the very moment that Gyges was 
 passing by the one whose proud carriage and 
 richer habiliments seemed to designate her 
 the mistress of the little band, an unusually 
 violent gust of wind carried away the veil of 
 the fair unknown, and, whirling it through 
 the air like a feather, chased it to such a dis- 
 tance that it could not be recovered. It 
 was Nyssia, daughter of Megabazus, who 
 found herself thus with face unveiled in the 
 presence of Gyges, an humble captain of 
 King Candaules' guard. Was it only the 
 breath of Boreas which had brought about 
 this accident, or had Eros, who delights to 
 vex the hearts of men, amused himself by 
 severing the string which had fastened the 
 protecting tissue ? However that may have 
 been, Gyges was stricken motionless at the 
 sight of that Medusa of beauty, and not till 
 long after the folds of Nyssia's robe had dis- 
 appeared beyond the gates of the city could
 
 KING CANDAULES 28 1 
 
 he think of proceeding on his way. Al- 
 though there was nothing to justify such a 
 conjecture, he cherished the belief that he 
 had seen the satrap's daughter; and that 
 meeting, which affected him almost like 
 an apparition, accorded so fully with the 
 thoughts which were occupying him at the 
 moment of its occurrence, that he could not 
 help perceiving therein something fateful 
 and ordained of the gods. In truth it was 
 upon that brow that he would have wished 
 to place the diadem. What other could be 
 more worthy of it ? But what probability 
 was there that Gyges would ever have a 
 throne to share ? He had not sought to 
 follow up this adventure, and assure himself 
 whether it was indeed the daughter of Mega- 
 bazus whose mysterious face had been re- 
 vealed to him by Chance, the great filcher. 
 Nyssia had fled so swiftly that it would have 
 been impossible for him then to overtake 
 her; and, moreover, he had been dazzled, 
 fascinated, thunder-stricken, as it were, 
 rather than charmed by that superhuman 
 apparition, by that monster of beauty! 
 Nevertheless that image, although seen
 
 282 KING CANDAULES 
 
 only in the glimpse of a moment, had en- 
 graved itself upon his" heart in lines deep as 
 those which the sculptors trace on ivory with 
 tools reddened in the fire. He had endeav- 
 ored, although vainly, to efface it, for the 
 love which he felt for Nyssia inspired him 
 with a secret terror. Perfection in such a 
 degree is ever awe-inspiring, and women so 
 like unto goddesses could only work evil to 
 feeble mortals ; they are formed for divine 
 adulteries, and even the most courageous 
 men never risk themselves in such amours 
 without trembling. Therefore no hope had 
 blossomed in the soul of Gyges, overwhelmed 
 and discouraged in advance by the sentiment 
 of the impossible. Ere opening his lips to 
 Nyssia he would have wished to despoil the 
 heaven of its robe of stars, to take from 
 Phcebus his crown of rays, forgetting that 
 women only give themselves to those un- 
 worthy of them, and that to win their love 
 one must act as though he desired to earn 
 their hate. 
 
 From that day the roses of joy no longer 
 bloomed upon his cheeks. By day he was 
 sad and mournful, and seemed to wander
 
 KING CANDAULES 283 
 
 abroad in solitary dreaming, like a mortal 
 who has beheld a divinity. At night he was 
 haunted by dreams in which he beheld 
 Nyssia seated by his side upon cushions of 
 purple between the golden griffins of the 
 royal throne. 
 
 Therefore Gyges, the only one who could 
 speak of his own knowledge concerning 
 Nyssia, having never spoken of her, the Sar- 
 dians were left to their own conjectures in 
 her regard; and their conjectures, it must 
 be confessed, were fantastic and altogether 
 fabulous. The beauty of Nyssia, thanks to 
 the veils which shrouded her, became a sort 
 of myth, a canvas, a poem to which each 
 one added ornamentation as the fancy took 
 him. 
 
 " If report be not false," lisped a young 
 debauchee from Athens, who stood with one 
 hand upon the shoulder of an Asiatic boy, 
 " neither Plangon, nor Archianassa, nor 
 Thais can be compared with this marvellous 
 barbarian ; yet I can scarce believe that she 
 equals Theano of Colophon, from whom I 
 once bought a single night at the price of as 
 much gold as she could bear away, after hav-
 
 284 KING CANDAULES 
 
 ing plunged both her white arms up to the 
 shoulder in my cedar- wood coffer." 
 
 " Beside her," added a Eupatrid, who pre- 
 tended to be better informed than any other 
 person upon all manner of subjects, " beside 
 her the daughter of Coelus and the Sea 
 would seem but a mere Ethiopian servant." 
 
 " Your words are blasphemy, and although 
 Aphrodite be a kind and indulgent goddess, 
 beware of drawing down her anger upon 
 you." 
 
 " By Hercules! and that ought to be an 
 oath of some weight in a city ruled by one 
 of his descendants I cannot retract a word 
 of it." 
 
 " You have seen her, then ?" 
 
 " No; but I have a slave in my service 
 who once belonged to Nyssia, and who has 
 told me a hundred stories about her." 
 
 " Is it true," demanded in infantile tones 
 an equivocal-looking woman whose pale-rose 
 tunic, painted cheeks, and locks shining 
 with essences betrayed wretched pretensions 
 to a youth long passed away " is it true 
 that Nyssia has two pupils in each eye ? It 
 seems to me that must be very ugly, and I
 
 KING CANDAULES 285 
 
 cannot understand how Candaules could fall 
 in love with such a monstrosity, while there 
 is no lack, at Sardes and in Lydia, of women 
 whose eyes are irreproachable." 
 
 And uttering these words with all sorts of 
 affected airs and simperings, Lamia took a 
 little significant peep in a small mirror of 
 cast metal which she drew from her bosom, 
 and which enabled her to lead back to duty 
 certain wandering curls disarranged by the 
 impertinence of the wind. 
 
 " As to the double pupil, that seems to 
 me nothing more than an old nurse's tale," 
 observed the well-informed patrician; " but 
 it is a fact that Nyssia's eyes are so piercing 
 that she can see through walls. Lynxes are 
 myopic compared with her." 
 
 " How can a sensible man coolly argue 
 about such an absurdity?" interrupted a 
 citizen, whose bald skull, and the flood of 
 snowy beard into which he plunged his 
 fingers while speaking, lent him an air of 
 preponderance and philosophical sagacity. 
 " The truth is that the daughter of Mega- 
 bazus cannot naturally see through a wall 
 any better than you or I, but the Egyptian
 
 286 KING CANDAULES 
 
 priest Thoutmosis, who knows so many 
 wondrous secrets, has given her the mysteri- 
 ous stone which is found in the heads of 
 dragons, and whose property, as every one 
 knows, renders all shadows and the most 
 opaque bodies transparent to the eyes of 
 those who possess it. Nyssia always carries 
 this stone in her girdle, or else set into her 
 bracelet, and in that may be found the secret 
 of her clairvoyance." 
 
 The citizen's explanation seemed the most 
 natural one to those of the group whose con- 
 versation we are endeavoring to reproduce, 
 and the opinions of Lamia and the patrician 
 were abandoned as improbable. 
 
 " At all events," returned the lover of 
 Theano, " we are going to have an oppor- 
 tunity of judging for ourselves, for it seems 
 to me that I hear the clarions sounding in 
 the distance, and though Nyssia is still in- 
 visible, I can see the herald yonder approach- 
 ing with palm-branches in his hands, to an- 
 nounce the arrival of the nuptial cortege, and 
 make the crowd fall back." 
 
 At this news, which spread rapidly through 
 the crowd, the strong men elbowed their
 
 KING CANDAULES 287 
 
 way toward the front ranks ; the agile boys, 
 embracing the shafts of the columns, sought 
 to climb up to the capitals and there seat 
 themselves; others, not without having 
 skinned their knees against the bark, suc- 
 ceeded in perching themselves comfortably 
 enough in the Y of some tree-branch. The 
 women lifted their little children upon their 
 shoulders, warning them to hold tightly to 
 their necks. Those who had the good for- 
 tune to dwell on the street along which Can- 
 daules and Nyssia were about to pass, leaned 
 over from the summit of their roofs, or, ris- 
 ing on their elbows, abandoned for a time 
 the cushions upon which they had been re- 
 clining. 
 
 A murmur of satisfaction and gratified ex- 
 pectation ran through the crowd, which had 
 already been waiting many long hours, for 
 the arrows of the midday sun were com- 
 mencing to sting. 
 
 The heavy-armed warriors, with cuirasses 
 of bull's-hide covered with overlapping plates 
 of metal, helmets adorned with plumes of 
 horse-hair dyed red, knemides or greaves 
 faced with tin, baldrics studded with nails,
 
 288 KING CANDAULES 
 
 emblazoned bucklers, and swords of brass, 
 rode behind a line of trumpeters who blew 
 with might and main upon their long tubes, 
 which gleamed under the sunlight. The 
 horses of these warriors were all white as the 
 feet of Thetis, and might have served, by 
 reason of their noble paces and purity of 
 breeds, as models for those which Phidias at 
 a later day sculptured upon the metopes of 
 the Parthenon. 
 
 At the head of this troop rode Gyges, the 
 well-named, for his name in the Lydian 
 tongue signifies beautiful. His features, of 
 the most exquisite regularity, seemed chis- 
 elled in marble, owing to his intense pallor, 
 for he had just discovered in Nyssia, although 
 she was veiled with the veil of a young 
 bride, the same woman whose face had 
 been betrayed to his gaze by the treachery 
 of Boreas under the walls of Bactria. 
 
 " Handsome Gyges looks very sad," said 
 the young maidens. " What proud beauty 
 could have secured his love, or what forsaken 
 one has caused some Thessalian witch to 
 cast a spell on him ? Has that cabalistic 
 ring (which he is said to have found hidden
 
 KING CANDAULES 289 
 
 within the flanks of a brazen horse in the 
 midst of some forest) lost its virtue, and sud- 
 denly ceasing to render its owner invisible, 
 have betrayed him to the astonished eyes of 
 some innocent husband, who had deemed 
 himself alone in his conjugal chamber ? " 
 
 " Perhaps he has been wasting his talents 
 and his drachmas at the game of Palamedes, 
 or else it may be that he is disappointed at not 
 having won the prize at the Olympian games. 
 He had great faith in his horse Hyperion." 
 
 No one of these conjectures was true. A 
 fact is never guessed. 
 
 After the battalion commanded byGyges, 
 there came young boys crowned with myrtle- 
 wreaths, and singing epithalamic hymns 
 after the Lydian manner, accompanying 
 themselves upon lyres of ivory, which they 
 played with bows. All were clad in rose- 
 colored tunics ornamented with a silver 
 Greek border, and their long hair flowed 
 down over their shoulders in thick curls. 
 
 They preceded the gift-bearers, strong 
 slaves whose half-nude bodies exposed to 
 view such interlacements of muscle as the 
 stoutest athletes might have envied. 
 19
 
 290 KING CANDAULES 
 
 Upon brancards, supported by two or four 
 men or more, according to the weight of the 
 objects borne, were placed enormous brazen 
 cratera, chiselled by the most famous artists: 
 vases of gold and silver whose sides were 
 adorned with bas-reliefs and whose hands 
 were elegantly worked into chimeras, foli- 
 age, and nude women ; magnificent ewers to 
 be used in washing the feet of illustrious 
 guests; flagons incrusted with precious 
 stones and containing the rarest perfumes ; 
 myrrh from Arabia, cinnamon from the In- 
 dies, spikenard from Persia, essence of roses 
 from Smyrna; kamklins or perfuming pans, 
 with perforated covers ; cedar- wood or ivory 
 coffers of marvellous workmanship, which 
 opened with a secret spring that none save 
 the inventor could find, and which contained 
 bracelets wrought from the gold of Ophir, 
 necklaces of the most lustrous pearls, mantle- 
 brooches constellated with rubies and carbun- 
 cles; toilet boxes containing blonde sponges, 
 curling-irons, sea-wolves' teeth to polish the 
 nails, the green rouge of Egypt, which turns 
 to a most beautiful pink on touching the 
 skin, powders to darken the eyelashes and
 
 KING CANDAULES 29! 
 
 eyebrows, and all the refinements that fem- 
 inine coquetry could invent. Other litters 
 were freighted with purple robes of the finest 
 linen and of all possible shades from the in- 
 carnadine hue of the rose to the deep crim- 
 son of the blood of the grape ; calasires of 
 the linen of Canopus, which is thrown all 
 white into the vat of the dyer, and comes 
 forth again, owing to the various astringents 
 in which it had been steeped, diapered with 
 the most brilliant colors; tunics brought 
 from the fabulous land of Seres, made from 
 the spun slime of a worm which feeds upon 
 leaves, and so fine that they might be drawn 
 through a finger-ring. 
 
 Ethiopians, whose bodies shone like jet, 
 and whose temples were tightly bound with 
 cords, lest they should burst the veins of 
 their foreheads in the effort to uphold their 
 burden, carried in great pomp a statue of 
 Hercules, the ancestor of Candaules, of colos- 
 sal size, wrought of ivory and gold, with the 
 club, the skin of the Nemean lion, the three 
 apples from the garden of the Hesperides, 
 and all the traditional attributes of the hero. 
 
 Statues of Venus Urania, and of Venus
 
 2Q2 KING CANDAULES 
 
 Genitrix, sculptured by the best pupils of 
 the Sicyon School in that marble of Paros 
 whose gleaming transparency seemed ex- 
 pressly created for the representation of the 
 ever-youthful flesh of the immortals, were 
 borne after the statue of Hercules, which 
 admirably relieved the harmony and elegance 
 of their proportions by contrast with its mas- 
 sive outlines and rugged forms. 
 
 A painting by Bularchus, which Candaules 
 had purchased for its weight in gold, exe- 
 cuted upon the wood of the female larch- 
 tree, and representing the defeat of the Mag- 
 nesians, evoked universal admiration by the 
 beauty of its design, the truthfulness of the 
 attitude of its figures, and the harmony of 
 its coloring, although the artist had only em- 
 ployed in its production the four primitive 
 colors: Attic ochre, white, Pontic sinopis, 
 and atramentum. The young king loved 
 painting and sculpture even more, perhaps, 
 than well became a monarch, and he had not 
 unfrequently bought a picture at a price 
 equal to the annual revenue of a whole city. 
 
 Camels and dromedaries, splendidly capar- 
 isoned, with musicians seated on their necks
 
 KING CANDAULES 293 
 
 performing upon drums and cymbals, car- 
 ried the gilded stakes, the cords, and the ma- 
 terial of the tent designed for the use of the 
 queen during voyages and hunting parties. 
 
 These spectacles of magnificence would 
 upon any other occasion have ravished the 
 people of Sardes with delight, but their curi- 
 osity had been enlisted in another direction, 
 and it was not without a certain feeling of 
 impatience that they watched this portion 
 of the procession file by. The young maid- 
 ens and the handsome boys, bearing flam- 
 ing torches, and strewing handfuls of crocus 
 flowers along the way, hardly attracted any 
 attention. The idea of beholding Nyssia 
 had preoccupied all minds. 
 
 At last Candaules appeared, riding in a 
 chariot drawn by four horses, as beautiful 
 and spirited as those of the sun, all rolling 
 their golden bits in foam, shaking their pur- 
 ple-decked manes, and restrained with great 
 difficulty by the driver, who stood erect at 
 the side of Candaules, and was leaning back 
 to gain more power on the reins. 
 
 Candaules was a young man full of vigor, 
 and well worthy of his Herculean origin.
 
 294 KING CANDAULES 
 
 His head was joined to his shoulders by a 
 neck massive as a bull's, and almost without 
 a curve ; his hair, black and lustrous, twisted 
 itself into rebellious little curls, here and 
 there concealing the circlet of his diadem ; 
 his ears, small and upright, were of a ruddy 
 hue ; his forehead was broad and full, though 
 a little low, like all antique foreheads; his 
 eyes full of gentle melancholy, his oval 
 cheeks, his chin with its gentle and regular 
 curves, his mouth with its slightly parted 
 lips all bespoke the nature of the poet 
 rather than that of the warrior. In fact, 
 although he was brave, skilled in all bodily 
 exercises, could subdue a wild horse as well 
 as any of the Lapithae, or swim across the 
 current of rivers when they descended, 
 swollen with melted snow, from the moun- 
 tains, although he might have bent the bow 
 of Odysseus or borne the shield of Achilles, 
 he seemed little occupied with dreams of 
 conquest ; and war, usually so fascinating to 
 young kings, had little attraction for him. 
 He contented himself with repelling the at- 
 tacks of his ambitious neighbors, and sought 
 not to extend his own dominions. He pre-
 
 KING CANDAULES 295 
 
 ferred building palaces, after plans suggested 
 by himself to the architects, who always 
 found the king's hints of no small value, or 
 to form collections of statues and paintings 
 by artists of the elder and later schools. He 
 had the works of Telephanes of Sicyon, 
 Cleanthes, Ardices of Corinth, Hygiemon, 
 Deinias, Charmides, Eumarus, and Cimon, 
 some being simple drawings, and other paint- 
 ings in various colors or monochromes. It 
 was even said that Candaules had not dis- 
 dained to wield with his own royal hands 
 a thing hardly becoming a prince the chisel 
 of the sculptor and the sponge of the en- 
 caustic painter. 
 
 But why should we dwell upon Candaules ? 
 The reader undoubtedly feels like the peo- 
 ple of Sardes: and it is of Nyssia that he 
 desires to hear. 
 
 The daughter of Megabazus was mounted 
 upon an elephant, with wrinkled skin and 
 immense ears which seemed like flags, who 
 advanced with a heavy but rapid gait, like a 
 vessel in the midst of the waves. His tusks 
 and his trunk were encircled with silver rings, 
 and around the pillars of his limbs were en-
 
 296 KING CANDAULES 
 
 twined necklaces of enormous pearls. Upon 
 his back, which was covered with a magnifi- 
 cent Persian carpet of striped pattern, stood 
 a sort of estrade overlaid with gold finely 
 chased, and constellated with onyx stones, 
 carnelians, chrysolites, lapis-lazuli, and gira- 
 sols; upon this estrade sat the young queen, 
 so covered with precious stones as to dazzle 
 the eyes of the beholders. A mitre, shaped 
 like a helmet, on which pearls formed flower 
 designs and letters after the Oriental man- 
 ner, was placed upon her head ; her ears, 
 both the lobes and rims of which had been 
 pierced, were adorned with ornaments in the 
 form of little cups, crescents, and balls ; 
 necklaces of gold and silver beads, which had 
 been hollowed out and carved, thrice encir- 
 cled her neck and descended with a metallic 
 tinkling upon her bosom ; emerald serpents 
 with topaz or ruby eyes coiled themselves 
 in many folds about her arms, and clasped 
 themselves by biting their own tails. These 
 bracelets were connected by chains of pre- 
 cious stones, and so great was their weight 
 that two attendants were required to kneel 
 beside Nyssia and support her elbows. She
 
 KING CANDAULES 297 
 
 was clad in a robe embroidered by Syrian 
 workmen with shining designs of golden foli- 
 age and diamond fruits, and over this she 
 wore the short tunic of Persepolis, which 
 hardly descended to the knee, and of which 
 the sleeves were slit and fastened by sap- 
 phire clasps. Her waist was encircled from 
 hip to loins by a girdle wrought of narrow 
 material, variegated with stripes and flow- 
 ered designs, which formed themselves into 
 symmetrical patterns as they were brought 
 together by a certain arrangement of the 
 folds which Indian girls alone know how to 
 make. Her trousers of byssus, which the 
 Phoenicians called syndon, were confined at 
 the ankles by anklets adorned with gold and 
 silver bells, and completed this toilet, so fan- 
 tastically rich and wholly opposed to Greek 
 taste. But, alas! a saffron-colored flam- 
 meum pitilessly masked the face of Nyssia, 
 who seemed embarrassed, veiled though she 
 was, at finding so many eyes fixed upon her, 
 and frequently signed to a slave behind her 
 to lower the parasol of ostrich plumes, and 
 thus conceal her yet more from the curious 
 gaze of the crowd.
 
 298 KING CANDAULES 
 
 Candaules had vainly begged of her to lay 
 aside her veil, even for that solemn occasion. 
 The young barbarian had refused to pay the 
 welcome of her beauty to his people. Great 
 was the disappointment. Lamia declared 
 that Nyssia dared not uncover her face for 
 fear of showing her double pupil. The 
 young libertine remained convinced that 
 Theano of Colophon was more beautiful than 
 the queen of Sardes ; and Gyges sighed when 
 he beheld Nyssia, after having made her ele- 
 phant kneel down, descend upon the inclined 
 heads of Damascus slaves as upon a living 
 ladder, to the threshold of the royal dwell- 
 ing, where the elegance of Greek architec- 
 ture was blended with the fantasies and 
 enormities of Asiatic taste. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 IN our character of poet we have the right 
 to lift the saffron-colored flammeum which 
 concealed the young bride, being more for- 
 tunate in this wise than the Sardians, who 
 after a whole day's waiting were obliged to
 
 KING CANDAULES 299 
 
 return to their houses and were left, as be- 
 fore, to their own conjectures. 
 
 Nyssia was really far superior to her repu- 
 tation, great as it was. It seemed as though 
 Nature in creating her had resolved to ex- 
 haust her utmost powers, and thus make 
 atonement for all former experimental at- 
 tempts and fruitless essays. One would 
 have said that, moved by jealousy of the 
 future marvels of the Greek sculptors, she 
 also had resolved to model a statue herself, 
 and to prove that she was still sovereign 
 mistress in the plastic art. 
 
 The grain of snow, the micaceous bril- 
 liancy of Parian marble, the sparkling pulp 
 of balsamine flowers, would render but a 
 feeble idea of the ideal substance whereof 
 Nyssia had been formed. That flesh, so 
 fine, so delicate, permitted daylight to pene- 
 trate it, and modelled itself in transparent 
 contours, in lines as sweetly harmonious as 
 music itself. According to different sur- 
 roundings, it took the color of the sunlight 
 or of purple, like the aromal body of a divin- 
 ity, and seemed to radiate light and life. 
 The world of perfections inclosed within the
 
 300 KING CANDAULES 
 
 nobly-lengthened oval of her chaste face 
 could have been rendered by no earthly art 
 neither by the chisel of the sculptor, nor 
 the brush of the painter, nor the style of any 
 poet though it were Praxiteles, Apelles, or 
 Mimnernus ; and on her smooth brow, bathed 
 by waves of hair amber-bright as molten 
 electrum and sprinkled with gold filings, 
 according to the Babylonian custom, sat as 
 upon a jasper throne the unalterable serenity 
 of perfect loveliness. 
 
 As for her eyes, though they did not jus- 
 tify what popular credulity said of them, 
 they were at least wonderfully strange eyes; 
 brown eyebrows, with extremities ending in 
 points elegant as those of the arrows of Eros, 
 and which were joined to each other by a 
 streak of henna after the Asiatic fashion, 
 and long fringes of silkily-shadowed eye- 
 lashes contrasted strikingly with the twin 
 sapphire stars rolling in the heaven of dark 
 silver which formed those eyes. The irises 
 of those eyes, whose pupils were blacker 
 than atrament, varied singularly in shades of 
 shifting color. From sapphire they changed 
 to turquoise, from turquoise to beryl, from
 
 KING CANDAULES 3OI 
 
 beryl to yellow amber, and sometimes, like 
 a limpid lake whose bottom is strewn with 
 jewels, they offered, through their incalcula- 
 ble depths, glimpses of golden and diamond 
 sands upon which green fibrils vibrated and 
 twisted themselves into emerald serpents. 
 In those orbs of phosphoric lightning the 
 rays of suns extinguished, the splendors of 
 vanished worlds, the glories of Olympus 
 eclipsed all seemed to have concentrated 
 their reflections. When contemplating them 
 one thought of eternity, and felt himself 
 seized with a mighty giddiness, as though 
 he were leaning over the verge of the In- 
 finite. 
 
 The expression of those extraordinary 
 eyes was not less variable than their tint. 
 At times their lids opened like the portals of 
 celestial dwellings; they invited you into 
 elysiums of light, of azure, of ineffable felic- 
 ity; they promised you the realization, 
 tenfold, a hundredfold, of all your dreams 
 of happiness, as though they had divined 
 your soul's most secret thoughts ; again, im- 
 penetrable as sevenfold plated shields of the 
 hardest metals, they flung back your gaze
 
 302 KING CANDAULES 
 
 like blunted and broken arrows. With a 
 simple inflexion of the brow, a mere flash of 
 the pupil, more terrible than the thunder of 
 Zeus, they precipitated you from the heights 
 of your most ambitious escalades into depths 
 of nothingness so profound that it was im- 
 possible to rise again. Typhon himself, who 
 writhes under JEtna, could not have lifted 
 the mountains of disdain with which they 
 overwhelmed you. One felt that though he 
 should live for a thousand Olympiads en- 
 dowed with the beauty of the fair son of 
 Latona, the genius of Orpheus, the un- 
 bounded might of Assyrian kings, the treas- 
 ures of the Cabeirei, the Telchines, and the 
 Dactyli, gods of subterranean wealth, he 
 could never change their expression to mild- 
 ness. 
 
 At other times their languishment was 
 so liquidly persuasive, their brilliancy and 
 irradiation so penetrating, that the icy cold- 
 ness of Nestor and Priam would have melted 
 under their gaze, like the wax of the wings 
 of Icarus when he approached the flaming 
 zones. For one such glance a man would 
 have gladly steeped his hands in the blood
 
 KING CANDAULES 303 
 
 of his host, scattered the ashes of his father 
 to the four winds, overthrown the holy im- 
 ages of the gods, and stolen the fire of heaven 
 itself, like the sublime thief, Prometheus. 
 
 Nevertheless, their most ordinary expres- 
 sion, it must be confessed, was of a chastity 
 to make one desperate a sublime coldness 
 an ignorance of all possibilities of human 
 passion, such as would have made the moon- 
 bright eyes of Phoebe or the sea-green eyes 
 of Athena appear by comparison more 
 liquidly tempting than those of a young girl 
 of Babylon sacrificing to the goddess Mylitta 
 within the cord-circled enclosure of Succoth- 
 Benohl. Their invincible virginity seemed 
 to bid love defiance. 
 
 The cheeks of Nyssia, which no human 
 gaze had ever profaned, save that of Gyges 
 on the day when the veil was blown away, 
 possessed a youthful bloom, a tender pallor, 
 a delicacy of grain, and a downiness whereof 
 the faces of our women, perpetually exposed 
 to sunlight and air, cannot convey the most 
 distant idea. Modesty created fleeting rosy 
 clouds upon them like those which a drop 
 of crimson essence would form in a cup of
 
 304 KING CANDAULES 
 
 milk, and when uncolored by any emotion 
 they took a silvery sheen, a warm light, like 
 an alabaster vessel illumined by a lamp 
 within. That lamp was her charming soul, 
 which exposed to view the transparency of 
 her flesh. 
 
 A bee would have been deceived by her 
 mouth, whose form was so perfect, whose 
 corners were so purely dimpled, whose crim- 
 son was so rich and warm that the gods 
 would have descended from their Olympian 
 dwellings in order to touch it with lips 
 humid with immortality, but that the jeal- 
 ousy of the goddesses restrained their im- 
 petuosity. Happy the wind which passed 
 through that purple and pearl, which dilated 
 those pretty nostrils, so finely cut and shaded 
 with rosy tints like the mother-of-pearl of 
 the shells thrown by the sea on the shore of 
 Cyprus at the feet of Venus Anadyomene! 
 But are there not a multitude of favors thus 
 granted to things which cannot understand 
 them ? What lover would not wish to be 
 the tunic of his well-beloved or the water of 
 her bath ? 
 
 Such was Nyssia, if we dare make use of
 
 KING CANDAULES 305 
 
 the expression after so vague a description 
 of her face. If our foggy Northern idioms 
 had the warm liberty, the burning enthusi- 
 asm of the Sir Hasirim, we might, perhaps, 
 by comparisons awakening in the mind of 
 the reader memories of flowers and perfumes, 
 of music and sunlight, evoking, by the 
 magic of words, all the graceful and charm- 
 ing images that the universe can contain 
 have been able to give some idea of Nyssia's 
 features; but it is permitted to Solomon 
 alone to compare the nose of a beautiful 
 woman to the tower of Lebanon which look- 
 eth toward Damascus. And yet what is 
 there in the world of more importance than 
 the nose of a beautiful woman ? Had Helen, 
 the white Tyndarid, been flat-nosed, would 
 the Trojan War have taken place ? And if 
 the profile of Semiramis had not been per- 
 fectly regular, would she have bewitched the 
 old monarch of Nineveh and encircled her 
 brow with the mitre of pearls, the symbol of 
 supreme power ? 
 
 Although Candaules had brought to his 
 palace the most beautiful slaves from the 
 people of the Sorae, of Askalon, of Sog- 
 20
 
 306 KING CANDAULES 
 
 diana, of the Sacae, of Rhapta, the most 
 celebrated courtesans from Ephesus, from 
 Pergamus, from Smyrna, and from Cyprus, 
 he was completely fascinated by the charms 
 of Nyssia. Up to that time he had not even 
 suspected the existence of such perfection. 
 
 Privileged as a husband to enjoy fully the 
 contemplation of this beauty, he found him- 
 self dazzled, giddy, like one who leans over 
 the edge of an abyss, or fixes his eyes upon 
 the sun; he felt himself seized, as it were, 
 with the delirium of possession, like a priest 
 drunk with the god who fills and moves him. 
 All other thoughts disappeared from his 
 soul, and the universe seemed to him only 
 as a vague mist in the midst of which beamed 
 the shining phantom of Nyssia. His happi- 
 ness transformed itself into ecstasy, and his 
 love into madness. At times his very felic- 
 ity terrified him. To be only a wretched 
 king, only a remote descendant of a hero 
 who had become a god by mighty labors, 
 only a common man formed of flesh and 
 bone, and without having in aught rendered 
 himself worthy of it without having even, 
 like his ancestor, strangled some hydra, or
 
 KING CANDAULES 307 
 
 torn some lion asunder to enjoy a happi- 
 ness whereof Zeus of the ambrosial hair 
 would scarce be worthy, though lord of all 
 Olympus ! He felt, as it were, a shame to 
 thus hoard up for himself alone so rich a 
 treasure, to steal this marvel from the world, 
 to be the dragon with scales and claws who 
 guarded the living type of the ideal of lovers, 
 sculptors, and poets. All they had ever 
 dreamed of in their hope, their melancholy, 
 and their despair, he possessed he, Can- 
 daules, poor tyrant of Sardes, who had only 
 a few wretched coffers filled with pearls, a 
 few cisterns filled with gold pieces, and 
 thirty or forty thousand slaves, purchased 
 or taken in war. 
 
 Candaules's felicity was too great for him, 
 and the strength which he would doubtless 
 have found at his command in time of mis- 
 fortune was wanting to him in time of hap- 
 piness. His joy overflowed from his soul 
 like water from a vase placed upon the fire, 
 and in the exasperation of his enthusiasm 
 for Nyssia he had reached the point of de- 
 siring that she were less timid and less mod- 
 est, for it cost him no little effort to retain
 
 308 KING CANDAULES 
 
 in his own breast the secret of such won- 
 drous beauty. 
 
 " Ah," he would murmur to himself dur- 
 ing the deep reveries which absorbed him 
 at all hours that he did not spend at the 
 queen's side, " how strange a lot is mine! 
 I am wretched because of that which would 
 make any other husband happy. Nyssia 
 will not leave the shadow of the gynaeceum, 
 and refuses, with barbarian modesty, to lift 
 her veil in the presence of any other than 
 myself. Yet with what an intoxication of 
 pride would my love behold her, radiantly 
 sublime, gaze down upon my kneeling peo- 
 ple from the summit of the royal steps, and, 
 like the rising dawn, extinguish all those 
 pale stars who during the night thought 
 themselves suns! Proud Lydian women, 
 who believe yourselves beautiful, but for 
 Nyssia's reserve you would appear, even to 
 your lovers, as ugly as the oblique-eyed and 
 thick-lipped slaves of Nahasi and Kush. 
 Were she but once to pass along the streets 
 of Sardes with face unveiled, you might in 
 vain pull your adorers by the lappet of their 
 tunic, for none of them would turn his head,
 
 KINO CANDAULES 309 
 
 or, if he did, it would be to demand your 
 name, so utterly would he have forgotten 
 you ! They would rush to precipitate them- 
 selves beneath the silver wheels of her char- 
 iot, that they might have even the pleasure 
 of being crushed by her, like those devotees 
 of the Indus who pave the pathway of their 
 idol with their bodies. 
 
 " And you, oh goddesses, whom Paris- 
 Alexander judged, had Nyssia appeared 
 among you, not one of you would have 
 borne away the golden apple, not even 
 Aphrodite, despite her cestus and her prom- 
 ise to the shepherd-arbiter that she would 
 make him beloved by the most beautiful 
 woman in the world ! . . . 
 
 " Alas! to think that such beauty is not 
 immortal, and that years will alter those 
 divine outlines, that admirable hymn of 
 forms, that poem whose strophes are con- 
 tours, and which no one in the world has 
 ever read or may ever read save myself ; to 
 be the sole depositary of so splendid a treas- 
 ure ! If I knew even, by imitating the play 
 of light and shadow with the aid of lines and 
 colors, how to fix upon wood a reflection of
 
 310 KING CANDAULES 
 
 that celestial face; if marble were not rebel- 
 lious to my chisel, how well would I fashion 
 in the purest vein of Paros or Pentelicus an 
 image of that charming body, which would 
 make the proud effigies of the goddesses fall 
 from their altars! And long after, when 
 deep below the slime of deluges, and beneath 
 the dust of ruined cities, the men of future 
 ages should find a fragment of that petri- 
 fied shadow or Nyssia, they would cry : ' Be- 
 hold, how the women of this vanished world 
 were formed ! ' And they would erect a tem- 
 ple wherein to enshrine the divine fragment. 
 But I have naught save a senseless admira- 
 tion and a love that is madness ! Sole adorer 
 of an unknown divinity, I possess no power 
 to spread her worship through the world." 
 
 Thus in Candaules had the enthusiasm of 
 the artist extinguished the jealousy of the 
 lover. Admiration was mightier than love. 
 If in place of Nyssia, daughter of the Satrap 
 Megabazus, all imbued with Oriental ideas, 
 he had -espoused some Greek girl from 
 Athens or Corinth, he would certainly have 
 invited to his court the most skilful painters 
 and sculptors, and have given them the
 
 RING CANDAULES $11 
 
 queen for their model, as did afterward 
 Alexander his favorite Campaspe, who posed 
 naked before Apelles. Such a whim would 
 have encountered no opposition from a 
 woman of the land where even the most 
 chaste made a boast of having contributed 
 some for the back, some for the bosom 
 to the perfection of a famous statue. But 
 hardly would the bashful Nyssia consent to 
 unveil herself in the discreet shadow of the 
 thalamus, and the earnest prayers of the 
 king really shocked her rather than gave her 
 pleasure. The sentiment of duty and obe- 
 dience alone induced her to yield at times to 
 what she styled the whims of Candaules. 
 
 Sometimes he besought her to allow the 
 flood of her hair to flow over her shoulders 
 in a river of gold richer than the Pactolus, 
 to encircle her brow with a crown of ivy and 
 linden leaves like a bacchante of Mount 
 Maenalus, to lie, hardly veiled by a cloud of 
 tissue finer than woven wind, upon a tiger- 
 skin with silver claws and ruby eyes, or to 
 stand erect in a great shell of mother-of- 
 pearl, with a dew of pearls falling from her 
 tresses in lieu of drops of sea-water.
 
 312 KING CANDAULES 
 
 When he had placed himself in the best 
 position for observation, he became absorbed 
 in silent contemplation. His hand, tracing 
 vague contours in the air, seemed to be 
 sketching the outlines for some picture, and 
 he would have remained thus for whole 
 hours if Nyssia, soon becoming weary of her 
 role of model, had not reminded him in chill 
 and disdainful tones that such amusements 
 were unworthy of royal majesty and con- 
 trary to the holy laws of matrimony. " It 
 is thus," she would exclaim, as she with- 
 drew, draped to her very eyes, into the most 
 mysterious recesses of her apartment, " that 
 one treats a mistress, not a virtuous woman 
 of noble blood! " 
 
 These wise remonstrances did not cure 
 Candaules, whose passion augmented in in- 
 verse ratio to the coldness shown him by 
 the queen. And it had at last brought him 
 to that point that he could no longer keep 
 the secrets of the nuptial couch. A con- 
 fidant became as necessary to him as to the 
 prince of a modern tragedy. He did not 
 proceed, you may feel assured, to fix his 
 choice upon some crabbed philosopher of
 
 KING CANDAULES 313 
 
 frowning mien, with a flood of gray-and- 
 white beard rolling down over a mantle in 
 proud tatters; nor a warrior who could talk 
 of nothing save ballista, catapults, and 
 scythed chariots; nor a sententious Eupa- 
 trid full of counsels and politic maxims; but 
 Gyges, whose reputation for gallantry caused 
 him to be regarded as a connoisseur in re- 
 gard to women. 
 
 One evening he laid his hand upon his 
 shoulder in a more than ordinarily familiar 
 and cordial manner, and after giving him a 
 look of peculiar significance, he suddenly 
 strode away from the group of courtiers, 
 saying in a loud voice: 
 
 " Gyges, come and give me your opinion 
 in regard to my effigy, which the Sicyon 
 sculptors have just finished chiselling on 
 the genealogical bas-relief where the deeds 
 of my ancestors are celebrated." 
 
 " O king, your knowledge is greater than 
 that of your humble subject, and I know 
 not how to express my gratitude for the 
 honor you do me in deigning to consult 
 me," replied Gyges, with a sign of assent. 
 
 Candaules and his favorite traversed sev-
 
 314 KING CANDAULES 
 
 eral halls ornamented in the Hellenic style, 
 where the Corinthian acanthus and the Ionic 
 volute bloomed or curled in the capitals of 
 the columns, where the friezes were peopled 
 with little figures in polychromatic plastique 
 representing processions and sacrifices, and 
 they finally arrived at a remote portion of 
 the ancient palace whose walls were built 
 with stones of irregular form, put together 
 without cement in the Cyclopean manner. 
 This ancient architecture was colossally pro- 
 portioned and weirdly grim. The immeas- 
 urable genius of the elder civilizations of the 
 Orient was there legibly written, and re- 
 called the granite and brick debauches of 
 Egypt and Assyria. Something of the spirit 
 of the ancient architects of the tower of 
 Lylax survived in those thick-set pillars 
 with their deep-fluted trunks, whose cap- 
 itals were formed by four heads of bulls, 
 placed forehead to forehead, and bound to- 
 gether by knots of serpents that seemed 
 striving to devour them, an obscure cos- 
 mogonic symbol whereof the meaning was 
 no longer intelligible, and had descended 
 into the tomb with the hierophants of pre-
 
 KING CANDAULES 315 
 
 ceding ages. The gates were neither of a 
 square nor rounded form. They described 
 a sort of ogive much resembling the mitre 
 of the Magi, and by their fantastic character 
 gave still more intensity to the character of 
 the building. 
 
 This portion of the palace formed a sort 
 of court surrounded by a portico whose archi- 
 tecture was ornamented with the genealogi- 
 cal bas-relief to which Candaules had alluded. 
 
 In the midst thereof sat Heracles upon a 
 throne, with the upper part of his body un- 
 covered, and his feet resting upon a stool, 
 according to the rite for the representation 
 of divine personages. His colossal propor- 
 tions would otherwise have left no doubt as 
 to his apotheosis, and the archaic rudeness 
 and hugeness of the work, wrought by the 
 chisel of some primitive artist, imparted to 
 his figure an air of barbaric majesty, a sav- 
 age grandeur more appropriate, perhaps, to 
 the character of this monster-slaying hero 
 than would have been the work of a sculp- 
 tor consummate in his art. 
 
 On the right of the throne were Alcaeus, 
 son of the hero and of Omphale; Ninus,
 
 316 KING CANDAULES 
 
 Belus, Argon, the earlier kings of the dy- 
 nasty of the Heracleidae, then all the line of 
 intermediate kings, terminating with Ardys, 
 Alyattes, Meles or Myrsus, father of Can- 
 daules, and finally Candaules himself. 
 
 All these personages, with their hair 
 braided into little strings, their beards spi- 
 rally twisted, their oblique eyes, angular 
 attitudes, cramped and stiff gestures, seemed 
 to own a sort of factitious life, due to the 
 rays of the setting sun, and the ruddy hue 
 which time lends to marble in warm cli- 
 mates. The inscriptions in antique charac- 
 ters, graven beside them after the manner of 
 legends, enhanced still more the mysterious 
 weirdness of the long procession of figures 
 in strange barbarian garb. 
 
 By a singular chance, which Gyges could 
 not help observing, the statue of Candaules 
 occupied the last available place at the right 
 hand of Heracles; the dynastic cycle was 
 closed, and in order to find a place for the 
 descendants of Candaules it would be abso- 
 lutely necessary to build a new portico and 
 commence the formation of a new bas-relief. 
 
 Candaules, whose arm still rested on the
 
 KING CANDAULES 317 
 
 shoulder of Gyges, walked slowly round the 
 portico in silence. He seemed to hesitate 
 to enter into the subject, and had altogether 
 forgotten the pretext under which he had 
 led the captain of his guards into that soli- 
 tary place. 
 
 ' What would you do, Gyges," said Can- 
 daules, at last breaking the silence which 
 had been growing painful to both, " if you 
 were a diver, and should bring up from the 
 green bosom of the ocean a pearl of incom- 
 parable purity and lustre, and of worth so 
 vast as to exhaust the richest treasures of 
 the earth ?" 
 
 I would inclose it," answered Gyges, a 
 little surprised at this brusque question, " in 
 a cedar box overlaid with plates of brass, 
 and I would bury it under a detached rock 
 in some desert place ; and from time to time, 
 when I should feel assured that none could 
 see me, I would go thither to contemplate 
 my precious jewel and admire the colors of 
 the sky mingling with its nacreous tints." 
 
 " And I," replied Candaules, his eye illu- 
 minated with enthusiasm, " if I possessed 
 so rich a gem, I would enshrine it in my
 
 318 KING CANDAULES 
 
 diadem, that I might exhibit it freely to the 
 eyes of all men, in the pure light of the sun, 
 that I might adorn myself with its splendor 
 and smile with pride when I should hear it 
 said : ' Never did king of Assyria or Baby- 
 lon, never did Greek or Trinacrian tyrant 
 possess so lustrous a pearl as Candaules, son 
 of Myrsus and descendant of Heracles, King 
 of Sardes and of Lydia! Compared with 
 Candaules, Midas, who changed all things 
 to gold, were only a mendicant as poor as 
 Irus. ' ' 
 
 Gyges listened with astonishment to this 
 discourse of Candaules, and sought to pene- 
 trate the hidden sense of these lyric divaga- 
 tions. The king appeared to be in a state of 
 extraordinary excitement : his eyes sparkled 
 with enthusiasm ; a feverish rosiness tinted 
 his cheeks; his dilated nostrils inhaled the 
 air with unusual effort. 
 
 " Well, Gyges," continued Candaules, 
 without appearing to notice the uneasiness 
 of his favorite, " I am that diver. Amid 
 this dark ocean of humanity, wherein con- 
 fusedly move so many defective or mis- 
 shapen beings, so many forms incomplete or
 
 KING CANDAULES 319 
 
 degraded, so many types of bestial ugliness, 
 wretched outlines of nature's experimental 
 essays, I have found beauty, pure, radiant, 
 without spot, without flaw, the ideal made 
 real, the dream accomplished, a form which 
 no painter or sculptor has ever been able to 
 translate upon canvas or into marble I have 
 found Nyssia! " 
 
 " Although the queen has the timid mod- 
 esty of the women of the Orient, and that 
 no man save her husband has ever beheld 
 her features, Fame, hundred-tongued and 
 hundred-eared, has celebrated her praise 
 throughout the world," answered Gyges, 
 respectfully inclining his head as he spoke. 
 
 " Mere vague, insignificant rumors. They 
 say of her, as of all women not actually ugly, 
 that she is more beautiful than Aphrodite or 
 Helen ; but no person could form even the 
 most remote idea of such perfection. In 
 vain have I besought Nyssia to appear un- 
 veiled at some public festival, some solemn 
 sacrifice, or to show herself for an instant 
 leaning over the royal terrace, bestowing 
 upon her people the immense favor of one 
 look, the prodigality of one profile view,
 
 320 KING CANDAULES 
 
 more generous than the goddesses who per- 
 mit their worshippers to behold only pale 
 simulacra of ivory or alabaster. She would 
 never consent to that. Now there is one 
 strange thing which I blush to acknowledge 
 even to you, dear Gyges. Formerly I was 
 jealous ; I wished to conceal my amours from 
 all eyes, no shadow was thick enough, no 
 mystery sufficiently impenetrable. Now I 
 can no longer recognize myself. I have the 
 feelings neither of a lover nor a husband ; my 
 love has melted in adoration like thin wax in 
 a fiery brazier. All petty feelings of jeal- 
 ousy or possession have vanished. No, the 
 most finished work that heaven has ever 
 given to earth, since the day that Prome- 
 theus held the flame under the right breast 
 of the statue of clay, cannot thus be kept 
 hidden in the chill shadow of the gynaeceum. 
 Were I to die, then the secret of this beauty 
 would forever remain shrouded beneath the 
 sombre draperies of widowhood ! I feel my- 
 self culpable in its concealment, as though I 
 had the sun in my house, and prevented it 
 from illuminating the world. And when I 
 think of those harmonious lines, those divine
 
 KING CANDAULES 321 
 
 contours which I dare scarcely touch with a 
 timid kiss, I feel my heart ready to burst ; I 
 wish that some friendly eye could share my 
 happiness and, like a severe judge to whom 
 a picture is shown, recognize after careful 
 examination that it is irreproachable, and 
 that the possessor has not been deceived by 
 his enthusiasm. Yes, often do I feel myself 
 tempted to tear off with rash hand those 
 odious tissues, but Nyssia, in her fierce chas- 
 tity, would never forgive me. And still I 
 cannot alone endure such felicity. I must 
 have a confidant for my ecstasies, an echo 
 which will answer my cries of admiration, 
 and it shall be none other than you." 
 
 Having uttered these words, Candaules 
 brusquely turned and disappeared through 
 a secret passage. Gyges, left thus alone, 
 could not avoid noticing the peculiar con- 
 course of events which seemed to place him 
 always in Nyssia's path. A chance had en- 
 abled him to behold her beauty, though 
 walled up from all other eyes. Among 
 many princes and satraps she had chosen to 
 espouse Candaules, the very king he served ; 
 and through some strange caprice, which he
 
 322 KING CANDAULES 
 
 could only regard as fateful, this king had 
 just made him, Gyges, his confidant in re- 
 gard to the mysterious creature whom none 
 else had approached, and absolutely sought 
 to complete the work of Boreas on the plain 
 of Bactria! Was not the hand of the gods 
 visible in all these circumstances ? That 
 spectre of beauty, whose veil seemed to be 
 lifted slowly, a little at a time, as though 
 to enkindle a flame within him, was it not 
 leading him, without his having suspected it, 
 toward the accomplishment of some mighty 
 destiny ? Such were the questions which 
 Gyges asked himself, but being unable to 
 penetrate the obscurity of the future, he re- 
 solved to await the course of events, and left 
 the Court of Images, where the twilight 
 darkness was commencing to pile itself up 
 in all the angles, and to render the effigies 
 of the ancestors of Candaules yet more and 
 more weirdly menacing. 
 
 Was it a mere effort of light, or was it 
 rather an illusion produced by that vague 
 uneasiness with which the boldest hearts are 
 filled by the approach of night amid ancient 
 monuments ? As he stepped across the
 
 KING CANDAULES 323 
 
 threshold Gyges fancied that he heard deep 
 groans issue from the stone lips of the bas- 
 reliefs, and it seemed to him that Heracles 
 was making enormous efforts to loosen his 
 granite club. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 ON the following day Candaules again 
 took Gyges aside and continued the conver- 
 sation begun under the portico of the Hera- 
 cleidae. Having freed himself from the em- 
 barrassment of broaching the subject, he 
 freely unbosomed himself to his confidant; 
 and had Nyssia been able to overhear him 
 she might perhaps have been willing to par- 
 don his conjugal indiscretions for the sake of 
 his passionate eulogies of her charms. 
 
 Gyges listened to all these bursts of praise 
 with the slightly constrained air of one who 
 is yet uncertain whether his interlocutor is 
 not feigning an enthusiasm more ardent than 
 he actually feels, in order to provoke a con- 
 fidence naturally cautious to utter itself. 
 Candaules at last said to him in a tone of
 
 324 KING CANDAULES 
 
 disappointment: " I see, Gyges, that you 
 do not believe me. You think I am boast- 
 ing, or have allowed myself to be fascinated 
 like some clumsy laborer by a robust coun- 
 try girl on whose cheeks Hygeia has crushed 
 the gross hues of health. No, by all the 
 gods! I have collected within my home, 
 like a living bouquet, the fairest flowers of 
 Asia and of Greece. I know all that the art 
 of sculptors and painters has produced since 
 the time of Daedalus, whose statues walked 
 and spoke. Linus, Orpheus, Homer, have 
 taught me harmony and rhythm. I do not 
 look about me with Love's bandage blind- 
 folding my eyes. I judge of all things 
 coolly. The passions of youth never influ- 
 ence my admiration, and when I am as with- 
 ered, decrepit, wrinkled, as Tithonus in his 
 swaddling bands, my opinion will be still the 
 same. But I forgive your incredulity and 
 want of sympathy. In order to understand 
 me fully, it is necessary that you should see 
 Nyssia in the radiant brilliancy of her shin- 
 ing whiteness, free from jealous drapery, 
 even as nature with her own hands moulded 
 her in a lost moment of inspiration which
 
 KING CANDAULES 325 
 
 never can return. This evening I will hide 
 you in a corner of the bridal chamber . . . 
 you shall see her! " 
 
 " Sire, what do you ask of me ? " returned 
 the young warrior with respectful firmness. 
 ' How shall I, from the depths of my dust, 
 from the abyss of my nothingness, dare to 
 raise my eyes to this sun of perfections, at 
 the risk of remaining blind for the. rest of 
 my life, or being able to see naught but a 
 dazzling spectre in the midst of darkness ? 
 Have pity on your humble slave, and do not 
 compel him to an action so contrary to the 
 maxims of virtue. No man should look 
 upon what does not belong to him. We 
 know that the immortals always punish those 
 who through imprudence or audacity sur- 
 prise them in their divine nudity. Nyssia is 
 the loveliest of all women ; you are the hap- 
 piest of lovers and husbands. Heracles, 
 your ancestor, never found in the course of 
 his many conquests aught to compare with 
 your queen. If you, the prince of whom 
 even the most skilful artists seek judgment 
 and counsel if you find her incomparable, 
 of what consequence can the opinion of an
 
 326 KING CANDAULES 
 
 obscure soldier like me be to you ? Aban- 
 don, therefore, this fantasy, which I presume 
 to say is. unworthy of your royal majesty, 
 and of which you would repent so soon as it 
 had been satisfied." 
 
 "Listen, Gyges," returned Candaules; 
 " I perceive that you suspect me; you think 
 that I seek to put you to some proof, but 
 by the ashes of that funeral pyre whence my 
 ancestor arose a god, I swear to you that I 
 speak frankly and without any after-purpose." 
 O Candaules, I doubt not of your good 
 faith ; your passion is sincere, but perchance, 
 after I should have obeyed you, you would 
 conceive a deep aversion to me, and learn to 
 hate me for not having more firmly resisted 
 your will. You would seek to take back 
 from these eyes, indiscreet through compul- 
 sion, the image which you allowed them to 
 glance upon in a moment of delirium ; and 
 who knows but that you would condemn 
 them to the eternal night of the tomb to 
 punish them for remaining open at a mo- 
 ment when they ought to have been closed." 
 
 " Fear nothing; I pledge my royal word 
 that no evil shall befall you."
 
 KING CANDAULES 327 
 
 " Pardon your slave if he still dares to 
 offer some objection, even after such a prom- 
 ise. Have you reflected that what you pro- 
 pose to me is a violation of the sanctity of 
 marriage, a species of visual adultery ? A 
 woman often lays aside her modesty with 
 her garments ; and once violated by a look, 
 without having actually ceased to be virtu- 
 ous, she might deem that she had lost her 
 flower of purity. You promise, indeed, to 
 feel no resentment against me ; but who can 
 insure me against the wrath of Nyssia, she 
 who is so reserved and chaste, so apprehen- 
 sive, fierce, and virginal in her modesty that 
 she might be deemed still ignorant of the 
 laws of Hymen ? Should she ever learn of 
 the sacrilege which I am about to render 
 myself guilty of in deferring to my master's 
 wishes, what punishment would she condemn 
 me to suffer in expiation of such a crime ? 
 Who could place me beyond the reach of 
 her avenging anger ? " 
 
 " I did not know you were so wise and 
 prudent," said Candaules, with a slightly 
 ironical smile; "but such dangers are all 
 imaginary, and I shall hide you in such a
 
 32& KING CANDAULES 
 
 way that Nyssia will never know she has 
 been seen by any one except her royal hus- 
 band." 
 
 Being unable to offer any further defence, 
 Gyges made a sign of assent in token of com- 
 plete submission to the king's will. He had 
 made all the resistance in his power, and 
 thenceforward his conscience could feel at 
 ease in regard to whatever might happen ; 
 besides, by any further opposition to the 
 will of Candaules, he would have feared to 
 oppose destiny itself, which seemed striving 
 to bring him still nearer to Nyssia for some 
 grim ulterior purpose into which it was not 
 given to him to see further. 
 
 Without actually being able to foresee 
 any result, he beheld a thousand vague and 
 shadowy images passing before his eyes. 
 That subterranean love, so long crouched at 
 the foot of his soul's stairway, had climbed 
 a few steps higher, guided by some fitful 
 glimmer of hope. The weight of the impos- 
 sible no longer pressed so heavily upon his 
 breast, now that he believed himself aided 
 by the gods. In truth, who would have 
 dreamed that the much-boasted charms of
 
 KING CANDAULES 329 
 
 the daughter of Megabazus would ere long 
 cease to own any mystery for Gyges ? 
 
 " Come, Gyges," said Candaules, taking 
 him by the hand, " let us make profit of the 
 time. Nyssia is walking in the garden with 
 her women ; let us look at the place, and 
 plan our stratagems for this evening." 
 
 The king took his confidant by the hand 
 and led him along the winding ways which 
 conducted to the nuptial apartment. The 
 doors of the sleeping-room were made of 
 cedar planks so perfectly put together that 
 it was impossible to discover the joints. By 
 dint of rubbing them with wool steeped in 
 oil, the slaves had rendered the wood as pol- 
 ished as marble. The brazen nails, with 
 heads cut in facets, which studded them, 
 had all the brilliancy of the purest gold. A 
 complicated system of straps and metallic 
 rings, whereof Candaules and his wife alone 
 knew the combination, served to secure 
 them, for in those heroic ages the lock- 
 smith's art was yet in its infancy. 
 
 Candaules unloosed the knots, made the 
 rings slide back upon the thongs, raised with 
 a handle which fitted into a mortise the bar
 
 330 KING -CANDAULES 
 
 that fastened the door from within, and bid- 
 ding Gyges place himself against the wall, 
 turned back one of the folding doors upon 
 him in such a way as to hide him completely ; 
 yet the door did not fit so perfectly to its 
 frame of oaken beams, all carefully polished 
 and put up according to line by a skilful 
 workman, that the young warrior could not 
 obtain a distinct view of the chamber interior 
 through the interstices contrived to give 
 room for the free play of the hinges. 
 
 Facing the entrance, the royal bed stood 
 upon an estrade of several steps, covered 
 with purple drapery. Columns of chased 
 silver supported the entablature, all orna- 
 mented with foliage wrought in relief, amid 
 which Loves were sporting with dolphins, 
 and heavy curtains embroidered with gold 
 surrounded it like the folds of a tent. 
 
 Upon the altar of the household gods were 
 placed vases of precious metal, patene enam- 
 elled with flowers, double-handled cups, and 
 all things needful for libations. 
 
 Along the walls, which were faced with 
 planks of cedar-wood, marvellously worked, 
 at regular intervals stood tall statues of
 
 KING CANDAULES 33! 
 
 black basalt in the constrained attitudes of 
 Egyptian art, each sustaining in its hand a 
 bronze torch into which a splinter of resin- 
 ous wood had been fitted. 
 . An onyx lamp, suspended by a chain of 
 silver, hung from that beam of the ceiling 
 which is called the black beam, because more 
 exposed than the others to the embrowning 
 smoke. Every evening a slave carefully 
 filled this lamp with odoriferous oil. 
 
 Near the head of the bed, on a little col- 
 umn, hung a trophy of arms, consisting of a 
 visored helmet, a twofold buckler made of 
 four bull's hides and covered with plates of 
 brass and tin, a two-edged sword, and sev- 
 eral ashen javelins with brazen heads. 
 
 The tunics and mantles of Candaules were 
 hung upon wooden pegs. They comprised 
 garments both simple and double; that is, 
 capable of going twice around the body. A 
 mantle of thrice-dyed purple, ornamented 
 with embroidery representing a hunting 
 scene wherein Laconian hounds were pursu- 
 ing and tearing deer, and a tunic whereof 
 the material, fine and delicate as the skin 
 which envelops an onion, had all the sheen
 
 332 KING CANDAULES 
 
 of woven sunbeams, were especially notice- 
 able. Opposite to the trophy stood an arm- 
 chair inlaid with silver and ivory upon which 
 Nyssia hung her garments. Its seat was 
 covered with a leopard skin more eye-spotted 
 than the body of Argus, and its foot-support 
 was richly adorned with open-work carving. 
 
 " I am generally the first to retire," ob- 
 served Candaules to Gyges, " and I always 
 leave this door open as it is now. Nyssia, 
 who has invariably some tapestry flower to 
 finish, or some order to give her women, 
 usually delays a little in joining me; but at 
 last she comes, and slowly takes off, one by 
 one, as though the effort cost her dearly, and 
 lays upon that ivory chair all those draperies 
 and tunics which by day envelop her like 
 mummy bandages. From your hiding-place 
 you will be able to follow all her graceful 
 movements, admire her unrivalled charms, 
 and judge for yourself whether Candaules 
 be a young fool prone to vain boasting, or 
 whether he does not really possess the rich- 
 est pearl of beauty that ever adorned a 
 diadem." 
 
 " O King, I can well believe your words
 
 KING CANDAULES 333 
 
 without such a proof as this," replied Gyges, 
 stepping forth from his hiding-place. 
 
 " When she has laid aside her garments," 
 continued Candaules, without heeding the 
 exclamation of his confidant, " she will come 
 to lie down with me. You must take advan- 
 tage of the moment to steal away, for in 
 passing from the chair to the bed she turns 
 her back to the door. Step lightly as though 
 you were treading upon ears of ripe wheat; 
 take heed that no grain of sand squeaks un- 
 der your sandals ; hold your breath, and re- 
 tire as stealthily as possible. The vestibule 
 is all in darkness, and the feeble rays of the 
 only lamp which remains burning do not 
 penetrate beyond the threshold of the cham- 
 ber. It is therefore certain that Nyssia can- 
 not possibly see you ; and to-morrow there 
 will be some one in the world who can com- 
 prehend my ecstasies, and will feel no longer 
 astonished at my bursts of admiration. But 
 see, the day is almost spent; the Sun will 
 soon water his steeds in the Hesperian waves 
 at the further end of the world, and beyond 
 the Pillars erected by my ancestors. Return 
 to your hiding-place, Gyges, and though the
 
 334 KING CANDAULES 
 
 hours of waiting may seem long, I can swear 
 by Eros of the Golden Arrows that you will 
 not regret having waited." 
 
 After this assurance Candaules left Gyges 
 again hidden behind the door. The compul- 
 sory quiet which the king's young confidant 
 found himself obliged to maintain left him 
 ample leisure for thought. His situation 
 was certainly a most extraordinary one. He 
 had loved Nyssia as one loves a star. Con- 
 vinced of the hopelessness of the undertak- 
 ing, he had made no effort to approach her. 
 And nevertheless, by a succession of ex- 
 traordinary events he was about to obtain 
 a knowledge of treasures reserved for lovers 
 and husbands only. Not a word, not a 
 glance had been exchanged between himself 
 and Nyssia, who probably ignored the very 
 existence of the one being for whom her 
 beauty would so soon cease to be a mystery. 
 Unknown to her whose modesty would have 
 naught to sacrifice for you, how strange a 
 situation ! To love a woman in secret and 
 find one's self led by her husband to the 
 threshold of the nuptial chamber, to have 
 for guide to that treasure the very dragon
 
 KING CANDAULES 335 
 
 who should defend all approach to it, was 
 there not in all this ample food for astonish- 
 ment and wonder at the combination of 
 events wrought by destiny ? 
 
 In the midst of these reflections, he sud- 
 denly heard the sound of footsteps on the 
 pavement. It was only the slaves coming 
 to replenish the oil in the lamp, throw fresh 
 perfumes upon the coals of the klamklins, 
 and arrange the purple and saffron-tinted 
 sheepskins which formed the royal bed. 
 
 The hour approached, and Gyges felt his 
 heart beat faster, and the pulsation of his 
 arteries quicken. He even felt a strong im- 
 pulse to steal away before the arrival of the 
 queen, and, after averring subsequently to 
 Candaules that he had remained, abandon 
 himself confidently to the most extravagant 
 eulogiums. He felt a strong repugnance 
 (for, despite his somewhat free life, Gyges 
 was not without delicacy) to take by stealth 
 a favor for the free granting of which he 
 would gladly have paid with his life. The 
 husband's complicity rendered this theft 
 more odious in a certain sense, and he would 
 have preferred to owe to any other circum-
 
 336 KING CANDAULES 
 
 stance the happiness of beholding the mar- 
 vel of Asia in her nocturnal toilet. Perhaps, 
 indeed, the approach of danger, let us ac- 
 knowledge as veracious historians, had no 
 little to do with his virtuous scruples. Un- 
 doubtedly Gyges did not lack courage. 
 Mounted upon his war-chariot, with quiver 
 rattling upon his shoulder, and bow in hand, 
 he would have defied the most valiant war- 
 riors; in the chase he would have attacked 
 without fear the Calydon boar or the Ne- 
 mean lion ; but explain the enigma as you 
 will he trembled at the idea of looking at a 
 beautiful woman through a chink in a door. 
 No one possesses every kind of courage. He 
 felt likewise that he could not behold Nyssia 
 with impunity. It would be a decisive epoch 
 in his life. Through having obtained but a 
 momentary glimpse of her he had lost all 
 peace of mind ; what, then, would be the re- 
 sult of that which was about to take place ? 
 Could life itself continue for him when to 
 that divine head which fired his dreams 
 should be added a charming body formed 
 for the kisses of the immortals ? What 
 would become of him should he find himself
 
 KING CANDAULES 337 
 
 unable thereafter to contain his passion in 
 darkness and silence as he had done till that 
 time ? Would he exhibit to the court of 
 Lydia the ridiculous spectacle of an insane 
 love, or would he strive by some extravagant 
 action to bring down upon himself the dis- 
 dainful pity of the queen ? Such a result 
 was strongly probable, since the reason of 
 Candaules himself, the legitimate possessor 
 of Nyssia, had been unable to resist the ver- 
 tigo caused by that superhuman beauty he, 
 the thoughtless young king who till then 
 had laughed at love, and preferred pictures 
 and statues before all things. These argu- 
 ments were very rational but wholly useless, 
 for at the same moment Candaules entered 
 the chamber, and exclaimed in a low but 
 distinct voice as he passed the door: 
 
 " Patience, my poor Gyges, Nyssia will 
 soon come." 
 
 When he saw that he could no longer re- 
 treat, Gyges, who was but a young man after 
 all, forgot every other consideration, and no 
 longer thought of aught save the happiness 
 of feasting his eyes upon the charming spec- 
 tacle which Candaules was about to offer
 
 338 KING CANDAULES 
 
 him. One cannot demand from a captain 
 of twenty-five the austerity of a hoary phi- 
 losopher. 
 
 At last a low whispering of raiment sweep- 
 ing and trailing over marble, distinctly audi- 
 ble in the deep silence of the night, an- 
 nounced the approach of the queen. In 
 effect it was she. With a step as cadenced 
 and rhythmic as an ode, she crossed the 
 threshold of the thalamus, and the wind of 
 her veil with its floating folds almost touched 
 the burning cheek of Gyges, who felt well- 
 nigh on the point of fainting, and found him- 
 self compelled to seek the support of the 
 wall ; but soon recovering from the violence 
 of his emotions, he approached the chink of 
 the door, and took the most favorable posi- 
 tion for enabling him to lose nothing of the 
 scene whereof he was about to be an invisi- 
 ble witness. 
 
 Nyssia advanced to the ivory chair and 
 commenced to detach the pins, terminated 
 by hollow balls of gold, which fastened her 
 veil upon her head; and Gyges from the 
 depths of the shadow-filled angle where he 
 stood concealed could examine at his ease
 
 KING CANDAULES 339 
 
 the proud and charming face of which he 
 had before obtained only a hurried glimpse; 
 that rounded neck, at once delicate and pow- 
 erful, whereon Aphrodite had traced with the 
 nail of her little finger those three faint lines 
 which are still at this very day known as the 
 " necklace of Venus;" that white nape on 
 whose alabaster surface little wild, rebellious 
 curls were disporting and entwining them- 
 selves; those silver shoulders, half rising 
 from the opening of the chlamys, like the 
 moon's disk emerging from an opaque cloud. 
 Candaules, half reclining upon his cushions, 
 gazed with fondness upon his wife, and 
 thought to himself: " Now Gyges, who is 
 so cold, so difficult to please, and so skepti- 
 cal, must be already half convinced." 
 
 Opening a little coffer which stood on a 
 table supported by one leg terminating in 
 carven lion's paws, the queen freed her 
 beautiful arms from the weight of the brace- 
 lets and jewelry wherewith they had been 
 overburdened during the day arms whose 
 form and whiteness might well have enabled 
 them to compare with those of Hera, sister 
 and wife of Zeus, the lord of Olympus. Pre-
 
 34 KING CANDAULES 
 
 cious as were her jewels, they were assuredly 
 not worth the spots which they concealed, 
 and had Nyssia been a coquette, one might 
 have well supposed that she only donned 
 them in order that she should be entreated 
 to take them off. The rings and chased 
 work had left upon her skin, fine and tender 
 as the interior pulp of a lily, light rosy im- 
 prints, which she soon dissipated by rubbing 
 them with her little taper-fingered hand, all 
 rounded and slender at its extremities. 
 
 Then with the movement of a dove trem- 
 bling in the snow of its feathers, she shook 
 her hair, which being no longer held by the 
 golden pins, rolled down in languid spirals 
 like hyacinth flowers over her back and bo- 
 som. Thus she remained for a few moments 
 ere reassembling the scattered curls and 
 finally reuniting them into one mass. It 
 was marvellous to watch the blond ringlets 
 streaming like jets of liquid gold between 
 the silver of her fingers; and her arms un- 
 dulating like swans' necks as they were 
 arched above her head in the act of twisting 
 and confining the natural bullion. If you 
 have ever by chance examined one of those
 
 KING CANDAULES 341 
 
 beautiful Etruscan vases with red figures on 
 a black ground, and decorated with one of 
 those subjects which are designated under 
 the title of " Greek Toilette," then you will 
 have some idea of the grace of Nyssia in that 
 attitude which, from the age of antiquity to 
 our own era, has furnished such a multi- 
 tude of happy designs for painters and 
 statuaries. 
 
 Having thus arranged her coiffure, she 
 seated herself upon the edge of the ivory 
 footstool and commenced to untie the little 
 bands which fastened her buskins. We mod- 
 erns, owing to our horrible system of foot- 
 gear, which is hardly less absurd than the 
 Chinese shoe, no longer know what a foot 
 is. That of Nyssia was of a perfection rare 
 even in Greece and antique Asia. The great 
 toe, a little apart like the thumb of a bird, 
 the other toes, slightly long, and. all ranged 
 in charming symmetry, the nails well shaped 
 and brilliant as agates, the ankles well 
 rounded and supple, the heel slightly tinted 
 with a rosy hue nothing was wanting to the 
 perfection of the little member. The leg 
 attached to this foot, and which gleamed
 
 342 KING CANDAULES 
 
 like polished marble under the lamp-light, 
 was irreproachable in the purity of its out- 
 lines and the grace of its curves. 
 
 Gyges, lost in contemplation, though all 
 the while fully comprehending the madness 
 of Candaules, said to himself that had the 
 gods bestowed such a treasure upon him he 
 would have known how to keep it to him- 
 self. 
 
 ' Well, Nyssia, are you not coming to 
 sleep with me ? " exclaimed Candaules, see- 
 ing that the queen was not hurrying herself 
 in the least, and feeling desirous to abridge 
 the watch of Gyges. 
 
 ' Yes, my dear lord, I will soon be ready," 
 answered Nyssia. 
 
 And she detached the cameo which fast- 
 ened the peplum upon her shoulder. There 
 remained only the tunic to let fall. Gyges, 
 behind the door, felt his veins hiss through 
 his temples ; his heart beat so violently that 
 he feared it must make itself heard in the 
 chamber, and to repress its fierce pulsations 
 he pressed his hand upon his bosom ; and 
 when Nyssia, with a movement of careless 
 grace, unfastened the girdle of her tunic, he
 
 KING CANDAULES 343 
 
 thought his knees would give way beneath 
 him. 
 
 Nyssia was it an instinctive presenti- 
 ment, or was her skin, virginally pure from 
 profane looks, so delicately magnetic in its 
 susceptibility that it could feel the rays of a 
 passionate eye though that eye was invisi- 
 ble ? Nyssia hesitated to strip herself of 
 that tunic, the last rampart of her modesty. 
 Twice or thrice her shoulders, her bosom, 
 and bare arms shuddered with a nervous 
 chill, as though they had been suddenly 
 grazed by the wings of a nocturnal butter- 
 fly, or as though an insolent lip had dared 
 to touch them in the darkness. 
 
 At last, seeming to nerve herself for a sud- 
 den resolve, she doffed the tunic in its turn; 
 and the white poem of her divine body sud- 
 denly appeared in all its splendor, like the 
 statue of a goddess unveiled on the day of a 
 temple's inauguration. Shuddering with 
 pleasure the light glided and gloated over 
 those exquisite forms, and covered them 
 with timid kisses, profiting by an occasion, 
 alas, rare indeed ! The rays scattered 
 through the chamber, disdaining to illumi-
 
 344 KING CANDAULES 
 
 nate golden arms, jewelled clasps, or brazen 
 tripods, all concentrated themselves upon 
 Nyssia, and left all other objects in obscu- 
 rity. Were we Greeks of the age of Pericles 
 we might at our ease eulogize those beauti- 
 ful serpentine lines, those polished flanks, 
 those elegant curves, those breasts which 
 might have served as moulds for the cup of 
 Hebe ; but modern prudery forbids such de- 
 scriptions, for the pen cannot find pardon 
 for what is permitted to the chisel ; and be- 
 sides, there are some things which can be 
 written of only in marble. 
 
 Candaules smiled in proud satisfaction. 
 With a rapid step, as though ashamed of 
 being so beautiful, for she was only the 
 daughter of a man and a woman, Nyssia ap- 
 proached the bed, her arms folded upon her 
 bosom ; but with a sudden movement she 
 turned round ere taking her place upon the 
 couch beside her royal spouse, and beheld 
 through the aperture of the door a gleaming 
 eye flaming like the carbuncle of Oriental 
 legend; for if it were false that she had a 
 double pupil, and that she possessed the 
 stone which is found in the heads of dragons,
 
 KING CANDAULES 345 
 
 it was at least true that her green glance 
 penetrated darkness like the glaucous eye of 
 the cat and tiger. 
 
 A cry, like that of a fawn who receives an 
 arrow in her flank while tranquilly dreaming 
 among the leafy shadows, was on the point 
 of bursting from her lips, yet she found 
 strength to control herself, and lay down be- 
 side Candaules, cold as a serpent, with the 
 violets of death upon her cheeks and lips. 
 Not a muscle of her limbs quivered, not a 
 fibre of her body palpitated, and soon her 
 slow, regular breathing seemed to indicate 
 that Morpheus had distilled his poppy juice 
 upon her eyelids. 
 
 She had divined and comprehended all. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 GVGES, trembling and distracted with pas- 
 sion, had retired, following exactly the in- 
 structions of Candaules; and if Nyssia, 
 through some unfortunate chance, had not 
 turned her head ere taking her place upon 
 the couch, and perceived him in the act of
 
 346 KING CANDAULES 
 
 taking flight, doubtless she would have re- 
 mained forever unconscious of the outrage 
 done to her charms by a husband more pas- 
 sionate than scrupulous. 
 
 Accustomed to the winding corridors of 
 the palace, the young warrior had no diffi- 
 culty in finding his way out. He passed 
 through the city at a reckless pace like a 
 madman escaped from Anticyra, and by 
 making himself known to the sentinels who 
 guarded the ramparts, he had the gates 
 opened for him and gained the fields be- 
 yond. His brain burned, his cheeks flamed 
 as with the fires of fever; his breath came 
 hotly panting through his lips; he flung 
 himself down upon the meadow-sod humid 
 with the tears of the night; and at last hear- 
 ing in the darkness, through the thick grass 
 and water-plants, the silvery respiration of a 
 Naiad, he dragged himself to the spring, 
 plunged his hands and arms into the crystal 
 flood, bathed his face, and drank several 
 mouthfuls of the water in the hope to cool 
 the ardor which was devouring him. Any 
 one who could have seen him thus hopelessly 
 bending over the spring in the feeble star-
 
 KING CANDAULES 347 
 
 light would have taken him for Narcissus 
 pursuing his own shadow; but it was not of 
 himself assuredly that Gyges was enamoured. 
 The rapid apparition of Nyssia had dazzled 
 his eyes like the keen zigzag of a lightning- 
 flash. He beheld her floating before him in 
 a luminous whirlwind, and felt that never 
 through all his life could he banish that im- 
 age from his vision. His love had grown to 
 vastness; its flower had suddenly burst, like 
 those plants which open their blossoms with 
 a clap of thunder. To master his passion 
 were henceforth a thing impossible : as well 
 counsel the empurpled waves which Poseidon 
 lifts with his trident to lie tranquilly in their 
 bed of sand and cease to foam upon the 
 rocks of the shore. Gyges was no longer 
 master of himself, and he felt a miserable 
 despair, as of a man riding in a chariot, who 
 finds his terrified and uncontrollable horses 
 rushing with all the speed of a furious gal- 
 lop toward some rock-bristling precipice. A 
 hundred thousand projects, each wilder than 
 the last, whirled confusedly through his 
 brain. He blasphemed Destiny, he cursed 
 his mother for having given him life, and the
 
 348 KING CANDAULES 
 
 gods that they had not caused him to be 
 born to a throne, for then he might have 
 been able to espouse the daughter of the 
 satrap. 
 
 A frightful agony gnawed at his heart ; he 
 was jealous of the king. From the moment 
 of the tunic's fall at the feet of Nyssia, like 
 the flight of a white dove alighting upon a 
 meadow, it had seemed to him that she be- 
 longed to him ; he deemed himself despoiled 
 of his wealth by Candaules. In all his amor- 
 ous reveries he had never until then thought 
 of the husband ; he had thought of the queen 
 only as of a pure abstraction, without repre- 
 senting to himself in fancy all those intimate 
 details of conjugal familiarity, so poignant, 
 so bitter for those who love a woman in the 
 power of another. Now he had beheld Nys- 
 sia's blonde head bending like a blossom be- 
 side the dark head of Candaules. The very 
 thought of it had inflamed his anger to the 
 highest degree, although a moment's reflec- 
 tion should have convinced him that things 
 could not have come to pass otherwise, and 
 he felt growing within him a most unjust 
 hatred against his master. The act of hav-
 
 KING CANDAULES 349 
 
 ing compelled his presence at the queen's 
 dishabille seemed to him a barbarous irony, 
 an odious refinement of cruelty, for he did 
 not remember that his love for her could not 
 have been known by the king, who had 
 sought in him only a confidant of easy mor- 
 als and a connoisseur in beauty. That which 
 he ought to have regarded as a great favor 
 affected him like a mortal injury for which 
 he was meditating vengeance. While think- 
 ing that to-morrow the same scene of which 
 he had been a mute and invisible witness 
 would infallibly renew itself, his tongue clove 
 to his palate, his forehead became imbeaded 
 with drops of cold sweat, and his hand con- 
 vulsively grasped the hilt of his great double- 
 edged sword. 
 
 Nevertheless, thanks to the freshness of 
 the night, that excellent counsellor, he be- 
 came a little calmer, and returned to Sardes 
 before the morning light had become bright 
 enough to enable a few early rising citizens 
 and slaves to notice the pallor of his brow 
 and the disorder of his apparel. He betook 
 himself to his regular post at the palace, well 
 suspecting that Candaules would shortly send
 
 350 KING CANDAULES 
 
 for him ; and, however violent the agitation 
 of his feelings, he felt he was not powerful 
 enough to brave the anger of the king, and 
 could in no way escape submitting again to 
 this rdle of confidant, which could thence- 
 forth only inspire him with horror. Having 
 arrived at the palace, he seated himself upon 
 the steps of the cypress-panelled vestibule, 
 leaned his back against a column, and, un- 
 der the pretext of being fatigued by the long 
 vigil under arms, he covered his head with 
 his mantle and feigned sleep to avoid an- 
 swering the questions of the other guards. 
 
 If the night had been terrible to Gyges, it 
 had not been less so to Nyssia, as she never 
 for an instant doubted that he had been pur- 
 posely hidden there by Candaules. The 
 king's persistency in begging her not to veil 
 so austerely a face which the gods had made 
 for the admiration of men, his evident vex- 
 ation upon her refusal to appear in Greek 
 costume at the sacrifices and public solemni- 
 ties, his unsparing raillery at what he termed 
 her barbarian shyness, all tended to convince 
 her that the young Heracleid had sought to 
 admit some one into those mysteries which
 
 KING CANDAULES 351 
 
 should remain secret to all, for without his 
 encouragement no man could have dared to 
 risk himself in an undertaking the discovery 
 of which would have resulted in the punish- 
 ment of a speedy death. 
 
 How slowly did the black hours seem to 
 her to pass! How anxiously did she await 
 the coming of dawn to mingle its bluish tints 
 with the yellow gleams of the almost ex- 
 hausted lamp ! It seemed to her that Apollo 
 would never mount his chariot again, and 
 that some invisible hand was sustaining the 
 sand of the hour-glass in air. Though brief 
 as any other, that night seemed to her like 
 the Cimmerian nights, six long months of 
 darkness. 
 
 While it lasted she lay motionless and 
 rigid at full length on the very edge of her 
 couch in dread of being touched by Can- 
 daules. If she had not up to that night felt 
 a very strong love for the son of Myrsus, she 
 had, at least, ever exhibited toward him that 
 grave and serene tenderness which every vir- 
 tuous woman entertains for her husband, 
 although the altogether Greek freedom of 
 his morals frequently displeased her, and
 
 352 KING CANDAULES 
 
 though he entertained ideas at variance with 
 her own in regard to modesty; but after 
 such an affront she could only feel the chilli- 
 est hatred and most icy contempt for him ; 
 she would have preferred even death to one 
 of his caresses. Such an outrage it was im- 
 possible to forgive, for among the barbarians, 
 and above all among the Persians and Bac- 
 trians, it was held a great disgrace, not for 
 women only, but even for men, to be seen 
 without their garments. 
 
 At length Candaules arose, and Nyssia, 
 awaking from her simulated sleep, hurried 
 from that chamber now profaned in her eyes 
 as though it had served for the nocturnal 
 orgies of Bacchantes and courtesans. It was 
 agony for her to breathe that impure air any 
 longer, and that she might freely give her- 
 self up to her grief she took refuge in "the 
 upper apartments reserved for the women, 
 summoned her slaves by clapping her hands, 
 and poured ewers of water over her shoul- 
 ders, her bosom, and her whole body, as 
 though hoping by this species of lustral ablu- 
 tion to efface the soil imprinted by the eyes 
 of Gyges. She would have voluntarily torn,
 
 KING CANDAULES 353 
 
 as it were, from her body that skin upon 
 which the rays shot from a burning pupil 
 seemed to have left their traces. Taking 
 from the hands of her waiting women the 
 thick downy materials which served to drink 
 up the last pearls of the bath, she wiped her- 
 self with such violence that a slight purple 
 cloud rose to the spots she had rubbed. 
 
 " In vain," she exclaimed, letting the 
 damp tissues fall, and dismissing her attend- 
 ants " in vain would I pour over myself all 
 the waters of all the springs and the rivers ; 
 the ocean with all its bitter gulfs could not 
 purify me. Such a stain may be washed 
 out only with blood. Oh, that look, that 
 look! It has incrusted itself upon me; it 
 clasps me, covers me, burns me like the tunic 
 dipped in the blood of Nessus; I feel it be- 
 neath my draperies, like an envenomed tissue 
 which nothing can detach from my body! 
 Now, indeed, would I vainly pile garments 
 upon garments, select materials the least 
 transparent, and the thickest of mantles. I 
 would none the less bear upon my naked 
 flesh this infamous robe woven by one adul- 
 terous and lascivious glance. Vainly, since 
 23
 
 354 KING CANDAULES 
 
 the hour when I issued from the chaste 
 womb of my mother, have I been brought 
 up in private, enveloped like Isis, the Egyp- 
 tian goddess, with a veil of which none might 
 have lifted the hem without paying for his 
 audacity with his life. In vain have I re- 
 mained guarded from all evil desires, from 
 all profane imaginings, unknown of men, 
 virgin as the snow on which the eagle himself 
 could not imprint the seal of his talons, so 
 loftily does the mountain which it covers lift 
 its head in the pure and icy air. The de- 
 praved caprice of a Lydian Greek has suf- 
 ficed to make me lose in a single instant, 
 without any guilt of mine, all the fruit of 
 long years of precaution and reserve. Inno- 
 cent and dishonored, hidden from all yet 
 made public to all ... this is the lot to 
 which Candaules has condemned me. Who 
 can assure me that, at this very moment, 
 Gyges is not in the act of discoursing upon 
 my charms with some soldiers at the very 
 threshold of the palace ? Oh shame ! Oh 
 infamy! Two men have beheld me naked 
 and yet at this instant enjoy the sweet light 
 of the sun ! Jn what does Nyssia now differ
 
 KING CANDAULES 355 
 
 from the most shameless hetaira, from the 
 vilest of courtesans ? This body which I 
 have striven to render worthy of being the 
 habitation of a pure and noble soul, serves 
 for a theme of conversation ; it is talked of 
 like some lascivious idol brought from Sicyon 
 or from Corinth ; it is commended or found 
 fault with. The shoulder is perfect, the arm 
 is charming, perhaps a little thin what know 
 I ? All the blood of my heart leaps to my 
 cheeks at such a thought. Oh beauty, fatal 
 gift of the gods ! why am I not the wife of 
 some poor mountain goatherd of innocent 
 and simple habits ? He would not have sub- 
 orned a goatherd like himself at the thresh- 
 old of his cabin to profane his humble hap- 
 piness! My lean figure, my unkempt hair, 
 my complexion faded by the burning sun, 
 would then have saved me from so gross an 
 insult, and my honest homeliness would not 
 have been compelled to blush. How shall 
 I dare, after the scene of this night, to pass 
 before those men, proudly erect under the 
 folds of a tunic which has no longer aught 
 to hide from either of them. I should drop 
 dead with shame upon the pavement. Can-
 
 356 KING CANDAULES 
 
 daules, Candaules, I was at least entitled to 
 more respect from you, and there was noth- 
 ing in my conduct which could have pro- 
 voked such an outrage. Was I one of those 
 ones whose arms forever cling like ivy to 
 their husbands' necks, and who seem more 
 like slaves bought with money for a master's 
 pleasure than free-born women of noble 
 blood ? Have I ever after a repast sung 
 amorous hymns accompanying myself upon 
 the lyre, with wine-moist lips, naked shoul- 
 ders, and a wreath of roses about my hair, 
 or given you cause, by any immodest action, 
 to treat me like a mistress whom one shows 
 after a banquet to his companions in de- 
 bauch ?" 
 
 While Nyssia was thus buried in her grief, 
 great tears overflowed from her eyes like 
 rain-drops from the azure chalice of a lotus- 
 flower after some storm, and rolling down 
 her pale cheeks fell upon her fair forlorn 
 hands, languishingly open, like roses whose 
 leaves are half-shed, for no order came from 
 the brain to give them activity. The atti- 
 tude of Niobe, beholding her fourteenth 
 child succumb beneath the arrows of Apollo
 
 KING CANDAULES 357 
 
 and Diana, was not more sadly despairing, 
 but soon starting from this state of prostra- 
 tion, she rolled herself upon the floor, rent 
 her garments, covered her beautiful dishev- 
 elled hair with ashes, tore her bosom and 
 cheeks with her nails amid convulsive sobs, 
 and abandoned herself to all the excesses of 
 Oriental grief, the more violently that she 
 had been forced so long to contain her in- 
 dignation, shame, pangs of wounded dignity, 
 and all the agony that convulsed her soul, 
 for the pride of her whole life had been 
 broken, and the idea that she had nothing 
 wherewith to reproach herself afforded her no 
 consolation. As a poet has said, only the in- 
 nocent know remorse. She was repenting 
 of the crime which another had committed. 
 
 Nevertheless she made an effort to recover 
 herself, ordered the baskets filled with wools 
 of different colors, and the spindles wrapped 
 with flax to be brought to her, and distrib- 
 uted the work to her women as she had been 
 accustomed to do ; but she thought she no- 
 ticed that the slaves looked at her in a very 
 peculiar way, and had ceased to entertain 
 the same timid respect for her as before.
 
 358 KING CANDAULES 
 
 Her voice no longer rang with the same as- 
 surance; there was something humble and 
 furtive in her demeanor; she felt herself in- 
 teriorly fallen. 
 
 Doubtless her scruples were exaggerated, 
 and her virtue had received no stain from 
 the folly of Candaules; but ideas imbibed 
 with a mother's milk obtain irresistible sway, 
 and the modesty of the body is carried by 
 Oriental nations to an extent almost incom- 
 prehensible to Occidental races. When a 
 man desired to speak to Nyssia in the palace 
 of Megabazus at Bactria, he was obliged to 
 do so keeping his eyes fixed upon the ground, 
 and two eunuchs stood beside him, poniard 
 in hand, ready to plunge their keen blades 
 through his heart should he dare lift his head 
 to look at the princess, notwithstanding that 
 her face was veiled. You may readily con- 
 ceive, therefore, how deadly an injury the 
 action of Candaules would seem to a woman 
 thus brought up, while any other would 
 doubtless have considered it only a culpable 
 frivolity. Thus the idea of vengeance had 
 instantly presented itself to Nyssia, and had 
 given her sufficient self-control to strangle
 
 KING CANDAULES 359 
 
 the cry of her offended modesty ere it reached 
 her lips, at the moment when, turning her 
 head, she beheld the burning eyes of Gyges 
 flaming through the darkness. She must 
 have possessed the courage of the warrior in 
 ambush, who, wounded by a random dart, 
 utters no syllable of pain through fear of be- 
 traying himself behind his shelter of foliage 
 or river-reeds, and in silence permits his 
 blood to stripe his flesh with long red lines. 
 Had she not withheld that first impulse to 
 cry aloud, Candaules, alarmed and fore- 
 warned, would have kept upon his guard, 
 which must have rendered it more difficult, 
 if not impossible, to carry out her purpose. 
 
 Nevertheless, as yet she had conceived no 
 definite plan, but she had resolved that the 
 insult done to her honor should be fully ex- 
 piated. At first she had thought of killing 
 Candaules herself while he slept, with the 
 sword hung at the bedside. But she re- 
 coiled from the thought of dipping her beau- 
 tiful hands in blood; she feared lest she 
 might miss her blow ; and, with all her bit- 
 ter anger, she hesitated at so violent and un- 
 womanly an act.
 
 360 KING CANDAULES 
 
 Suddenly she appeared to have decided 
 upon some project. She summoned Statira, 
 one of the waiting women who had come 
 with her from Bactria, and in whom she 
 placed much confidence, and whispered a 
 few words close to her ear in a very low 
 voice, although there were no other persons 
 in the room, as if she feared that even the 
 walls might hear her. 
 
 Statira bowed low, and immediately left 
 the apartment. 
 
 Like all persons who are actually menaced 
 by some great peril, Candaules presumed 
 himself perfectly secure. He was certain 
 that Gyges had stolen away unperceived, 
 and he thought only upon the delight of 
 conversing with him about the unrivalled at- 
 tractions of his wife. 
 
 So he caused him to be summoned, and 
 conducted him to the Court of the Hera- 
 cleidae. 
 
 ' Well, Gyges," he said to him with laugh- 
 ing mien, " I did not deceive you when I 
 assured you that you would not regret hav- 
 ing passed a few hours behind that blessed 
 door. Am I right ? Do you know of any
 
 KING CANDAULES 361 
 
 living woman more beautiful than the 
 queen ? If you know of any superior to 
 her, tell me so frankly, and go bear her in 
 my name this string of pearls, the symbol 
 of power." 
 
 " Sire," replied Gyges in a voice trem- 
 bling with emotion, " no human creature is 
 worthy to compare with Nyssia. It is not 
 the pearl fillet of queens which should adorn 
 her brows, but only the starry crown of the 
 immortals." 
 
 " I well knew that your ice must melt at 
 last in the fires of that sun. Now can you 
 comprehend my passion, my delirium, my 
 mad desires ? Is it not true, Gyges, that 
 the heart of a man is not great enough to 
 contain such a love ? It must overflow and 
 diffuse itself." 
 
 A hot blush overspread the cheeks of 
 Gyges, who now but too well comprehended 
 the admiration of Candaules. 
 
 The king noticed it, and said, with a man- 
 ner half smiling, half serious: 
 
 " My poor friend, do not commit the folly 
 of becoming enamoured of Nyssia; you 
 would lose your pains. It is a statue which
 
 362 KING CANDAULES 
 
 I have enabled you to see, not a woman. I 
 have allowed you to read some stanzas of a 
 beautiful poem, whereof I alone possess 
 the manuscript, merely for the purpose of 
 having your opinion ; that is all." 
 
 ' You have no need, sire, to remind me 
 of my nothingness. Sometimes the hum- 
 blest slave is visited in his slumbers by some 
 radiant and lovely vision, with ideal forms, 
 nacreous flesh, ambrosial hair. I I have 
 dreamed with open eyes; you are the god 
 who sent me that dream." 
 
 " Now," continued the king, " it will 
 scarcely be necessary for me to enjoin silence 
 upon you. If you do not keep a seal upon 
 your lips you might learn to your cost that 
 Nyssia is not as good as she is beautiful." 
 
 The king waved his hand in token of fare- 
 well to his confidant, and retired for the pur- 
 pose of inspecting an antique bed sculptured 
 by Ikmalius, a celebrated artisan, which had 
 been offered him for purchase. 
 
 Candaules had scarcely disappeared when 
 a woman, wrapped in a long mantle so as to 
 leave but one of her eyes exposed, after the 
 fashion of the barbarians, came forth from
 
 KING CANDAULES 363 
 
 the shadow of a column behind which she 
 had kept herself hidden during the conver- 
 sation of the king and his favorite, walked 
 straight to Gyges, placed her finger upon his 
 shoulder, and made a sign to him to follow 
 her. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 STATIRA, followed by Gyges, paused be- 
 fore a little door, of which she raised the 
 latch by pulling a silver ring attached to a 
 leathern strap, and commenced to ascend a 
 stairway with rather high steps contrived in 
 the thickness of the wall. At the head of 
 the stairway was a second door, which she 
 opened with a key wrought of ivory and 
 brass. As soon as Gyges entered she dis- 
 appeared without any further explanation in 
 regard to what was expected of him. 
 
 The curiosity of Gyges was mingled with 
 uneasiness. He could form no idea as to 
 the significance of this mysterious message. 
 He had a vague fancy that he could recog- 
 nize in the silent Iris one of Nyssia's women ; 
 and the way by which she had made him fol-
 
 364 KING CANDAULES 
 
 low her led to the queen's apartments. He 
 asked himself in terror whether he had been 
 perceived in his hiding-place or betrayed by 
 Candaules, for both suppositions seemed 
 probable. 
 
 At the idea that Nyssia knew all, he felt 
 his face bedewed with a sweat alternately 
 burning and icy. He sought to fly, but the 
 door had been fastened upon him by Statira, 
 and all escape was cut off; then he advanced 
 into the chamber, which was shadowed by 
 heavy purple hangings, and found himself 
 face to face with Nyssia. He thought he 
 beheld a statue rise before him, such was 
 her pallor. The hues of life had abandoned 
 her face ; a feeble rose tint alone animated 
 her lips; on her tender temples a few almost 
 imperceptible veins intercrossed their azure 
 network ; tears had swollen her eyelids, and 
 left shining furrows upon the down of her 
 cheeks; the chrysoprase tints of her eyes 
 had lost their intensity. She was even more 
 beautiful and touching thus. Sorrow had 
 given soul to her marmorean beauty. 
 
 Her disordered robe, scarcely fastened to 
 her shoulders, left visible her beautiful bare
 
 KING CANDAULES 365 
 
 arms, her throat, and the commencement of 
 her death-white bosom. Like a warrior van- 
 quished in his first conflict, her beauty had 
 laid down its arms. Of what use to her 
 would have been the draperies which conceal 
 form, the tunics with their carefully fastened 
 folds ? Did not Gyges know her ? Where- 
 fore defend what has been lost in advance ? 
 
 She walked straight to Gyges, and fixing 
 upon him an imperial look, clear and com- 
 manding, said to him, in a quick, abrupt 
 voice : 
 
 " Do not lie; seek no vain subterfuges; 
 have at least the dignity and courage of your 
 crime. I know all ; I saw you ! Not a word 
 of excuse. I would not listen to it. Can- 
 daules himself concealed you behind the 
 door. Is it not so the thing happened ? 
 And you fancy, doubtless, that it is all over ? 
 Unhappily I am not a Greek woman, pliant 
 to the whims of artists and voluptuaries. 
 Nyssia will not serve for any one's toy. 
 There are now two men, one of whom is a 
 man too much upon the earth. He must 
 disappear from it ! Unless he dies, I cannot 
 live. It will be either you or Candaules. I
 
 366 KING CANDAULES 
 
 leave you master of the choice. Kill him, 
 avenge me, and win by that murder both 
 my hand and the throne of Lydia, or else 
 shall a prompt death henceforth prevent you 
 from beholding, through a cowardly com- 
 plaisance, what you have not the right to 
 look upon. He who commanded is more 
 culpable than he who has only obeyed ; and, 
 moreover, should you become my husband, 
 no one will have ever seen me without hav- 
 ing the right to do so. But make your de- 
 cision at once, for two of those four eyes in 
 which my nudity has reflected itself must 
 before this very evening be forever extin- 
 guished." 
 
 This strange alternative, proposed with a 
 terrible coolness, with an immutable resolu- 
 tion, so utterly surprised Gyges, who was 
 expecting reproaches, menaces, and a vio- 
 lent scene, that he remained for several min- 
 utes without color and without voice, livid 
 as a shade on the shores of the black rivers 
 of hell. 
 
 " I ! to dip my hands in the blood of my 
 master! Is it indeed you, O Queen, who 
 demand of me so great a penalty ? I com-
 
 KING CANDAULES 367 
 
 prehend all your anger, I feel it to be just, 
 and it was not my fault that this outrage 
 took place; but you know that kings are 
 mighty, they descend from a divine race. 
 Our destinies repose on their august knees; 
 and it is not we, feeble mortals, who may 
 hesitate at their commands. Their will over- 
 throws our refusal, as a dyke is swept away 
 by a torrent. By your feet that I kiss, by 
 the hem of your robe which I touch as a 
 suppliant, be clement! Forget this injury, 
 which is known to none, and which shall re- 
 main eternally buried in darkness and silence ! 
 Candaules worships you, admires you, and 
 his fault springs only from an excess of love. " 
 " Were you addressing a sphinx of granite 
 in the arid sands of Egypt, you would have 
 more chance of melting her. The winged 
 words might fly uninterruptedly from your 
 lips for a whole olympiad ; you could not 
 move my resolution in the slightest. A 
 heart of brass dwells in this marble breast of 
 mine. Die or kill ! When the sunbeam 
 which has passed through the curtains shall 
 touch the foot of this table let your choice 
 have been made. I wait."
 
 368 KING CANDAULES 
 
 And Nyssia crossed her arms upon her 
 breast in an attitude replete with sombre 
 majesty. 
 
 To behold her standing erect, motionless 
 and pale, her eyes fixed, her brows con- 
 tracted, her hair in disorder, her foot firmly 
 placed upon the pavement, one would have 
 taken her for Nemesis descended from her 
 griffin, and awaiting the hour to smite a 
 guilty one. 
 
 ' The shadowy depths of Hades are vis- 
 ited by none with pleasure," answered 
 Gyges. " It is sweet to enjoy the pure light 
 of day ; and the heroes themselves who dwell 
 in the Fortunate Isles would gladly return 
 to their native land. Each man has the in- 
 stinct of self-preservation, and since blood 
 must flow, let it be rather from the veins of 
 another than from mine." 
 
 To these sentiments, avowed by Gyges 
 with antique frankness, were added others 
 more noble whereof he did not speak. He 
 was desperately in love with Nyssia and jeal- 
 ous of Candaules. It was not, therefore, 
 the fear of death alone that had induced him 
 to undertake this bloody task. The thought
 
 KING CANDAULES 369 
 
 of leaving Candaules in free possession of 
 Nyssia was insupportable to him ; and, more- 
 over, the vertigo of fatality had seized him. 
 By a succession of irregular and terrible 
 events he beheld himself hurried toward the 
 realization of his dreams; a mighty wave 
 had lifted him and borne him on in despite 
 of his efforts ; Nyssia herself was extending 
 her hand to him, to help him to ascend the 
 steps of the royal throne. All this had 
 caused him to forget that Candaules was his 
 master and his benefactor; for none can flee 
 from Fate, and Necessity walks on with nails 
 in one hand and whip in the other, to stop 
 your advance or to urge you forward. 
 
 " It is well," replied Nyssia; " here is the 
 means of execution." And she drew from 
 her bosom a Bactrian poniard, with a jade 
 handle enriched with inlaid circles of white 
 gold. ' This blade is not made of brass, 
 but with iron difficult to work, tempered in 
 flame and water, so that Hephaistos himself 
 could not forge one more keenly pointed or 
 finely edged. It would pierce, like thin 
 papyrus, metal cuirasses and bucklers of 
 dragon's skin. 
 24
 
 370 KING CANDAULES 
 
 ' The time," she continued with the same 
 icy coolness, " shall be while he slumbers. 
 Let him sleep and wake no more! " 
 
 Her accomplice, Gyges, hearkened to her 
 words with stupefaction, for he had never 
 thought he could find such resolution in a 
 woman who could not bring herself to lift 
 her veil. 
 
 " The ambuscade shall be laid in the very 
 same place where the infamous one concealed 
 you in order to expose me to your gaze. At 
 the approach of night I shall turn back one 
 of the folding doors upon you, undress my- 
 self, lie down, and when he shall be asleep 
 I will give you a signal. Above all things, 
 let there be no hesitancy, no feebleness; and 
 take heed that your hand does not tremble 
 when the moment shall have come! And 
 now, for fear lest you might change your 
 mind, I propose to make sure of your per- 
 son until the fatal hour. You might at- 
 tempt to escape, to forewarn your master. 
 Do not think to do so." 
 
 Nyssia whistled in a peculiar way, and im- 
 mediately from behind a Persian tapestry 
 embroidered with flowers, there appeared
 
 KING CANDAULES 371 
 
 four monsters, swarthy, clad in robes diag- 
 onally striped, which left visible arms mus- 
 cled and gnarled as trunks of oaks. Their 
 thick pouting lips, the gold rings which they 
 wore through the partition of their nostrils, 
 their great teeth sharp as the fangs of wolves, 
 the expression of stupid servility on their 
 faces, rendered them hideous to behold. 
 
 The queen pronounced some words in a 
 language unknown to Gyges, doubtless in 
 Bactrian, and the four slaves rushed upon 
 the young man, seized him, and carried him 
 away, even as a nurse might carry off a child 
 in the fold of her robe. 
 
 Now what were Nyssia's real thoughts ? 
 Had she, indeed, noticed Gyges at the time 
 of her meeting with him near Bactria, and 
 preserved some memory of the young cap- 
 tain in one of those secret recesses of the 
 heart where even the most virtuous women 
 always have something buried ? Was the 
 desire to avenge her modesty goaded by 
 some other unacknowledged desire ? And 
 if Gyges had not been the handsomest young 
 man in all Asia would she have evinced the 
 same ardor in punishing Candaules for hav-
 
 372 KING CANDAULES 
 
 ing outraged the sanctity of marriage ? That 
 is a delicate question to resolve, especially 
 after a lapse of three thousand years; and 
 although we have consulted Herodotus, 
 Hephaestion, Plato, Dositheus, Archilochus 
 of Pares, Hesychius of Miletus, Ptolomceus, 
 Euphorion, and all who have spoken either 
 at length or in only a few words concerning 
 Candaules, Nyssia, and Gyges, we have been 
 unable to arrive at any definite conclusion. 
 To pursue so fleeting a shadow through so 
 many centuries, under the ruins of so many 
 crumbled empires, under the dust of de- 
 parted nations, is a work of extreme diffi- 
 culty, not to say impossibility. 
 
 At all events, Nyssia's resolution was im- 
 placably taken ; this murder appeared to her 
 in the light of the accomplishment of a 
 sacred duty. Among the barbarian nations 
 every man who has surprised a woman in 
 her nakedness is put to death. The queen 
 believed herself exercising her right; only 
 inasmuch as the injury had been secret, she 
 was doing herself justice as best she could. 
 The passive accomplice would become the 
 executioner of the other, and the punish.
 
 KING CANDAULES 373 
 
 ment would thus spring from the crime it- 
 self. The hand would chastise the head. 
 
 The olive-tinted monsters shut Gyges up 
 in an obscure portion of the palace, whence 
 it was impossible that he could escape, or 
 that his cries could be heard. 
 
 He passed the remainder of the day there 
 in a state of cruel anxiety, accusing the 
 hours of being lame, and again of walking 
 too speedily. The crime which he was 
 about to commit, although he was only, in 
 some sort, the instrument of it, and though 
 he was only yielding to an irresistible influ- 
 ence, presented itself to his mind in the 
 most sombre colors. If the blow should 
 miss through one of those circumstances 
 which none could foresee ? If the people 
 of Sardes should revolt and seek to avenge 
 the death of the king ? Such were the very 
 sensible though useless reflections which 
 Gyges made while waiting to be taken from 
 his prison and led to the place whence he 
 could only depart to strike his master. 
 
 At last the night unfolded her starry robe 
 in the sky, and its shadow fell upon the city 
 and the palace. A light footstep became
 
 374 KING CANDAULES 
 
 audible, availed woman entered the room and 
 conducted him through the obscure corridors 
 and multiplied mazes of the royal edifice with 
 as much confidence as though she had been 
 preceded by a slave bearing a lamp or a torch. 
 
 The hand which held that of Gyges was 
 cold, soft, and small; nevertheless those 
 slender fingers clasped it with a bruising 
 force, as the fingers of some statue of brass 
 animated by a prodigy would have done. 
 The rigidity of an inflexible will betrayed 
 itself in that ever-equal pressure as of a vise 
 a pressure which no hesitation of head or 
 heart came to vary. Gyges, conquered, sub- 
 jugated, crushed, yielded to that imperious 
 traction, as though he were borne along by 
 the mighty arm of Fate. 
 
 Alas ! it was not thus he had wished to 
 touch for the first time that fair royal hand, 
 which had presented the poniard to him, and 
 was leading him to murder, for it was Nyssia 
 herself who had come for Gyges, to conceal 
 him in the place of ambuscade. 
 
 No word was exchanged between the sin- 
 ister couple on the way from the prison to 
 the nuptial chamber.
 
 KING CANDAULES 375 
 
 The queen unfastened the thongs, raised 
 the bar of the entrance, and placed Gyges 
 behind the folding door as Candaules had 
 done the evening previous. This repetition 
 of the same acts, with so different a purpose, 
 had something of a lugubrious and fatal 
 character. Vengeance, this time, had placed 
 her foot upon every track left by the insult. 
 The chastisement and the crime alike fol- 
 lowed the same path. Yesterday it was the 
 turn of Candaules, to-day it was that of 
 Nyssia; and Gyges, accomplice in the in- 
 jury, was also accomplice in the penalty. 
 He had served the king to dishonor the 
 queen ; he would serve the queen to kill the 
 king, equally exposed by the vices of the 
 one and the virtues of the other. 
 
 The daughter of Megabazus seemed to 
 feel a savage joy, a ferocious pleasure, in 
 employing only the same means chosen by 
 the Lydian king, and turning to account 
 for the murder those very precautions which 
 had been adopted for voluptuous fantasy. 
 
 ' You will again this evening see me take 
 off these garments which are so displeasing 
 to Candaules. This spectacle should be-
 
 3?6 KING CANDAULES 
 
 come wearisome to you," said the queen in 
 accents of bitter irony, as she stood on the 
 threshold of the chamber; " you will end by 
 finding me ugly." And a sardonic, forced 
 laugh momentarily curled her pale mouth; 
 then, regaining her impassible severity of 
 mien, she continued: " Do not imagine you 
 will be able to steal away this time as you 
 did before ; you know my sight is piercing. 
 At the slightest movement on your part I 
 shall awake Candaules ; and you know that 
 it will not be easy for you to explain what 
 you are doing in the king's apartments, be- 
 hind a door, with a poniard in your hand. 
 Further, my Bactrian slaves, the copper- 
 colored mutes who imprisoned you a short 
 time ago, guard all the issues of the palace, 
 with orders to massacre you should you at- 
 tempt to go out. Therefore let no vain 
 scruples of fidelity cause you to hesitate. 
 Think that I will make you King of Sardes, 
 and that ... I will love you if you avenge 
 me. The blood of Candaules will be your 
 purple, and his death will make for you a 
 place in that bed." 
 
 The slaves came according to their custom
 
 KING CANDAULES 377 
 
 to change the fuel in the tripod, renew the 
 oil in the lamps, spread tapestry and the 
 skins of animals upon the royal couch ; and 
 Nyssia hurried into the chamber as soon as 
 she heard their footsteps resounding in the 
 distance. 
 
 In a short time Candaules arrived all joy- 
 ous. He had purchased the bed of Ikmalius 
 and proposed to substitute it for the bed 
 wrought after the Oriental fashion, which he 
 declared had never been much to his taste. 
 He seemed pleased to find that Nyssia had 
 already retired to the nuptial chamber. 
 
 " The trade of embroidery, and spindles, 
 and needles seems not to have the same at- 
 traction for you to-day as usual. In fact, it 
 is a monotonous labor to perpetually pass 
 one thread between other threads, and I 
 wonder at the pleasure which you seem or- 
 dinarily to take in it. To tell the truth, I 
 am afraid that some fine day Pallas-Athena, 
 on finding you so skilful, will break her shut- 
 tle over your head as she once did to poor 
 Arachne. " 
 
 " My lord, I felt somewhat tired this even- 
 ing, and so came down-stairs sooner than
 
 378 KING CANDAULES 
 
 usual. Would you not like before going to 
 sleep to drink a cup of black Sarnian wine 
 mixed with the honey of Hymettus ? ' ' And 
 she poured from a golden urn, into a cup of 
 the same metal, the sombre-colored bever- 
 age which she had mingled with the soporif- 
 erous juice of the nepenthe. 
 
 Candaules took the cup by both handles 
 and drained it to the last drop ; but the 
 young Heracleid had a strong head, and 
 sinking his elbow into the cushions of his 
 couch he watched Nyssia undressing with- 
 out any sign that the dust of sleep was com- 
 mencing to gather upon his eyes. 
 
 As on the evening before, Nyssia unfast- 
 ened her hair and permitted its rich blonde 
 waves to ripple over her shoulders. From 
 his hiding-place Gyges fancied that he saw 
 those locks slowly becoming suffused with 
 tawny tints, illuminated with reflections of 
 blood and flame; and their heavy curls 
 seemed to lengthen with viperine undula- 
 tions, like the hair of the Gorgons and Me- 
 dusas. 
 
 All simple and graceful as that action was 
 in itself, it took from the terrible events
 
 KING CANDAULES 379 
 
 about to transpire a frightful and ominous 
 character, which caused the hidden assassin 
 to shudder with terror. 
 
 Nyssia then unfastened her bracelets, but, 
 agitated as her hands had been by nervous 
 straining, they ill served her will. She broke 
 the string of a bracelet of beads of amber 
 inlaid with gold, which rolled over the floor 
 with a loud noise, causing Candaules to re- 
 open his gradually closing eyes. 
 
 Each one of those beads fell upon the 
 heart of Gyges as a drop of molten lead falls 
 upon water. 
 
 Having unlaced her buskins, the queen 
 threw her upper tunic over the back of an 
 ivory chair. This drapery, thus arranged, 
 produced upon Gyges the effect of one of 
 those sinister-folding winding sheets wherein 
 the dead were wrapped ere being borne to 
 the funeral pyre. Every object in that 
 room, which had the evening before seemed 
 to him one scene of smiling splendor, now 
 appeared to him livid, dim, and menacing. 
 The statues of basalt rolled their eyes and 
 smiled hideously. The lamp flickered 
 weirdly, and its flame dishevelled itself in
 
 380 KING CANDAULES 
 
 red and sanguine rays like the crest of a 
 comet. Far back in the dimly lighted cor- 
 ners loomed the monstrous forms of the 
 Lares and Lemures. The mantles hanging 
 from their hooks seemed animated by a fac- 
 titious life, and assumed a human aspect of 
 vitality; and when Nyssia, stripped of her 
 last garment, approached the bed, all white 
 and naked as a shade, he thought that Death 
 herself had broken the diamond fetters 
 wherewith Hercules of old enchained her at 
 the gates of hell when he delivered Alcestes, 
 and had come in person to take possession 
 of Candaules. 
 
 Overcome by the power of the nepenthe- 
 juice, the king at last slumbered. Nyssia 
 made a sign for Gyges to come forth from 
 his retreat ; and, laying her ringer upon the 
 breast of the victim, she directed upon her 
 accomplice a look so humid, so lustrous, so 
 weighty with languishment, so replete with 
 intoxicating promise, that Gyges, maddened 
 and fascinated, sprang from his hiding-place 
 like the tiger from the summit of the rock 
 where it has been crouching, traversed the 
 chamber at a bound, and plunged the Bac-
 
 KING CANDAULES 381 
 
 trian poniard up to the very hilt in the heart 
 of the descendant of Hercules. The chas- 
 tity of Nyssia was avenged, and the dream 
 of Gyges accomplished. 
 
 Thus ended the dynasty of the Hera- 
 cleidae, after having endured for five hun- 
 dred and five years, and commenced that of 
 the Mermnades in the person of Gyges, son 
 of Dascylus. The Sardians, indignant at 
 the death of Candaules, threatened revolt; 
 but the oracle of Delphi having declared in 
 favor of Gyges, who had sent thither a vast 
 number of silver vases and six golden cratera 
 of the value of thirty talents, the new king 
 maintained his seat on the throne of Lydia, 
 which he occupied for many long years, lived 
 happily, and never showed his wife to any 
 one, knowing too well what it cost.
 
 ADDENDA 
 
 " ONE OF CLEOPATRA'S NIGHTS " 
 
 A. There is no correct English plural of " ne- 
 cropolis " ; the French word necropole is more 
 normal. As the Greek plural could not be used very 
 euphoniously, and as I have tried throughout to 
 render an exact English equivalent for each French 
 word whenever comprehensible, I beg indulgence 
 for the illegitimate plural " necropoli," used to sig- 
 nify more than one necropolis, as an equivalent for 
 the French necropoles. 
 
 B. In the opening scene of " One of Cleopatra's 
 Nights," the reader may be surprised at the expres- 
 sion " the chuckling of the crocodiles." Our own 
 southern alligators often make a little noise which 
 could not be better described a low, guttural sound, 
 bearing a sinister resemblance to a human chuckle 
 or subdued, sneering laugh. A Creole friend who 
 has lived much in those regions of Southern Louisi- 
 ana intersected by bayous and haunted by alligators, 
 comprehended at once the whole force of the term
 
 384 ADDENDA 
 
 rire etouffe as applied to the sounds made by the 
 crocodile. " Je Vai entendu souvent," he said, with 
 a smile. 
 
 "CLARIMONDE" 
 
 The idea of love after death has been introduced 
 by Gautier into several beautiful creations, some- 
 times Hoffmanesquely, sometimes with an exquisite 
 sweetness peculiarly his own. Among his most 
 touching poems there is a fantastic Les T&ches 
 Jaunes so remarkable that I cannot refrain from 
 offering a rude translation of it. Though trans- 
 planted even by a master-hand into the richest soil 
 of another language, such poetical flora necessarily 
 lose something of their strange color and magical 
 perfume. In this instance the translator, who is no 
 poet, only strives to convey the beautiful weirdness 
 of the original idea : 
 
 With elbow buried in the downy pillow 
 
 I've lain and read, 
 All through the night, a volume strangely written 
 
 In tongues long dead. 
 
 For at my bedside lie no dainty slippers ; 
 
 And, save my own, 
 Under the paling lamp I hear no breathing : 
 
 I am alone ! 
 
 But there are yellow bruises on my body 
 
 And violet stains ; 
 Though no white vampire came with lips blood-crimsoned 
 
 To suck my veins !
 
 ADDENDA 385 
 
 Now I bethink me of a sweet weird story, 
 
 That in the dark 
 Our dead loves thus with seal of chilly kisses 
 
 Our bodies mark. 
 
 Gliding beneath the coverings of our couches 
 
 They share our rest, 
 And with their dead lips sign their loving visit 
 
 On arm and breast. 
 
 Darksome and cold the bed where now she slumbers, 
 
 I loved in vain, 
 With sweet soft eyelids closed, to be reopened 
 
 Never again. 
 
 Dead sweetheart, can it be that thou hast lifted 
 
 With thy frail hand 
 Thy coffin-lid, to come to me again 
 
 From Shadowland ? 
 
 Thou who, one joyous night, didst, pale and speechless, 
 
 Pass from us all, 
 Dropping thy silken mask and gift of flowers 
 
 Amidst the ball ? 
 
 Oh, fondest of my loves, from that far heaven 
 
 Where thou must be, 
 Hast thou returned to pay the debt of kisses 
 
 Thou owest me ? 
 
 "ARRIA MARCELLA" 
 
 Gautier doubtless obtained inspiration for this 
 exquisite romance from an old Greek ghost story, 
 25
 
 386 ADDENDA 
 
 first related by Phlegon, the freedman of Hadrian. 
 Versions of it were current in the twelfth and six- 
 teenth centuries ; and Goethe reproduced it in his 
 " Bride of Corinth." We offer a translation from the 
 brief version of Michelet, who accuses Goethe of bad 
 taste for having introduced the Slavic idea of vam- 
 pirism into a purely Greek story. 
 
 * 
 
 * * 
 
 A young Athenian goes to Corinth to visit the 
 house of the man who has promised him his daugh- 
 ter in marriage. He has always remained a pagan, 
 and does not know that the family into which he 
 hopes to enter has been converted to Christianity. 
 He arrives at a very late hour. All are in bed 
 except the mother, who prepares a hospitable repast 
 for him, and then leaves him to repose. He throws 
 himself upon a couch, overwhelmed with fatigue. 
 Scarcely has he closed his eyes, when a figure enters 
 the room ; it is a girl, all clad in white, with a white 
 veil ; there is a black-and-gold fillet about her brows. 
 She beholds him. Astonishment! Lifting her white 
 hand, she exclaims : 
 
 " Am I then such a stranger in the house ? Alas ! 
 poor recluse that I am ! But I am ashamed to be 
 here. I shall now depart. Repose in peace ! " 
 
 " Nay, remain, beautiful young girl ! Behold ! 
 here are Ceres, Bacchus, and, with thee, Love ! Fear 
 not ! be not so pale ! " 
 
 " Ah ! touch me not, young man ! I belong no 
 more to joy, Through a vow made by my sick
 
 ADDENDA 387 
 
 mother, my youth and life are fettered forever. The 
 gods have fled away. And now the only sacrifices 
 are sacrifices of human victims." 
 
 " What ! is it thou ! thou, my beloved affianced, 
 betrothed to me from childhood ! The oath of our 
 fathers bound us together forever under the benedic- 
 tion of heaven ! Oh, virgin, be mine ! " 
 
 " Nay, friend, nay ! not I. Thou shalt have my 
 young sister. If I sigh in my chill prison, thou 
 mayst, at least, while in her arms, think of me, of 
 me who pines and thinks only of thee, and whom the 
 earth must soon cover again." 
 
 " Never ! I swear it by this flame, it is the torch 
 of Hymen. Thou shalt come with me to my father's 
 house. Remain, my well-beloved ! " 
 
 For marriage-gift he offers her a cup of gold. 
 She gives him her chain ; but prefers a lock of his 
 hair to the cup. 
 
 It is the ghostly hour. She sips with her pale lips 
 the dark wine that is the color of blood. Eagerly 
 he drinks after her. He invokes Love. She, though 
 her poor heart was dying for it, nevertheless resists 
 him. But he, in despair, casts himself upon the bed 
 and weeps. Then she, flinging herself down beside 
 him, murmurs : 
 
 " Ah ! how much hurt thy pain causes me ! Yet 
 shouldst thou touch me what horror ! White as 
 snow, cold as ice, alas ! is thy betrothed ! " 
 
 " I shall warm thee, love ! come to me ! even though 
 thou hadst but this moment left the tomb. . . ." 
 
 Sighs and kisses are exchanged. . . . Love
 
 388 ADDENDA 
 
 binds and fetters them. Tears mingle with happi- 
 ness. Thirstily she drinks the fire of his lips; her 
 long-congealed blood takes flame with amorous mad- 
 ness, yet no heart beats in her breast. 
 
 But the mother was there ; listening. Sweet vows ; 
 cries of plaint and pleasure. " Hush," says the 
 bride ; " I hear the cock crow ! Farewell, till to- 
 morrow, after nightfall." Then adieu, and the sound 
 of kisses smothering kisses. 
 
 Indignant, the mother enters. What does she 
 behold ! Her daughter ! He seeks to hide her to 
 veil her ! But she disengages herself ; and waxing 
 taller, towers from the couch to the roof. 
 
 " O, mother, mother ! dost thou then envy me my 
 sweet night ? dost thou seek to drive me from this 
 warm place ? Was it not enough to have wrapped 
 me in the shroud, and borne me so early to the tomb ! 
 But there was a power that lifted the stone ! Vainly 
 did thy priests hum above my grave. What avail 
 salt and water where youth burns ? The earth may 
 not chill love. . . . Thou didst promise me to 
 this youth. ... I come to claim my right. 
 
 " Alack ! friend, thou must die. Here thou must 
 pine and wither away. I possess thy hair ; to-mor- 
 row it shall be white. . . . Mother, a last prayer ! 
 Open my black dungeon ; erect a funeral pyre ; and 
 let the sweetheart obtain the repose that only flames 
 can give. Let the sparks gush out, let the ashes 
 redden ! We return to our ancient gods." [La 
 Sorciere, pages 32-34 ; edition of 1863.
 
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