{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_52225/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_52225","id":"gutenberg_52225","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52225","summary":null,"tags":["Anthony, of Egypt, Saint, approximately 250-355 or 356 -- Fiction","Biographical fiction","Category: French Literature","Category: Novels","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christian fiction","Christian saints -- Fiction","Egypt -- Fiction"],"text":"Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n      See 52225-h.htm or 52225-h.zip:\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/52225/pg52225-images.html)\n      or\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/files/52225/52225-h.zip)\n\n\nNote: Images of the original pages are available through\n      the Google Books Library Project. See\n      https://books.google.com/books?id=9g9EAAAAYAAJ\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\n      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).\n\n      The o-e ligature is represented by [oe].\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE TEMPTATION OF ST. ANTHONY\n\nby\n\nGUSTAVE FLAUBERT\n\nTranslated by Lafcadio Hearn\n\nIllustrations by Odilon Redon\n\n(Added especially for this PG e-book.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nThe Alice Harriman Company\nNew York and Seattle\n1910\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nIt was at some period between 1875 and 1876 that Lafcadio Hearn--still\na \"cub\" reporter on a daily paper in Cincinnati--began his translation\nof Flaubert's \"Temptation of St. Anthony.\" The definitive edition of\nthe work, over which the author had laboured for thirty years, had\nappeared in 1874.\n\nHearn was, in his early youth, singularly indifferent to the work of\nthe Englishmen of the Victorian period. Though he knew the English\nmasterpieces of that epoch, their large, unacademic freedom of manner\nawakened no echoes in his spirit. His instinctive taste was for the\nexquisite in style: for \"that peculiar kneading, heightening, and\nrecasting\" which Matthew Arnold thought necessary for perfection.\nNeither did the matter, more than the manner of the Victorians appeal\nto him. The circumstances of his life had at so many points set him\nout of touch with his fellows that the affectionate mockery of\nThackeray's pictures of English society were alien to his interest.\nThe laughing heartiness of Dickens' studies of the man in the street\nhardly touched him. Browning's poignant analyses of souls were too\nrudely robust of manner to move him. Before essaying journalism Hearn\nhad served for a while as an assistant in the Public Library, and\nthere he had found and fallen under the spell, of the great Frenchman\nof the Romantic School of the '30's--that period of rich flowering of\nthe Gallic genius. Gautier's tales of ancient weirdnesses fired his\nimagination. The penetrating subtleties of his verse woke in the boy\nthe felicitous emotions which the virtuoso knows in handling cameos\nand enamellings by hands which have long been dust. So, also, Hugo's\nrevivals of the passions and terrors of the medi\u00e6val world stirred the\nyoung librarian's eager interest. But most of all his spirit leapt\nto meet the tremendous drama of the \"Temptation.\" He comprehended at\nonce its large significance, its great import, and in his enthusiastic\nrecognition of its value and meaning he set at once about giving it a\nlanguage understood of the people of his own tongue.\n\nTunison tells of the little shy, shabby, half-blind boy--the long\ndull day of police reporting done--labouring at his desk into the\nsmall hours, with the flickering gas jet whistling overhead, and his\nmyopic eyes bent close to the papers which he covered with beautiful,\nalmost microscopic characters--escaping thus from the crass, raw world\nabout him to delicately and painstakingly turn into English stories\nof Cleopatra's cruel, fantastic Egyptian Night's Entertainment.\nWithdrawing himself to transliterate tales of pallid beautiful vampires\ndraining the veins of ardent boys: of lovely faded ghosts of great\nladies descending from shadowy tapestries to coquette with romantic\ndreamers; or to find an English voice for the tragedy of the soul of\nthe Alexandrian cenobite.\n\nIt was in such dreams and labours that he found refuge from the\nenvironment that was so antipathetic to his tastes, and in his\nimmersion in the works of these virtuosos of words, in his passionate\nsearch for equivalents of the subtle nuances of their phrases, he\ndeveloped his own style. A style full of intricate assonances, of a\ntexture close woven and iridescent.\n\n\"One of Cleopatra's Night's\"--a translation of some of Gautier's tales\nof glamour--was issued in 1882, but at \"The Temptation of St. Anthony\"\nthe publishers altogether balked. The manuscript could not achieve even\nso much as a reading. America had in the '70's just begun to emerge\nfrom that state of provincial propriety in which we were accused of\nclothing even our piano legs in pantelettes. The very name of the work\nwas sufficient to start modest shivers down the spine of all well\nregulated purveyors of books. It was largely due to the painters'\nconceptions of the nature of the hermit's trials that the story of\nSaint Anthony's spiritual struggle aroused instinctive terrors in all\ntruly modest natures. The painters--who so dearly love to display their\nskill in drawing legs and busts--had been wont to push the poor old\nsaint into the obscure of the background, and fill all the foreground\nwith ladies of obviously the very lightest character, in garments\nstill lighter, if possible. What had reputable American citizens to do\nwith such as these jades? More especially such jades as seen through\na French imagination! That Flaubert had brushed aside the gross and\njejune conceptions of the painters the publishers would not even take\nthe pains to learn.\n\nIt is amusing now to recall the nervous, timid proprieties of those\ndays. At the time Hearn failed to see the laughable side of it. He was\nthen too young and earnest, too passionate and too melancholy to have a\nsense of its humours.\n\nHe had brought his unfinished manuscript from Cincinnati to New\nOrleans, and had continued to work upon it in strange lodgings in\ngaunt, old half-ruined Creole houses; at the tables of odd little\nFrench caf\u00e9s, or among the queer dishes in obscure Spanish and Chinese\nrestaurants. He had snatched minutes for it amidst the reading and\nclipping of exchanges in a newspaper office; had toiled drippingly\nover it in the liquifying heats of tropic nights; had arisen from the\n\"inexpungable langours\" of yellow fever to complete its last astounding\npages.\n\nI can remember applauding, with ardent youthful sympathy, his tirades\nagainst the stultifying influence of blind puritanism upon American\nliterature. I recall his scornful mocking at the inconsistency which\ncomplacently accepted the vulgar seduction, and the theatrical Brocken\nrevels of Faust, while shrinking piously from Flaubert's grim story of\nthe soul of man struggling to answer the riddle of the universe. He\nhad however an almost equal contempt for the author's countrymen, who\nreceived with eager interest and pleasure the deliberate analysis--in\n_Madame Bovary_--of a woman's degradation and ruin, while they yawned\nover the amazing history of humanity's tremendous spiritual adventures.\nHearn's own sensitiveness shrank in pain from the cold insight which\nuncovered layer by layer the brutal squalour of a woman's moral\ndisintegration. But he was moved and astounded by the revelation, in\nSt. Anthony, of the tragedy and pathos of man's long search for some\nbody of belief or philosophy by which he could explain to himself\nthe strange great phenomena of life and death, and the inscrutable\ncruelties of Nature. The young translator was filled with a sort of\nastonished despair at his inability to make others see the book as\nhe did--not realizing, in his youthful impatience, that the average\nmind clings to the concrete, and is puzzled and terrified by outlines\nof thought too large for its range of vision; that the commonplace\nintelligence cannot \"see the wood for the trees,\" and becomes confused\nand over-weighted when confronted with the huge outlines of so great a\npicture as that drawn by Flaubert in his masterpiece.\n\nThere were many points of resemblance between Lafcadio Hearn and the\ngrandson of the French veterinary. A resemblance rather in certain\nqualities of the spirit than in social conditions and physical\nendowments. Flaubert, born in 1821, was the son of a surgeon. His\nfather was long connected with the H\u00f4tel Dieu of Rouen, in which the\nboy was born, and in which he lived until his eighteenth year, when he\nwent to Paris to study law. One of the friends of his early Parisian\ndays describes him as \"a young Greek. Tall, supple, and as graceful as\nan athlete. He was charming, _mais un peu farouche._ Quite unconscious\nof his physical and mental gifts; very careless of the impression he\nproduced, and entirely indifferent to formalities. His dress consisted\nof a red flannel shirt, trousers of heavy blue cloth, and a scarf of\nthe same colour drawn tight about his slender waist. His hat was worn\n'any how' and often he abandoned it altogether. When I spoke to him of\nfame or influence.... he seemed superbly indifferent. He had no desire\nfor glory or gain.... What was lacking in his nature was an interest in\n_les choses ext\u00e9rieures, choses utiles._\" ...\n\nOne who saw him in 1879 found the young Greek athlete--now close upon\nsixty, and having in the interval created some of the great classics\nof French literature--\"a huge man, a tremendous old man. His long,\nstraggling gray hair was brushed back. His red face was that of a\nsoldier, or a sheik--divided by drooping white moustaches. A trumpet\nwas his voice, and he gesticulated freely ... the colour of his eyes a\nbit of faded blue sky.\"\n\nThe study of the law did not hold Flaubert long. It was one of those\n_choses ext\u00e9rieures, choses utiles_ to which he was so profoundly\nindifferent. Paris bored him. He longed for Rouen, and for his little\nstudent chamber. There he had lain upon his bed whole days at a time;\napparently as lazy as a lizard; smoking, dreaming; pondering the large,\ninchoate, formless dreams of youth.\n\nIn 1845 his father died, and in the following year he lost his sister\nCaroline, whom he had passionately loved, and for whom he grieved\nall his life. He rejoined his mother, and they established themselves\nat Croisset, near Rouen, upon a small inherited property. It was an\nagreeable house, pleasantly situated in sight of the Seine. Flaubert\nnourished with pleasure a local legend that Pascal had once inhabited\nthe old Croisset homestead, and that the Abb\u00e9 Prevost had written\n_Manon Lescaut_ within its walls. Near the house--now gone--he built\nfor himself a pavilion to serve as a study, and in this he spent the\ngreater portion of the following thirty-four years in passionate,\nunremitting labour.\n\nHe made a voyage to Corsica in his youth; one to Brittany, with Maxime\ndu Camp, in 1846; and spent some months in Egypt, Palestine, Turkey,\nand Greece in 1849. This Oriental experience gave him the most intense\npleasure, and was the germ of _Salammbo_, and of the _Temptation of St.\nAnthony._ He never repeated it, though he constantly talked of doing\nso. He nursed a persistent, but unrealized dream of going as far as\nCeylon, whose ancient name, Taprobana, he was never weary of repeating;\nutterance of its melifluous syllables becoming a positive _tic_\nwith him. Despite these yearnings he remained at home. Despite his\nfull-blooded physique he would take no more exercise than his terrace\nafforded, or an occasional swim in the Seine. He smoked incessantly,\nand for months at a stretch worked fifteen hours out of the twenty-four\nat his desk. Three hundred volumes might be annotated for a page of\nfacts. He would write twenty pages, and reduce these by exquisite\nconcisions, by fastidious rejections to three; would search for hours\nfor the one word that perfectly conveyed the colour of his thought, and\nwould--as in the case of the _Temptation_--wait fifteen years for a\nsense of satisfaction with a manuscript before allowing it to see the\nlight. To Maxime du Camp, who urged him to hasten the completion of his\nbook in order to take advantage of a favourable opportunity, he wrote\nangrily:\n\n\"Tu me parais avoir \u00e0 mon endroit un tic ou vice r\u00e9dhibitoire. Il\nne m'emb\u00eate pas; n'aie aucune crainte; mon parti est pris l\u00e0-dessus\ndepuis long temps. Je te dirai seulement que tous ces mots; _se\nd\u00e9p\u00eacher, c'est le moment, place prise, se poser, ..._ sont pour moi un\nvocabulaire vide de sens....\"\n\nIn one of his letters he says that on occasion he worked violently for\neight hours to achieve one page. He endeavoured never to repeat a word\nin that page, and tried to force every phrase to respond to a rhythmic\nlaw. Guy do Maupassant, his nephew and pupil, says that to ensure this\nrhythm Flaubert \"prenait sa feuille de papier, relevait \u00e0 la hauteur du\nregard et, s'appuyant sur un coude, d\u00e9claimait, d'une voix mordant et\nhaute. Il \u00e9coutait la rythme de sa prose, s'arr\u00eatait comme pour saisir\nune sonorit\u00e9 fuyant, combinait les tons, \u00e9loignait les assonances,\ndisposait les virgules avec conscience, commes les haltes d'un long\nchemin.\" ...\n\nFlaubert said himself, \"une phrase est viable quand elle correspond\n\u00e0 toutes les n\u00e9cessit\u00e9s de respiration. Je sais qu'elle est bonne\nlorsqu'elle peut \u00eatre lu tout haut.\"\n\nHenry Irving used to say of himself that it was necessary he should\nwork harder than other actors because nature had dowered him with\nflexibility of neither voice nor feature, and Faguet says that Flaubert\nwas forced to this excessive toil and incessant watchfulness because\nhe did not write well naturally. Nevertheless Flaubert's work did not\nsmell of the lamp. Whatever shape his ideas may have worn at birth\nwhen full grown they moved with large classic grace and freedom,\nsimple, sincere, and beautiful in form. Fran\u00e7ois Copp\u00e9e calls him \"the\nBeethoven of French prose.\"\n\nSo conscientious a workman, so laborious and self-sacrificing an artist\nhad a natural attraction for Lafcadio Hearn, who even in boyhood began\nto feel his vocation as \"a literary monk.\" The whole tendency of his\ntastes prepared him to understand the true importance of Flaubert's\nmasterpiece, fitted him especially of all living writers to turn that\nmasterpiece into its true English equivalent. The two men had much in\ncommon. Both were proud and timid. Both had a fundamental indifference\nto _choses ext\u00e9rieures, choses utiles._ Both were realists of the soul.\nActions interested each but slightly; the emotions from which actions\nsprung very much. To both stupidity was even more antipathetic than\nwickedness, because each realized that nearly all cruelty and vice have\ntheir germ in ignorance and stupidity rather than in innate rascality.\nFlaubert declared, with a sort of rage, that \"la b\u00eatise entre dans\nmes pores.\" He might too have been speaking for Hearn when he said\nthat the grotesque, the strange, and the monstrous had for him an\ninexplicable charm. \"It corresponds,\" he says, \"to the intimate needs\nof my nature--it does not cause me to laugh, but to dream long dreams.\"\nHearn, however, mixed with this triste interest a quality that Flaubert\nseemed almost wholly to lack--a great tenderness for all things humble,\nfeeble, ugly and helpless. Both from childhood were curious of poignant\nsensations, of the sad, the mysterious and the exotic. And for both the\ntropics had an irresistible fascination. Flaubert says, in one of his\nletters:\n\n\"I carry with me the melancholy of the barbaric races, with their\ninstincts of migration, and their innate distaste of life, which forced\nthem to quit their homes in order to escape from themselves. They loved\nthe sun, all those barbarians who came to die in Italy; they had a\nfrenzied aspiration toward the light, toward the blue skies, toward an\nardent existence.... Think that perhaps I will never see China, will\nnever be rocked to sleep by the cadenced footsteps of camels ... will\nnever see the shine of a tiger's eyes in the forest.... You can treat\nall this as little worthy of pity, but I suffer so much when I think of\nit ... as of something lamentable and irremediable.\"\n\nThis is the nostalgia for the strange, for the unaccustomed, that all\nborn wanderers know. Fate arranges it for many of them that their lives\nshall be uneventful, passed in dull, provincial narrowness; but behind\nthese bars the clipped wings of their spirit are always flutteringly\nspread for flight. They know not what they seek, what desire drives\nthem, but a sense of \"the great adventure\" unachieved keeps them\nrestless until they die. It is such as these, these _voyageurs\nempassion\u00e9s_, when condemned by fortune to a static existence--who find\ntheir outlet in mental wanderings amid the unusual, the grotesque,\nand the monstrous. Hearn and Flaubert both were at heart nomads,\nseekers of the unaccustomed; stretching toward immensities of space\nand time, toward the ghostly, the hidden, the unrealized. Like that\nwild fantastic _Chimera_ of the \"Temptation\" each such soul declares\n\"_je cherche des parfums nouveaux, des fleurs plus large, des plaisirs\nin\u00e9prouv\u00e9s._\"\n\nFlaubert was but twenty-six when the first suggestion of his\nmasterpiece came to him. For _La Tentation de St. Antoine_, it is\ncoming to be understood, is his masterpiece; is one of the greatest\nliterary achievements of the French mind. _Madame Bovary_ is more\nwidely famous and popular, but Flaubert himself always deeply resented\nthis preference, and was always astonished at the comparative\nindifference of the world to the \"Temptation.\" He, too, found it\ndifficult to realize how hardly the average mind is awakened to an\ninterest in the incorporeal; how surely cosmic generalizations escape\nthe grasp of the commonplace intelligence.\n\nWagner waited a lifetime before the world was dragged reluctantly and\nresentfully up to a point from which it could discern the superiority\nof the tremendous finale of the G\u00f6tterd\u00e4mmerung to the Christmas-card\nchorus of angels chanting \"_\u00c2me chaste et pure_\" to the beatified\nMarguerite. The whole prodigious structure of Wagner's dramatic and\nmusical thought might have remained a mere adumbration in the soul of\none German had chance not set a mad genius upon the throne of Bavaria.\nThe bourgeoisie would--lacking this royal bullying--have continued to\nprefer Goethe and Gounod. Flaubert's great work unfortunately failed of\nsuch patronage.\n\nIt was in 1845 that an old picture by Breughel, seen at Genoa, first\ninspired Flaubert to attempt the story of St. Anthony. He sought\nout an engraving of this conception of Peter the Younger (surnamed\n\"Hell-Breughel\" for his fondness for such subjects), hung it on his\nwalls at Croisset, and after three years of brooding upon it began,\nMay 24, 1848, _La Tentation de St. Antoine._ In twelve months he had\nfinished the first draught of the work, which bulked to 540 pages. It\nwas laid aside for \"Bovary,\" and a second version of the \"Temptation\"\nwas completed in 1856, but this time the manuscript had been reduced\nto 193 pages, and the \"blazing phrases, the jewelled words, the\nturbulence, the comedy, the mysticism\" of the first version had been\nsuperseded by a larger, more dramatic conception. In 1872 he made still\na new draught, and by this time it had shrunk to 136 pages. He even\nthen eliminated three chapters, and finally gave to the world in 1874\n\"this wonderful coloured panorama of philosophy, this Gulliver-like\ntravelling amid the master ideas of the antique and early Christian\nworlds.\"\n\nFaguet says, \"In its primitive and legendary state the temptation\nof St. Anthony was nothing more than the story of a recluse tempted\nby the Devil through the flesh, by all the artifices at the Devil's\ndisposal. In the definite thought of Flaubert the temptation of St.\nAnthony has become man's soul tempted by all the illusions of human\nthought and imagination. St. Anthony to the eyes of the first naive\nhagiologists is a second Adam, seduced by woman, who was inspired by\nSatan. St. Anthony conceived by Flaubert is a more thoughtful Faust; a\nFaust incapable of irony, not a Faust who could play with illusions and\nwith himself--secretly persuaded that he could withdraw when he chose\nto give himself the trouble to do so--rather a Faust who approached,\naccosted, caressed all possible forms of universal illusions.\"\n\nFlaubert's studies for the \"Temptation\" were tremendous. For nearly\nthirty years he touched and retouched, altered, enlarged, condensed.\nHe kneaded into its substance the knowledge, incessantly sought, of\nall religions and philosophies; of all the forms man's speculations\nhad taken in his endless endeavours to explain to himself Life and\nFate; humanity's untiring, passionate effort to find the meaning of its\nmysterious origin and purpose, and final destiny. How terrible, how\nnaive, how fantastic, bloody, grovelling, and outrageous were most of\nthe solutions accepted, the gigantic panorama of the book startlingly\nsets forth. What gory agonies, what mystic exaltations, what dark\ncruelties, frenzied abandons, and inhuman self denials have marked\nthose puzzled gropings for light and truth are revealed as by lightning\nflashes in the crowding scenes of the epic. For the Temptation of St.\nAnthony is an epic. Not a drama of man's actions, as all previous\nepics have been, but a drama of the soul. All its movement is in the\nadventure and conflict of the spirit. St. Anthony remains always in\nthe one place, almost as moveless as a mirror. His vision--clarified\nof the sensual and the actual by his fastings and macerations--becomes\nlike the surface of an unruffled lake. A lake reflecting the aberrant\nforms of thoughts that, like clouds, drift between man and the infinite\ndepths of knowledge. Clouds of illusion forever changing, melting,\nfusing; assuming forms grotesque, monstrous, intolerable; until at\nlast the writhing mists of speculation and ignorance are drunk up\nby the widening light of wisdom and the fogs and phantasms vanish,\nleaving his consciousness aware, in poignant ecstasy, of the cloudless\ndeeps of truth. The temptation of the flesh is but a passing episode.\nAn eidolon of Sheba's queen offers him luxury, wealth, voluptuous\nbeauty, power, dainty delights of eye and palate in vain. Man has never\nfound his most dangerous seductions in the appetites. More lamentable\ndisintegration has grown from his attempts to pierce beyond the\nbody's veil. The parched and tortured saint is whirled by vertiginous\nvisions through cycles of man's straining efforts to know why, whence,\nwhither. He assists at the rites of Mithira, the prostrations of\nserpent-and-devil-worshippers, worshippers of fire, of light, of the\nGreeks' deified forces of nature; of the northern enthronement of brute\nforce and war. He is swept by the soothing breath of Quietism, plunges\ninto every heresy and philosophy, sees the orgies, the flagellations,\nthe self mutilations, the battles and furies of sects, each convinced\nthat it has found the answer at last to the Great Question, and\nendeavouring to constrain the rest of humanity to accept the answer.\nHe meets the Sphinx--embodied interrogation--and the Chimera--the\nsimulacrum of the fantasies of the imagination--dashing madly about the\nstolid querist.\n\nLucifer--spirit of doubt of all dogmatic solutions--mounts with Anthony\ninto illimitable space. They rise beyond these struggles and furies\ninto the cold uttermost of the universe; among innumerable worlds;\nworlds yet vaguely forming in the womb of time, newly come to birth,\nlustily grown to maturity; worlds dying, decaying, crumbling again into\natomic dust. Overcome by the intolerable Vast, Anthony sinks once more\nto his cell, and Lucifer, who has shown him the macrocosm, opens to\nhim the equal immensity of the microcosm. Makes him see the swarming\nlife that permeates the seas, the earth and atmosphere, the incredible\nnumerousness of the invisible lives that people every drop of water,\nevery grain of sand, every breath of air. The unity of life dawns upon\nhim, and his heart, withered by dubiety, melts into joyousness and\npeace. As the day dawns in gold he beholds the face of Christ.\n\nFlaubert's Lucifer has no relation to the jejune Devil of\nman's early conception of material evil, nor does he resemble\nGoethe's Mephistopheles; embodiment of the Eighteenth Century's\nspirit of sneering disbeliefs and negation. He is rather our own\ntempter--Science. He is the spirit of Knowledge: Nature itself calling\nus to look into the immensities and read just our dogmas by this new\nand terrible widening of our mental and moral horizons. This last\nexperience of the Saint reproduces the spiritual experiences of the\nmodern man; cast loose from his ancient moorings, and yet finding at\nlast in his new knowledge a truer conception of the brotherhood of all\nlife in all its forms, and seeing still, in the growing light, the\nbenignant eyes of God.\n\nIt is not remarkable that Flaubert resented the banality, the dull\ngrossness of the reception of his work, or that Hearn shared his\namazement and bitterness. Even yet the world wakes but slowly to the\ntrue character of this masterpiece; this epic wrought with so great\na care and patience, so instinct with genius, dealing perhaps more\nprofoundly than any other mind has ever done with the Great Adventure\nof humanity's eternal search for Truth.\n\nELIZABETH BISLAND.\n\n\n\n\nARGUMENT\n\n\n\n\nFRAILTY\n\n\nSunset in the desert. Enfeebled by prolonged fasting, the hermit\nfinds himself unable to concentrate his mind upon holy things. His\nthoughts wonder; memories of youth evoke regrets that his relaxed will\ncan no longer find strength to suppress,--and, remembrance begetting\nremembrance, his fancy leads him upon dangerous ground. He dreams of\nhis flight from home,--of Ammonaria, his sister's playmate,--of his\nmisery in the waste,--his visit to Alexandria with the blind monk\nDidymus,--the unholy sights of the luxurious city.\n\nInvoluntarily he yields to the nervous dissatisfaction growing upon\nhim. He laments his solitude, his joylessness, his poverty, the\nobscurity of his life; grace departs from him; hope burns low within\nhis heart. Suddenly revolting against his weakness, he seeks refuge\nfrom distraction in the study of the Scriptures.\n\nVain effort! An invisible hand turns the leaves, placing perilous\ntexts before his eyes. He dreams of the Maccabees slaughtering\ntheir enemies, and desires that he might do likewise with the\nArians of Alexandria;--he becomes inspired with admiration of King\nNebuchadnezzar;--he meditates voluptuously upon the visit of Sheba's\nqueen of Solomon;--discovers a text in the Acts of the Apostles\nantagonistic to principles of monkish ascetism,--indulges in reveries\nregarding the riches of Biblical kings and holy men. The Tempter comes\nto tempt him with evil hallucinations for which the Saint's momentary\nfrailty has paved the way; and with the Evil One come also\n\n\n\nTHE SEVEN DEADLY SINS\n\n\nPhantom gold is piled up to excite Covetousness; shadowy banquets\nappear to evoke Gluttony. The scene shifts to aid the temptations of\nAnger and of Pride....\n\nAnthony finds himself in Alexandria, at the head of a wild army of\nmonks slaughtering the heretics and the pagans, without mercy for\nage or sex. In fantastic obedience to the course of his fancy while\nreading the Scriptures a while before, and like an invisible echo of\nhis evil thoughts, the scene changes again. Alexandria is transformed\ninto Constantinople.\n\nAnthony finds himself the honoured of the Emperor. He beholds the\nvast circus in all its splendour, the ocean of faces, the tumult of\nexcitement. Simultaneously he beholds his enemies degraded to the\ncondition of slaves, toiling in the stables of Constantine. He feels\njoy in the degradation of the Fathers of Nic\u00e6a. Then all is transformed.\n\nIt is no longer the splendour of Constantinople he beholds under the\nluminosity of a Greek day; but the prodigious palace of Nebuchadnezzar\nby night. He beholds the orgies, the luxuries, the abominations;--and\nthe spirit of Pride enters triumphantly into him as the spirit of\nNebuchadnezzar....\n\nAwaking as from a dream, he finds himself again before his hermitage.\nA vast caravan approaches, halts; and the Queen of Sheba descends to\ntempt the Saint with the deadliest of all temptations. Her beauty is\nenhanced by oriental splendour of adornment; her converse is a song of\nwithcraft. The Saint remains firm.... The Seven Deadly Sins depart\nfrom him.\n\n\n\nTHE HERESIARCHS\n\n\nBut now the tempter assumes a subtler form. Under the guise of a former\ndisciple of Anthony,--Hilarion,--the demon, while pretending to seek\ninstruction, endeavours to poison the mind of Anthony with hatred of\nthe fathers of the church. He repeats all the scandals amassed by\necclesiastical intriguers, all the calumnies created by malice;--he\ncites texts only to foment doubt, and quotes the evangels only to\nmake confusion. Under the pretext of obtaining mental enlightenment\nfrom the wisest of men, he induces Anthony to enter with him into\na spectral basilica, wherein are assembled all the Heresiarchs of\nthe third century. The hermit is confounded by the multitude of\ntenets,--horrified by the blasphemies and abominations of Elkes,\nCorpocrates, Valentinus, Manes, Cerdo,--disgusted by the perversions of\nthe Paternians, Marcosians, Montanists, Serptians,--bewildered by the\napocryphal Gospels of Eve and of Judas, of the Lord, and of Thomas.\n\nAnd Hilarion grows taller.\n\n\nTHE MARTYRS\n\nAnthony finds himself in the dungeons of a vast amphitheatre, among\nChristians condemned to the wild beasts. By this hallucination the\ntempter would prove to the Saint that martyrdom is not always suffered\nfor purest motives. Anthony finds the martyrs possessed by bigotry and\ninsincerity. He sees many compelled to die against their will; many\nwho would forswear their faith could it avail them aught. He beholds\nheretics die for their heterodoxy more nobly than orthodox believers.\n\nAnd he finds himself transported to the tombs of the martyrs. He\nwitnesses the meetings of Christian women at the sepulchres. He beholds\nthe touching ceremonies of prayer, change into orgies,--lamentations\ngive place to amorous dalliance.\n\n\n\nTHE MAGICIANS\n\n\nThen the Tempter seeks to shake Anthony's faith in the excellence\nand evidence of miracles. He assumes the form of a Hindoo Brahmin,\nterminating a life of wondrous holiness by self-cremation;--he appears\nas Simon Magus and Helen of Tyre,--as Appollonius of Tyans, greatest of\nall thaumaturgists, who claims superiority to Christ. All the marvels\nrelated by Philostratus are embodied in the converse of Apollonius and\nDamis.\n\n\n\nTHE GODS\n\n\nHilarion reappears taller than ever, growing more gigantic in\nproportion to the increasing weakness of the Saint. Standing beside\nAnthony he evokes all the deities of the antique world. They defile\nbefore him in a marvellous panorama:--Gods of Egypt and India, Chaldea\nand Hellas, Babylon and Ultima Thule,--monstrous and multiform, phallic\nand ithyphallic, fantastic or obscene. Some intoxicate by their beauty;\nothers appall by their foulness. The Buddha recounts the story of his\nwondrous life; Venus displays the rounded daintiness of her nudity;\nIsis utters awful soliloquy. Lastly the phantom of Jehovah appears, as\nthe shadow of a god passing away forever.\n\nSuddenly the stature of Hilarion towers to the stars; he assumes the\nlikeness and luminosity of Lucifer; he announces himself as\n\n\n\nSCIENCE\n\n\nAnd Anthony is lifted upon mighty wings and borne away beyond the\nworld, above the solar system, above the starry arch of the Milky Way.\nAll future discoveries of Astronomy are revealed to him. He is tempted\nby the revelation of innumerable worlds,--by the refutation of all\nhis previous ideas of the nature of the Universe,--by the enigmas of\ninfinity,--by all the marvels that conflict with faith. Even in the\nnight of immensity the demon renews the temptation of reason: Anthony\nwavers upon the verge of pantheism.\n\n\n\nLUST AND DEATH\n\n\nAnthony abandoned by the spirit of Science comes to himself in the\ndesert. Then the Tempter returns under a two-fold aspect: as the\nSpirit of Lust and the Spirit of Destruction. The latter urges him to\nsuicide,--the former to indulgence of sense. They inspire him with\nstrong fancies of palingenesis, of the illusion of death, of the\ncontinuity of life. The pantheistic temptation intensified.\n\n\n\nTHE MONSTERS\n\n\nAnthony in reveries meditates upon the monstrous symbols painted upon\nthe walls of certain ancient temples. Could he know their meaning\nhe might learn also something of the secret lien between Matter and\nThought. Forthwith a phantasmagoria of monsters commence to pass before\nhis eyes:--the Sphinx and the Chimera, the Blemmyes and Astomi, the\nCynocephali and all creatures of mythologie creation. He beholds the\nfabulous beings of Oriental imagining,--the abnormities described\nby Pliny and Herodotus, the fantasticalities to be later adopted by\nheraldry,--the grotesqueries of future medieval illumination made\nanimate;--the goblinries and foulnesses of superstitious fancy,--the\nWitches' Sabbath of abominations.\n\n\n\nMETAMORPHOSIS\n\n\nThe multitude of monsters melts away; the land changes into an Ocean;\nthe creatures of the briny abysses appear. And the waters in turn\nalso change; seaweeds are transformed to herbs, forests of coral\ngive place to forests of trees, polypous life changes to vegetation.\nMetals crystallize; frosts effloresce; plants become living things,\ninanimate matter takes animate form, monads vibrate, the pantheism of\nnature makes itself manifest. Anthony feels a delirious desire to unite\nhimself with the Spirit of Universal Being....\n\nThe vision vanishes. The sun arises. The face of Christ is revealed.\nThe temptation has passed; Anthony kneels in prayer.\n\nL. H.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TEMPTATION OF ST. ANTHONY\n\n\n_It is in the Thebaid at the summit of a mountain, upon a platform,\nrounded off into the form of a demilune, and enclosed by huge stones._\n\n_The Hermit's cabin appears in the background. It is built of mud and\nreeds, it is flat-roofed and doorless. A pitcher and a loaf of black\nbread can be distinguished within also, in the middle of the apartment\na large book resting on a wooden STELA; while here and there, fragments\nof basketwork, two or three mats, a basket, and a knife lie upon the\nground._\n\n_Some ten paces from the hut, there is a long cross planted in the\nsoil; and, at the other end of the platform, an aged and twisted\npalm tree leans over the abyss; for the sides of the mountain are\nperpendicular, and the Nile appears to form a lake at the foot of the\ncliff._\n\n_The view to right and left is broken by the barrier of rocks. But\non the desert-side, like a vast succession of sandy beaches, immense\nundulations of an ashen-blonde color extend one behind the other,\nrising higher as they recede; and far in the distance, beyond the\nsands, the Libyan chain forms a chalk-colored wall, lightly shaded by\nviolet mists. On the opposite side the sun is sinking. In the north the\nsky is of a pearl-gray tint, while at the zenith purple clouds disposed\nlike the tufts of a gigantic mane, lengthen themselves against the blue\nvault. These streaks of flame take darker tones; the azure spots turn\nto a nacreous pallor; the shrubs, the pebbles, the earth, all now seem\nhard as bronze; and throughout space there floats a golden dust so fine\nas to become confounded with the vibrations of the light._\n\n_Saint Anthony, who has a long beard, long hair, and wears a tunic of\ngoatskin, is seated on the ground cross-legged, and is occupied in\nweaving mats. As soon as the sun disappears, he utters a deep sigh,\nand, gazing upon the horizon, exclaims_:--\n\n\"Another day! another day gone! Nevertheless formerly I used not to\nbe so wretched. Before the end of the night I commenced my orisons;\nthen I descended to the river to get water, and remounted the rugged\npathway with the skin upon my shoulder, singing hymns on the way. Then\nI would amuse myself by arranging everything in my hut. I would make my\ntools; I tried to make all my mats exactly equal in size, and all my\nbaskets light; for then my least actions seemed to me duties in nowise\ndifficult or painful of accomplishment.\n\n\"Then at regular hours I ceased working; and when I prayed with my arms\nextended, I felt as though a fountain of mercy were pouring from the\nheight of heaven into my heart. That fountain is now dried up. Why?\"\n\n(_He walks up and down slowly, within the circuit of the rocks._)\n\n\"All blamed me when I left the house. My mother sank to the ground,\ndying; my sister from afar off made signs to me to return; and the\nother--wept, Ammonaria, the child whom I used to meet every evening\nat the cistern, when she took the oxen to drink. She ran after me. Her\nfoot rings glittered in the dust; and her tunic, open at the hips,\nfluttered loosely in the wind. The aged anchorite who was leading me\naway called her vile names. Our two camels galloped forward without\nrespite; and I have seen none of my people since that day.\n\n\"At first, I selected for my dwelling place, the tomb of a Pharaoh. But\nan enchantment circulates through all those subterranean palaces, where\nthe darkness seems to have been thickened by the ancient smoke of the\naromatics. From the depths of Sarcophagi, I heard doleful voices arise,\nand call my name; or else, I suddenly beheld the abominable things\npainted upon the walls live and move; and I fled away to the shore\nof the Red Sea, and took refuge in a ruined citadel. There my only\ncompanions were the scorpions dragging themselves among the stones, and\nthe eagles continually wheeling above my head, in the blue of heaven.\nAt night I was torn by claws, bitten by beaks; soft wings brushed\nagainst me; and frightful demons, shrieking in my ears, flung me upon\nthe ground. Once I was even rescued by the people of a caravan going\nto Alexandria; and they took me away with them.\n\n\"Then I sought to obtain instruction from the good old man Didymus.\nAlthough blind, none equalled him in the knowledge of the Scriptures.\nWhen the lesson was finished, he used to ask me to give him my arm\nto lean upon, that we might walk together. Then I would conduct him\nto the Paneum, whence may be seen the Pharos and the open sea. Then\nwe would return by way of the post, elbowing men of all nations,\neven Cimmerians clad in the skins of bears and Gymnosophists of the\nGanges anointed with cow-dung. But there was always some fighting in\nthe streets--either on account of the Jews refusing to pay taxes, or\nof seditious people who wished to drive the Romans from the city.\nMoreover, the city is full of heretics--followers of Manes; Valentinus,\nBasilides, Arius--all seeking to engross my attention in order to argue\nwith me and to convince me.\n\n\"Their discourses often come back to my memory. Vainly do I seek to\nbanish them from my mind. They trouble me!\n\n\"I took refuge at Colzin, and there lived a life of such penance that\nI ceased to fear God. A few men, desirous of becoming anchorites,\ngathered about me. I imposed a practical rule of life upon them,\nhating, as I did, the extravagance of Gnosus and the assertions of the\nphilosophers. Messages were sent to me from all parts, and men came\nfrom afar off to visit me.\n\n\"Meanwhile the people were torturing the confessors; and the thirst of\nmartyrdom drew me to Alexandria. The persecution had ceased three days\nbefore I arrived there!\n\n\"While returning thence, I was stopped by a great crowd assembled\nbefore the temple of Serapis. They told me it was a last example which\nthe Governor had resolved to make. In the centre of the portico, under\nthe sunlight, a naked woman was fettered to a column, and two soldiers\nwere flogging her with thongs; at every blow her whole body writhed.\nShe turned round, her mouth open; and over the heads of the crowd,\nthrough the long hair half hiding her face, I thought that I could\nrecognize Ammonaria....\n\n[Illustration: ... through the long hair half hiding her face,\nI thought that I could recognize Ammonaria]\n\n\"Nevertheless ... this one was taller ... and beautiful ...\nprodigiously beautiful!\"\n\n(_He passes his hands over his forehead._)\n\n\"No! no! I must not think of it!\n\n\"Another time Athanasius summoned me to assist him against the Arians.\nThe contest was limited to invectives and laughter. But since that\ntime he has been calumniated, dispossessed of his see, obliged to fly\nfor safety elsewhere. Where is he now? I do not know! The people give\nthemselves very little trouble to bring me news. All my disciples have\nabandoned me--Hilarion like the rest.\n\n\"He was perhaps fifteen years of age when he first came to me and his\nintelligence was so remarkable that he asked me questions incessantly.\nThen he used to listen to me with a pensive air, and whatever I needed\nhe brought it to me without a murmur--nimbler than a kid, merry enough\nto make even the patriarchs laugh. He was a son to me.\"\n\n(_The sky is red; the earth completely black. Long drifts of sand\nfollow the course of the gusts of wind, rising like great shrouds and\nfalling again. Suddenly against a bright space in the sky a flock of\nbirds pass, forming a triangular battalion, gleaming like one sheet of\nmetal, of which the edges alone seem to quiver._\n\n_Anthony watches them._)\n\n\"Ah, how I should like to follow them.\n\n\"How often also have I enviously gazed upon those long vessels,\nwhose sails resemble wings--and above all when they were bearing\nfar away those I had received at my hermitage! What pleasant hours\nwe passed!--what out-pourings of feeling! No one ever interested me\nmore than Ammon: he told me of his voyage to Rome, of the Catacombs,\nthe Coliseum, the piety of illustrious women, and a thousand other\nthings!--and it grieved me to part with him! Wherefore my obstinacy\nin continuing to live such a life as this? I would have done well to\nremain with the monks of Nitria, inasmuch as they supplicated me to\ndo so. They have cells apart, and nevertheless communicate with each\nother. On Sundays a trumpet summons them to assemble at the church,\nwhere one may see three scourges hanging up, which serve to punish\ndelinquents, robbers, and intruders; for their discipline is severe.\n\n\"Nevertheless they are not without some enjoyments. The faithful bring\nthem eggs, fruits, and even instruments with which they can extract\nthorns from their feet. There are vineyards about Prisperi; those\ndwelling at Pabena have a raft on which they may journey when they go\nto seek provisions.\n\n\"But I might have served my brethren better as a simple priest. As a\npriest one may aid the poor, administer the sacraments, and exercise\nauthority over families.\n\n\"Furthermore, all laics are not necessarily damned, and it only\ndepended upon my own choice to become--for example--a grammarian, a\nphilosopher. I would then have had in my chamber a sphere of reeds,\nand tablets always ready at hand, young men around me, and a wreath of\nlaurel suspended above my door, as a sign.\n\n\"But there is too much pride in triumphs such as those. A soldier's\nlife would have been preferable. I was robust and bold: bold enough to\nfasten the cables of the military machines--to traverse dark forests,\nor to enter, armed and helmeted, into smoking cities.... Neither was\nthere anything to have prevented me from purchasing with my money the\nposition of publican at the toll-office of some bridge; and travellers\nwould have taught me many strange things, and told me strange stories,\nthe while showing me many curious objects packed up among their\nbaggage....\n\n\"The merchants of Alexandria sail upon the river Canopus on holidays,\nand drink wine in the chalices of lotus-flowers, to a music of\ntambourines which makes the taverns along the shore tremble! Beyond,\ntrees, made cone-shaped by pruning, protect the quiet farms against\nthe wind of the south. The roof of the lofty house leans upon thin\ncolonettes placed as closely together as the laths of a lattice;\nand through their interspaces the master, reclining upon his long\ncouch, beholds his plains stretching about him--the hunter among the\nwheat-fields--the winepress where the vintage is being converted into\nwine, the oxen treading out the wheat. His children play upon the floor\naround him; his wife bends down to kiss him.\"\n\n(_Against the grey dimness of the twilight, here and there appear\npointed muzzles, with straight, pointed ears and bright eyes. Anthony\nadvances toward them. There is a sound of gravel crumbling down; the\nanimals take flight. It was a troop of jackals._\n\n_One still remains, rising upon his hinder legs, with his body half\narched and head raised in an attitude full of defiance._)\n\n\"How pretty he is! I would like to stroke his back gently!\"\n\n(_Anthony whistles to coax him to approach. The jackal disappears._)\n\n\"Ah! he is off to join the others. What solitude! what weariness!\"\n(_Laughing bitterly._)\n\n\"A happy life this indeed!--bending palm-branches in the fire to make\nshepherds' crooks, fashioning baskets, stitching mats together--and\nthen exchanging these things with the Nomads for bread which breaks\none's teeth! Ah! woe, woe is me! will this never end? Surely death were\npreferable! I can endure it no more! Enough! enough!\"\n\n(_He stamps his foot upon the ground, and rushes frantically to and fro\namong the rocks; then pauses, out of breath, bursts into tears, and\nlies down upon the ground, on his side._\n\n_The night is calm; multitudes of stars are palpitating; only the\ncrackling noise made by the tarantulas is audible._\n\n_The two arms of the cross make a shadow upon the sand; Anthony, who is\nweeping, observes it._)\n\n\"Am I, then, so weak, O my God! Courage, let me rise from here!\"\n\n(_He enters his hut, turns over a pile of cinders, finds a live ember,\nlights his torch and fixes it upon the wooden desk, so as to throw a\nlight upon the great book._)\n\n\"Suppose I take the Acts of the Apostles?--yes!--no matter where!\"\n\n_'And he saw the heaven opened, and a certain vessel descending, as it\nwere a great linen sheet let down by the four corners from heaven to\nthe earth--wherein were all manner of four-footed beasts, and creeping\nthings of the earth and fowls of the air. And there came a voice to\nhim: Arise, Peter! Kill and eat!'_[1]\n\n\"Then the Lord desired that his apostle should eat of all things?...\nwhile I....\"\n\n(_Anthony remains thoughtful, his chin resting against his breast. The\nrustling of the pages, agitated by the wind, causes him to lift his\nhead again; and he reads_:)\n\n_'So the Jews made a great slaughter of their enemies with the sword,\nand killed them, repaying according to what they had prepared to do to\nthem...._[2]\n\n\"Then, comes the number of people slain by them--seventy-five thousand.\nThey had suffered so much! Moreover, their enemies were the enemies of\nthe true God. And how they must have delighted in avenging themselves\nthus by the massacre of idolaters! Doubtless the city must have been\ncrammed with the dead! There must have been corpses at the thresholds\nof the garden gates, upon the stairways, in all the chambers, and piled\nup so high that the doors could no longer move upon their hinges!...\nBut lo! here I am permitting my mind to dwell upon ideas of murder and\nof blood!...\"\n\n(_He opens the book at another place._)\n\n_'Then King Nabuchodonosor fell on his face, and worshipped\nDaniel...._'[3]\n\n\"Ah! that was just! The _Most High_ exalts his prophets above Kings;\nyet that monarch spent his life in banqueting, perpetually drunk with\npleasure and pride. But God, to punish him, changed him into a beast!\nHe walked upon four feet!\"\n\n(_Anthony begins to laugh; and in extending his arms, involuntarily\ndisarranges the leaves of the book with the tips of his fingers. His\neyes fell upon this phrase_:--)\n\n_'And Ezechias rejoiced at their coming, and he showed them the house\nof his aromatical spices, and the gold and the silver, and divers\nprecious odours and ointments, and the house of his vessels, and all\nthat he had in his treasures....'_[4]\n\n\"I can imagine that spectacle; they must have beheld precious stones,\ndiamonds and darics heaped up to the very roof. One who possesses so\nvast an accumulation of wealth is no longer like other men. While\nhandling his riches he knows that he controls the total result of\ninnumerable human efforts--as it were the life of nations drained by\nhim and stored up, which he can pour forth at will. It is a commendable\nprecaution on the part of Kings. Even the _Wisest_ of all did not\nneglect it. His navy brought him elephants' teeth and apes.... Where is\nthat passage?\"\n\n(_He turns the leaves over rapidly._)\n\n\"Ah! here it is:\"\n\n_'And the Queen of Saba, having heard of the fame of Solomon in the\nname of the Lord, came to try him with hard questions.'_[5]\n\n\"How did she hope to tempt him? The _Devil_ indeed sought to tempt\nJesus! But Jesus triumphed because he was God; and Solomon, perhaps,\nowing this knowledge of magic! It is sublime--that science! For the\nworld--as a philosopher once explained it to me, forms a whole, of\nwhich all parts mutually influence one another, like the organs of one\nbody. It is science which enables us to know the natural loves and\nnatural repulsions of all things, and to play upon them?... Therefore,\nit is really possible to modify what appears to be the immutable order\nof the universe?\"\n\n(_Then the two shadows formed behind him by the arms of the cross,\nsuddenly lengthen and project themselves before him. They assume the\nform of two great horns. Anthony cries out_:--)\n\n\"Help me! O my God!\"\n\n[Illustration: Saint Anthony: Help me, O my God!]\n\n(_The shadows shrink back to their former place._)\n\n\"Ah!... it was an illusion ... nothing more. It is needless for me to\ntorment my mind further! I can do nothing!--absolutely nothing.\"\n\n(_He sits down and folds his arms._)\n\n\"Nevertheless ... it seems to me that I felt the approach of.... But\nwhy should _He_ come? Besides, do I not know all his artifices? I\nrepulsed the monstrous anchorite who laughingly offered me little\nloaves of warm, fresh bread, the centaur who sought to carry me away\nupon his croup, and that black child who appeared to me in the midst of\nthe sands, who was very beautiful, and who told me that he was called\nthe Spirit of Lust!\"\n\n(_Anthony rises and walks rapidly up and down, first to the right, then\nto the left._)\n\n\"It was by my order that this multitude of holy retreats was\nconstructed--full of monks all wearing sackcloth of camel's hair\nbeneath their garments of goatskin, and numerous enough to form an\narmy. I have cured the sick from afar off; I have cast out demons;\nI have passed the river in the midst of crocodiles; the Emperor\nConstantine wrote me throe letters; Balacius, who had spat upon mine,\nwas torn to pieces by his own horses; when I reappeared the people of\nAlexandria fought for the pleasure of seeing me, and Athanasius himself\nescorted me on the way back. But what works have I not accomplished\nLo! for these thirty years and more I have been dwelling and groaning\nunceasingly in the desert! Like Eusebius, I have carried thirty-eight\npounds of bronze upon my loins; like Macarius, I have exposed my body\nto the stings of insects; like Pacomus, I have passed fifty-three\nnights without closing my eyes; and those who are decapitated, tortured\nwith red hot pincers, or burned alive, are perhaps less meritorious\nthan I, seeing that my whole life is but one prolonged martyrdom.\"\n(_Anthony slackens his pace._)\n\n\"Assuredly there is no human being in a condition of such unutterable\nmisery! Charitable hearts are becoming scarcer. I no longer receive\naught from any one. My mantle is worn out. I have no sandals--I have\nnot even a porringer!--for I have distributed all I possessed to the\npoor and to my family, without retaining so much as one obolus. Yet\nsurely I ought to have a little money to obtain the tools indispensable\nto my work? Oh, not much! a very small sum.... I would be very saving\nof it....\n\n\"The fathers of Nic\u00e6a, clad in purple robes, sat like magi, upon\nthrones ranged along the walls; and they were entertained at a great\nbanquet and overwhelmed with honours, especially Paphnutius, because he\nis one-eyed and lame, since the persecution of Diocletian! The Emperor\nkissed his blind eye several times; what foolishness! Besides, there\nwere such infamous men members of that Council! A bishop of Scythia,\nTheophilus! another of Persia, John! a keeper of beasts, Spiridion!\nAlexander was too old. Athanasius ought to have shown more gentleness\ntowards the Arians, so as to have obtained concessions from them.\n\n\"Yet would they have made any? They would not hear me! The one who\nspoke against me--a tall young man with a curly beard--uttered the\nmost captious objections to my argument; and while I was seeking words\nto express my views they all stared at me with their wicked faces,\nand barked like hyenas. Ah! why cannot I have them all exiled by the\nEmperor! or rather have them beaten, crushed, and see them suffer! I\nsuffer enough myself.\"\n\n(_He leans against his cabin in a fainting condition._)\n\n\"It is because I have fasted too long; my strength is leaving me. If I\ncould eat--only once more--a piece of meat.\" (_He half closes his eyes\nwith languor._)\n\n\"Ah! some red flesh--a bunch of grapes to bite into ... curdled milk\nthat trembles on a plate!...\n\n\"But what has come upon me? What is the matter with me? I feel my heart\nenlarging like the sea, when it swells before the storm. An unspeakable\nfeebleness weighs down upon me, and the warm air seems to waft me\nthe perfume of a woman's hair. No woman has approached this place;\nnevertheless?--\"\n\n(_He gazes toward the little pathway between the rocks._)\n\n\"That is the path by which they come, rocked in their litters by the\nblack arms of the eunuchs. They descend and joining their hands,\nheavy with rings, kneel down before me. They relate to me all their\ntroubles. The desire of human pleasure tortures them; they would\ngladly die; they have seen in their dreams God calling to them ... and\nall the while the hems of their robes fall upon my feet. I repel them\nfrom me. 'Ah! no!' they cry, 'not yet! What shall I do?' They gladly\naccept any penitence I impose on them. They ask for the hardest of all;\nthey beg to share mine and to live with me.\n\n\"It is now a long time since I have seen any of them! Perhaps some of\nthem will come! why not? If I could only hear again, all of a sudden,\nthe tinkling of mule-bells among the mountains. It seems to me....\"\n\n(_Anthony clambers upon a rock at the entrance of the pathway, and\nleans over, darting his eyes into the darkness._)\n\n\"Yes! over there, far off I see a mass moving, like a band of\ntravellers seeking the way. _She_ is there!... They are making a\nmistake.\" (_Calling._)\n\n\"This way! Come! Come!\"\n\n(_Echo repeats: Come! Come! he lets his arms fall, stupefied._)\n\n\"What shame for me! Alas! poor Anthony.\"\n\n(_And all of a sudden he hears a whisper:--\"Poor Anthony\"!_)\n\n\"Who is there? Speak!\"\n\n(_The wind passing through the intervals between the rocks, makes\nmodulations; and in those confused sonorities he distinguishes Voices,\nas though the air itself were speaking. They are low, insinuating,\nhissing._)\n\n_The First_: \"Dost thou desire women?\"\n\n_The Second_: \"Great heaps of money, rather!\"\n\n_The Third_: \"A glittering sword?\" (_and_)\n\n_The Others_: \"All the people admire thee! Sleep!\"\n\n\"Thou shalt slay them all, aye, thou shalt slay them!\"\n\n(_At the same moment objects become transformed. At the edge of the\ncliff, the old palm tree with its tuft of yellow leaves, changes into\nthe torso of a woman leaning over the abyss, her long hair waving in\nthe wind.\n\nAnthony turns toward his cabin; and the stool supporting the great book\nwhose pages are covered with black letters, seems to him changed into a\nbush all covered with nightingales._)\n\n\"It must be the torch which is making this strange play of light....\nLet us put it out!\"\n\n(_He extinguishes it; the obscurity becomes deeper, the darkness\nprofound._\n\n_And suddenly in the air above there appear and disappear\nsuccessively--first, a stretch of water; then the figure of a\nprostitute; the corner of a temple, a soldier; a chariot with two white\nhorses, prancing._\n\n_These images appear suddenly, as in flashes--outlined against the\nbackground of the night, like scarlet paintings executed upon ebony._\n\n_Their motion accelerates. They defile by with vertiginous rapidity.\nSometimes again, they pause and gradually pale and melt away; or else\nfloat off out of sight, to be immediately succeeded by others._\n\n_Anthony closes his eyelids._\n\n_They multiply, surround him, besiege him. An unspeakable fear takes\npossession of him; and he feels nothing more of living sensation, save\na burning contraction of the epigastrium. In spite of the tumult in\nhis brain, he is aware of an enormous silence which separates him from\nthe world. He tries to speak;--impossible! He feels as though all the\nbands of his life were breaking and dissolving;--and, no longer able to\nresist, Anthony falls prostrate upon his mat._)\n\n\n[1] Acts X: 11-13--T.\n\n[2] Esther IX: 5--T.\n\n[3] Daniel II: 46.--T.\n\n[4] Kings XX: 13 (Vulg.).--T.\n\n[5] III Kings X: I (Vulg.).--T.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\n\n(_Then a great shadow, subtler than any natural shadow, and festooned\nby other shadows along its edges, defines itself upon the ground._\n\n_It is the Devil, leaning upon the roof of the hut, and bearing beneath\nhis wings--like some gigantic bat suckling its little ones--the Seven\nDeadly Sins, whose grimacing heads are dimly distinguishable._\n\n_With eyes still closed, Anthony yields to the pleasure of inaction;\nand stretches his limbs upon the mat._\n\n_It seems to him quite soft, and yet softer--so that it becomes as if\npadded; it rises up; it becomes a bed. The bed becomes a shallop; water\nlaps against its sides._\n\n_To right and left rise two long tongues of land, overlooking low\ncultivated plains, with a sycamore tree here and there. In the distance\nthere is a tinkling of bells, a sound of drums and of singers. It is a\nparty going to Canopus to sleep upon the temple of Serapis, in order\nto have dreams. Anthony knows this; and impelled by the wind, his boat\nglides along between the banks. Papyrus-leaves and the red flowers of\nthe nymph\u00e6a, larger than the body of a man, bend over him. He is lying\nat the bottom of the boat; one oar at the stem, drags in the water.\nFrom time to time, a lukewarm wind blows; and the slender reeds rub one\nagainst the other, and rustle. Then the sobbing of the wavelets becomes\nindistinct. A heavy drowsiness falls upon him. He dreams that he is a\nSolitary of Egypt._\n\n_Then he awakes with a start._)\n\n\"Did I dream? It was all so vivid that I can scarcely believe I was\ndreaming! My tongue burns. I am thirsty.\"\n\n(_He enters the cabin, and gropes at random in the dark._)\n\n\"The ground is wet; can it have been raining? What can this mean! My\npitcher is broken into atoms! But the goatskin?\" (_He finds it._)\n\n\"Empty!--completely empty! In order to get down to the river, I should\nhave to walk for at least three hours; and the night is so dark that I\ncould not see my way.\n\n\"There is a gnawing in my entrails. Where is the bread!\"\n\n(_After long searching, he picks up a crust not so large as an egg._)\n\n\"What? Have the jackals taken it? Ah! malediction!\"\n\n(_And he flings the bread upon the ground with fury._\n\n_No sooner has the action occurred than a table makes its appearance,\ncovered with all things that are good to eat._\n\n_The byssus cloth, striated like the bandelets of the sphinx, produces\nof itself luminous undulations. Upon it are enormous quarters of red\nmeats; huge fish; birds cooked in their plumage, and quadrupeds in\ntheir skins; fruits with colors and tints almost human in appearance;\nwhile fragments of cooling ice, and flagons of violet crystal reflect\neach other's glittering. Anthony notices in the middle of the table\na boar smoking at every pore--with legs doubled up under its belly,\nand eyes half closed--and the idea of being able to eat so formidable\nan animal greatly delights him. Then many things appear which he has\nnever seen before--black hashes, jellies, the color of gold, ragouts in\nwhich mushrooms float like nenuphars upon ponds, dishes of whipt cream\nlight as clouds._\n\n_And the aroma of all this comes to him together with the salt smell of\nthe ocean, the coolness of mountains, the great perfumes of the woods.\nHe dilates his nostrils to their fullest extent; his mouth waters; he\nthinks to himself that he has enough before him for a year, for ten\nyears, for his whole life!_\n\n_As he gazes with widely-opened eyes at all these viands, others\nappear; they accumulate, forming a pyramid crumbling at all its angles.\nThe wines begin to flow over--the fish palpitate--the blood seethes in\nthe dishes--the pulp of the fruit protrudes like amorous lips--and the\ntable rises as high as his breast, up to his very chin at last--now\nbearing only one plate and a single loaf of bread, placed exactly in\nfront of him._\n\n_He extends his hand to seize the loaf. Other loaves immediately\npresent themselves to his grasp._)\n\n\"For me!... all these! But ...\" (_Anthony suddenly draws back._)\n\n\"Instead of one which was there, lo! there are many! It must be a\nmiracle, then, the same as our Lord wrought!\n\n\"Yet for what purpose?... Ah! all the rest of these things are equally\nincomprehensible! Demon, begone from me! depart! begone!\"\n\n(_He kicks the table from him. It disappears._)\n\n\"Nothing more?--no!\" (_He draws a lung breath._)\n\n\"Ah! the temptation was strong! But how well I delivered myself from\nit!\"\n\n(_He lifts his head, and at the same time stumbles over some sonorous\nobject._)\n\n\"Why! what can that be?\" (_Anthony stoops down._)\n\n\"How! a cup! Some traveller must have lost it here. There is nothing\nextraordinary....\"\n\n(_He wets his finger, and rubs._)\n\n\"It glitters!--metal! Still, I cannot see very clearly....\"\n\n(_He lights his torch, and examines the cup._)\n\n\"It is silver, ornamented with ovules about the rim, with a medal at\nthe bottom of it.\"\n\n(_He detaches the medal with his nail!_)\n\n\"It is a piece of money worth about seven or eight drachmas--not more!\nIt matters not! even with that I could easily buy myself a sheepskin.\"\n\n(_A sudden flash of the torch lights up the cup._)\n\n\"Impossible! gold? Yes, all gold, solid gold!\"\n\n(_A still larger piece of money appears at the bottom. Under it he\nperceives several others._)\n\n\"Why, this is a sum ... large enough to purchase three oxen ... and a\nlittle field!\"\n\n(_The cup is now filled with pieces of gold._)\n\n\"What! what!... a hundred slaves, soldiers, a host ... enough to\nbuy....\"\n\n(_The granulations of the rim, detaching themselves form a necklace of\npearls._)\n\n\"With such a marvel of jewelry as that, one could win even the wife of\nthe Emperor!\"\n\n(_By a sudden jerk, Anthony makes the necklace slip down over his\nwrist. He holds the cup in his left hand, and with his right lifts\nup the torch so as to throw the light upon it. As water streams\noverflowing from the basin of a fountain, so diamonds, carbuncles, and\nsapphires, all mingled with broad pieces of gold bearing the effigies\nof Kings, overflow from the cup in never ceasing streams, to form a\nglittering hillock upon the sand._)\n\n\"What! how! Staters, cycles, dariacs, aryandics; Alexander, Demetrius,\nthe Ptolemies, C\u00e6sar!--yet not one of them all possessed so much!\nNothing is now impossible! no more suffering for me! how these\ngleams dazzle my eyes! Ah! my heart overflows! how delightful it is!\nyes--yes!--more yet! never could there be enough! Vainly I might\ncontinually fling it into the sea, there would always be plenty\nremaining for me. Why should I lose any of it? I will keep all, and say\nnothing to any one about it; I will have a chamber hollowed out for me\nin the rock, and lined with plates of bronze, and I will come here from\ntime to time to feel the gold sinking down under the weight of my heel;\nI will plunge my arms into it as into sacks of grain! I will rub my\nface with it, I will lie down upon it!\"\n\n(_He flings down the torch in order to embrace the glittering heap, and\nfalls flat upon the ground._\n\n_He rises to his feet. The place is wholly empty._)\n\n\"What have I done!\n\n\"Had I died during those moments, I should have gone to hell--to\nirrevocable damnation.\"\n\n(_He trembles in every limb._)\n\n\"Am I, then, accursed? Ah! no; it is my own fault! I allow myself\nto be caught in every snare! No man could be more imbecile, more\ninfamous! I should like to beat myself, or rather to tear myself out\nof my own body! I have restrained myself too long. I feel the want of\nvengeance--the necessity of striking, of killing!--as though I had a\npack of wild beasts within me! Would that I could hew my way with an\naxe, through the midst of a multitude.... Ah, a poniard!...\"\n\n(_He perceives his knife, and rushes to seize it. The knife slips from\nhis hand; and Anthony remains leaning against the wall of his hut, with\nwide-open mouth, motionless, cataleptic._\n\n_Everything about him has disappeared._\n\n_He thinks himself at Alexandria, upon the Paneum--an artificial\nmountain in the centre of the city, encircled by a winding stairway._\n\n_Before him lies Lake Mareolis; on his right hand is the sea, on his\nleft the country; and immediately beneath him a vast confusion of\nflat roofs, traversed from north to south and from east to west by\ntwo streets which intercross, and which offer throughout their entire\nlength the spectacle of files of porticoes with Corinthian columns. The\nhouses overhanging this double colonnade have windows of stained glass.\nSome of them support exteriorly enormous wooden cages, into which the\nfresh air rushes from without._\n\n_Monuments of various architecture tower up in close proximity.\nEgyptian pylons dominate Greek temples. Obelisks appear like lances\nabove battlements of red brick. In the middle of public squares there\nare figures of Hermes with pointed ears, and of Anubis with the head of\na dog. Anthony can distinguish the mosaic pavements of the courtyards,\nand tapestries suspended from the beams of ceilings._\n\n_He beholds at one glance, the two ports (the Great Port and the\nEunostus), both round as circuses, and separated by a mole connecting\nAlexandria with the craggy island upon which the Pharos-tower\nrises--quadrangular, five hundred cubits high, nine storied, having at\nits summit a smoking heap of black coals._\n\n_Small interior ports open into the larger ones. The mole terminates at\neach end in a bridge supported upon marble columns planted in the sea.\nSailing vessels pass beneath it, while heavy lighters overladen with\nmerchandise, thalamegii[1] inlaid with ivory, gondolas covered with\nawnings, triremes, biremes, and all sorts of vessels are moving to and\nfro, or lie moored at the wharves._\n\n_About the Great Port extends an unbroken array of royal construction:\nthe palace of the Ptolomies, the Museum, the Posidium, the C\u00e6sareum,\nthe Timonium where Mark Anthony sought refuge, the Soma which contains\nthe tomb of Alexander; while at the other extremity of the city, beyond\nthe Eunostus, the great glass factories, perfume factories, and papyrus\nfactories may be perceived in a suburban quarter._\n\n_Strolling peddlers, porters, ass-drivers run and jostle together.\nHere and there one observes some priest of Isis wearing a panther skin\non his shoulders, a Roman soldier with his bronze helmet, and many\nnegroes. At the thresholds of the shops women pause, artisans ply their\ntrades; and the grinding noise of chariot wheels puts to flight the\nbirds that devour the detritus of the butcher-shops and the morsels of\nfish left upon the ground._\n\n_The general outline of the streets seems like a black network flung\nupon the white uniformity of the houses. The markets stocked with\nherbs make green bouquets in the midst of it; the drying-yards of the\ndyers, blotches of color; the golden ornaments of the temple-pediments,\nluminous points--all comprised within the oval enclosure of the grey\nramparts, under the vault of the blue heaven, beside the motionless\nsea._\n\n_But suddenly the movement of the crowd ceases; all turn their\neyes toward the west, whence enormous whirlwinds of dust are seen\napproaching._\n\n_It is the coming of the monks of the Thebaid, all clad in goatskins,\narmed with cudgels, roaring a canticle of battle and of faith with the\nrefrain_:\n\n\"Where are they? Where are they?\"\n\n_Anthony understands that they are coming to kill the Arians._\n\n_The streets are suddenly emptied--only flying feet are visible._\n\n_The Solitaries are now in the city. Their formidable cudgels, studded\nwith nails, whirl in the air like suns of steel. The crash of things\nbroken in the houses is heard. There are intervals of silence. Then\ngreat screams arise._\n\n_From one end of the street to the other there is a continual eddy of\nterrified people._\n\n_Many grasp pikes. Sometimes two bands meet, rush into one; and this\nmass of men slips upon the pavement--fighting, disjointing, knocking\ndown. But the men with the long hair always reappear._\n\n_Threads of smoke begin to escape from the corners of edifices! folding\ndoors burst open. Portions of walls crumble down. Architraves fall._\n\n_Anthony finds all his enemies again, one after the other. He even\nrecognizes some whom he had altogether forgotten; before killing them\nhe outrages them. He disembowels--he severs throats--he fells as in\na slaughter house--he hales old men by the beard, crushes children,\nsmites the wounded. And vengeance is taken upon luxury, those who\ndo not know how to read tear up hooks; others smash and deface the\nstatues, paintings, furniture, caskets,--a thousand dainty things\nthe use of which they do not know, and which simply for that reason\nexasperates them. At intervals they pause, out of breath, in the work\nof destruction; then they recommence._\n\n_The inhabitants moan in the courtyards where they have sought refuge.\nThe women raise their tearful eyes and lift their naked arms to heaven.\nIn hope of moving the Solitaries they embrace their knees; the men cast\nthem off and fling them down, and the blood gushes to the ceilings,\nfalls back upon the walls like sheets of rain, streams from the trunks\nof decapitated corpses, fills the aqueducts, forms huge red pools upon\nthe ground._\n\n_Anthony is up to his knees in it. He wades in it; he sucks up the\nblood-spray on his lips; he is thrilled with joy as he feels it upon\nhis limbs, under his hair-tunic which is soaked through with it._\n\n_Night comes. The immense uproar dies away._\n\n_The Solitaries have disappeared._\n\n_Suddenly, upon the outer galleries corresponding to each of the nine\nstories of the Pharos, Anthony observes thick black lines forming, like\nlines of crows perching. He hurries thither; and soon finds himself at\nthe summit._\n\n_A huge mirror of brass turned toward the open sea, reflects the forms\nof the vessels in the offing._\n\n_Anthony amuses himself by watching them; and while he watches, their\nnumber increases._\n\n_They are grouped together within a gulf which has the form of a\ncrescent. Upon a promontory in the background, towers a new city of\nRoman architecture, with cupolas of stone, conical roofs, gleams of\npink and blue marbles, and a profusion of brazen ornamentation applied\nto the volutes of the capitals, to the angles of the cornices, to the\nsummits of the edifices. A cypress-wood overhangs the city. The line of\nthe sea is greener, the air colder. The mountains lining the horizon\nare capped with snow._\n\n_Anthony is trying to find his way, when a man approaches him, and\nsays_:\n\n\"Come! they are waiting for you.\"\n\n_He traverses a forum, enters a great court, stoops beneath a low\ndoor; and he arrives before the facade of the palace, decorated\nwith a group in wax, representing Constantine overcoming a dragon.\nThere is a porphyry basin, from the centre of which rises a golden\nconch-shell full of nuts. His guide tells him that he may take some of\nthem. He does so. Then he is lost, as it were, in a long succession of\napartments._\n\n_There are mosaics upon the walls representing generals presenting\nthe Emperor with conquered cities, which they hold out upon the\npalms of their hands. And there are columns of basalt everywhere,\ntrellis-work in silver filigree, ivory chairs, tapestries embroidered\nwith pearls. The light falls from the vaults above; Anthony still\nproceeds. Warm exhalations circulate about him; occasionally he hears\nthe discreet clapping sound of sandals upon the pavement. Posted in\nthe anti-chambers are guards, who resemble automata, holding wands of\nvermillion upon their shoulders._\n\n[Illustration: And there are columns of basalt everywhere,... The\nlight falls from the vaults above]\n\n_At last he finds himself in a great hall, with hyacinth-colored\ncurtains at the further end. They part, and display the Emperor seated\non a throne, clad in a violet tunic, and wearing red shoes striped with\nbands of black._\n\n_A diadem of pearls surround his head; his locks are arranged\nsymmetrically in rouleaux. He has a straight nose, drooping eyelids,\na heavy and cunning physiognomy. At the four corners of the dais\nstretched above his head are placed four golden doves; and at the foot\nof the throne are two lions in enamel crouching. The doves begin to\nsing, the lions to roar. The Emperor rolls his eyes; Anthony advances;\nand forthwith, without preamble, they commence to converse about\nrecent events. In the cities of Antioch, Ephesus, and Alexandria,\nthe temples have been sacked, and the statues of the gods converted\ninto pots and cooking utensils; the Emperor laughs heartily about it.\nAnthony reproaches him with his tolerance toward the Novations. But the\nEmperor becomes vexed. Novations, Arians or Meletians--he is sick of\nthem all! Nevertheless, he admires the episcopate; for inasmuch as the\nChristians maintain bishops, who depend for their position upon five or\nsix important personages, it is only necessary to gain over the latter,\nin order to have all the rest on one's side. Therefore he did not fail\nto furnish them with large sums. But he detests the Fathers of the\nCouncil of Nic\u00e6a._\n\n\"Let us go and see them!\"\n\n_Anthony follows him._\n\n_And they find themselves on a terrace, upon the same floor._\n\n_It overlooks a hippodrome thronged with people, and surmounted by\nporticoes where other spectators are walking to and fro. From the\ncentre of the race-course rises a narrow platform of hewn stone,\nsupporting a little temple of Mercury, the statue of Constantine, and\nthree serpents of brass twisted into a column; there are three huge\nwooden eggs at one end, and at the other a group of seven dolphins with\ntheir tails in the air._\n\n_Behind the imperial pavilion sit the Prefects of the Chambers, the\nCounts of the Domestics, and the Patricians--in ranks rising by tiers\nto the first story of a church whose windows are thronged with women.\nOn the right is the tribune of the Blue Faction; on the left, that of\nthe Green; below, a picket of soldiers is stationed; and on a level\nwith the arena is a row of Corinthian arches, forming the entrances to\nthe stables._\n\n_The races are about to commence; the horses are drawn up in line.\nLofty plumes, fastened between their ears, bend to the wind like\nsaplings; and with every restive bound, they shake their chariots\nviolently, which are shell-shaped, and conducted by charioteers clad\nin a sort of multi-colored cuirass, having sleeves tight at the wrist\nand wide in the arms; their legs are bare; their beards, faces and\nforeheads are shaven after the manner of the Huns._\n\n_Anthony is at first deafened by the billowy sound of voices. From\nthe summit of the hippodrome to its lowest tiers, he sees only faces\npainted with rouge, garments checkered and variegated with many colors,\nflashing jewelry; and the sand of the arena, all white, gleams like a\nmirror._\n\n_The Emperor entertains him. He confides to him many matters of high\nimportance, many secrets; he confesses the assassination of his son\nCriopus, and even asks Anthony for advice regarding his health._\n\n_Meanwhile Anthony notices some slaves in the rear portion of the\nstables below. They are the Fathers of Nic\u00e6a, ragged and abject. The\nmartyr Paphnutius is brushing the mane of one horse; Theophilus is\nwashing the legs of another; John is painting the hoofs of a third;\nAlexander is collecting dung in a basket._\n\n_Anthony passes through the midst of them. They range themselves on\neither side respectfully; they beseech his intercession; they kiss his\nhands. The whole assemblage of spectators hoots at them; and he enjoys\nthe spectacle with immeasurable pleasure. Lo! he is now one of the\ngrandees of the Court--the Emperor's confidant--the prime minister!\nConstantine places his own diadem upon his brows. Anthony allows it to\nremain upon his head, thinking this honor quite natural._\n\n_And suddenly in the midst of the darkness a vast hall appears,\nilluminated by golden candelabra._\n\n_Candles so lofty that they are half lost in the darkness, stretch away\nin huge files beyond the lines of banquet-tables, which seem to extend\nto the horizon, where through a luminous haze loom superpositions of\nstairways, suites of arcades, colossi, towers, and beyond all a vague\nborder of palace walls, above which rise the crests of cedars, making\nyet blacker masses of blackness against the darkness._\n\n_The guests, crowned with violet wreaths, recline upon very low couches\nand are leaning upon their elbows. Along the whole length of this\ndouble line of couches, wine is being poured out from amphor\u00e6, and at\nthe further end, all alone, coiffed with the tiara and blazing with\ncarbuncles, King Nebuchadnezzar eats and drinks._\n\n_On his right and left, two bands of priests in pointed caps are\nswinging censers. On the pavement below crawl the captive kings whose\nhands and feet have been cut off; from time to time he flings them\nbones to gnaw. Further off sit his brothers, with bandages across their\neyes, being all blind._\n\n_From the depths of the ergastula arise moans of ceaseless pain. Sweet\nslow sounds of a hydraulic organ alternate with choruses of song; and\none feels that all about the palace without extends an immeasurable\ncity--an ocean of human life whose waves break against the walls. The\nslaves run hither and thither carrying dishes. Women walk between the\nranks of guests, offering drinks to all; the baskets groan under their\nburthen of loaves; and a dromedary, laden with perforated water-skins:\npasses and repasses through the hall, sprinkling and cooling the\npavement with vervain._\n\n_Lion tamers are leading tamed lions about. Dancing girls--their\nhair confined in nets--balance themselves and turn upon their hands,\nemitting fire through their nostrils; negro boatmen are juggling; naked\nchildren pelt each other with pellets of snow, which burst against the\nbright silverware. There is an awful clamor as of a tempest; and a huge\ncloud hangs over the banquet--so numerous are the meats and breaths.\nSometimes a flake of fire torn from the great flambeaux by the wind,\ntraverses the night like a shooting star._\n\n_The king wipes the perfumes from his face with his arm. He eats from\nthe sacred vessels--then breaks them; and secretly reckons up the\nnumber of his fleets, his armies, and his subjects. By and by, for a\nnew caprice, he will burn his palace with all its guests. He dreams of\nrebuilding the tower of Babel, and dethroning God._\n\n_Anthony, from afar off, reads all these thoughts upon his brow. They\npenetrate his own brain, and he becomes Nebuchadnezzar. Immediately he\nis cloyed with orgiastic excesses, sated with fury of extermination;\nand a great desire comes upon him to wallow in vileness. For the\ndegradation of that which terrifies men is an outrage inflicted upon\ntheir minds--it affords yet one more way to stupefy them; and as\nnothing is viler than a brute, Anthony goes upon the table on all\nfours, and bellows like a bull._\n\n_He feels a sudden pain in his hand--a pebble has accidentally wounded\nhim--and he finds himself once more in front of his cabin._\n\n_The circle of the rocks is empty. The stars are glowing in the sky.\nAll is hushed._)\n\n\"Again have I allowed myself to be deceived! Why these things? They\ncome from the rebellion of the flesh. Ah! wretch!\"\n\n(_He rushes into his cabin, and seizes a bunch of thongs, with metallic\nhooks attached to their ends, strips himself to the waist and, lifting\nhis eyes to heaven exclaims_:)\n\n\"Accept my penance, O my God: disdain it not for its feebleness. Render\nit sharp, prolonged, excessive! It is time, indeed!--to the work!\"\n\n(_He gives himself a vigorous lash--and shrieks._)\n\n\"No! no!--without mercy it must be.\"\n\n(_He recommences._)\n\n\"Oh! oh! oh! each lash tears my skin, rends my limbs! It burns me\nhorribly!\"\n\n\"Nay!--it is not so very terrible after all!--one becomes accustomed to\nit. It even seems to me....\"\n\n(_Anthony pauses._)\n\n\"Continue, coward! continue! Good! good!--upon the arms, on the back,\non the breast, on the belly--everywhere! Hiss, ye thongs! bite me!\ntear me! I would that my blood could spurt to the stars!--let my bones\ncrack!--let my tendons be laid bare! O for pincers, racks, and melted\nlead! The martyrs have endured far worse; have they not, Ammonaria?\"\n\n(_The shadow of the Devil's horns reappears._)\n\n\"I might have been bound to the column opposite to thine,--face to\nface--under thy eyes--answering thy shrieks by my sighs; and our pangs\nmight have been interblended, our souls intermingled.\"\n\n(_He lashes himself with fury._)\n\n\"What! what! again. Take that!--But how strange a titillation thrills\nme! What punishment! what pleasure! I feel as though receiving\ninvisible kisses; the very marrow of my bones seems to melt. I die....\"\n\n_And he sees before him three cavaliers, mounted upon onagers, clad in\nrobes of green--each holding a lily in his hand, and all resembling\neach other in feature._\n\n_Anthony turns round, and beholds three other cavaliers exactly\nsimilar, riding upon similar onagers, and preserving the same attitude._\n\n_He draws back. Then all the onagers advance one pace at the same time,\nand rub their noses against him, trying to bite his garment. Voices\nshout_:--\n\n\"Here! here! this way!\"\n\n_And between the clefts of the mountain, appear standards,--camels'\nheads with halters of red silk--mules laden with baggage, and women\ncovered with yellow veils, bestriding piebald horses._\n\n_The panting beasts lie down; the slaves rush to the bales and\npackages, motley-striped carpets are unrolled; precious glimmering\nthings are laid upon the ground._\n\n_A white elephant, caparisoned with a golden net, trots forward,\nshaking the tuft of ostrich plumes attached to his head-band._\n\n_Upon his back, perched on cushions of blue wool, with her legs\ncrossed, her eyes half closed, her comely head sleepily nodding, is a\nwoman so splendidly clad that she radiates light about her. The crowd\nfalls prostrate; the elephant bends his knees; and_\n\nTHE QUEEN OF SHEBA\n\n_letting herself glide down from his shoulder upon the carpets spread\nto receive her, approaches Saint Anthony._\n\n_Her robe of gold brocade, regularly divided by furbelows of pearls,\nof jet, and of sapphires, sheaths her figure closely with its\ntight-fitting bodice, set off by colored designs representing the\ntwelve signs of the Zodiac. She wears very high pattens--one of which\nis black, and sprinkled with silver stars, with a moon crescent; the\nother, which is white, is sprinkled with a spray of gold, with a golden\nsun in the middle._\n\n_Her wide sleeves, decorated with emeralds and bird-plumes, leave\nexposed her little round bare arms, clasped at the wrist by ebony\nbracelets; and her hands, loaded with precious rings, are terminated by\nnails so sharply pointed that the ends of her fingers seem almost like\nneedles._\n\n_A chain of dead gold, passing under her chin, is caught up on either\nside of her face, and spirally coiled about her coiffure, whence,\nredescending, it grazes her shoulders and is attached upon her bosom\nto a diamond scorpion, which protrudes a jewelled tongue between her\nbreasts. Two immense blond pearls depend heavily from her ears. The\nborders of her eyelids are painted black. There is a natural brown spot\nupon her left cheek; and she opens her mouth in breathing, as if her\ncorset inconvenienced her._\n\n_She shakes, as she approaches, a green parasol with an ivory handle,\nand silver-gilt bells attached to its rim; twelve little woolly-haired\nnegro-boys support the long train of her robe, whereof an ape holds the\nextremity, which it raises up from time to time. She exclaims_:\n\n\"Ah! handsome hermit! handsome hermit!--my heart swoons!\n\n\"By dint of stamping upon the ground with impatience, callosities have\nformed upon my heel, and I have broken one of my nails. I sent out\nshepherds, who remained upon the mountain tops, shading their eyes with\ntheir hands--and hunters who shouted thy name in all the forests--and\nspies who travelled along the highways, asking every passer-by:\n\n\"'Hast thou seen him?'\n\n\"By night I wept, with my face turned to the wall. And at last my tears\nmade two little holes in the mosaic, like two pools of water among the\nrocks;--for I love thee!--oh! how I love thee!\"\n\n(_She takes him by the beard._)\n\n\"Laugh now, handsome hermit! laugh! I am very joyous, very gay: thou\nshalt soon see! I play the lyre; I dance like a bee; and I know a host\nof merry tales to tell, each more diverting than the other.\n\n\"Thou canst not even imagine how mighty a journey we have made. See!\nthe onagers upon which the green couriers rode are dead with fatigue!\"\n\n(_The onagers are lying motionless upon the ground._)\n\n\"For three long moons they never ceased to gallop on with the same\nequal pace, holdings flints between their teeth to cut the wind, their\ntails ever streaming out behind them, their sinews perpetually strained\nto the uttermost, always galloping, galloping. Never can others be\nfound like them. They were bequeathed me by my paternal grand-father,\nthe Emperor Saharil, son of Iakhschab, son of Iaarab, son of Kastan.\nAh! if they were still alive, we should harness them to a litter that\nthey might bear us back speedily to the palace! But ... what ails\nthee?--of what art thou dreaming?\"\n\n(_She stares at him, examines him closely._)\n\n\"Ah, when thou shalt be my husband, I will robe thee, I will perfume\nthee, I will depilate thee.\"\n\n(_Anthony remains motionless, more rigid than a stake, more pallid\nthan a corpse._)\n\n\"Thou hast a sad look--is it because of leaving thy hermitage? Yet I\nhave left everything for thee--even King Solomon, who, nevertheless,\npossesses much wisdom, twenty thousand chariots of war, and a beautiful\nbeard. I have brought thee my wedding gifts. Choose!\"\n\n(_She walks to and fro among the ranks of slaves and the piles of\nprecious goods._)\n\n\"Here is Genezareth balm, incense from Cape Gardefui, labdanum,\ncinnamon, and silphium--good to mingle with sauces. In that bale are\nAssyrian embroideries, ivory from the Ganges, purple from Elissa;\nand that box of snow contains a skin of chalybon, the wine, which\nis reserved for the Kings of Assyria, and which is drunk from the\nhorn of a unicorn. Here are necklaces, brooches, nets for the hair,\nparasols, gold powder from Baasa, cassiteria from Tartessus, blue wood\nfrom Pandio, white furs from Issidonia, carbuncles from the Island\nPal\u00e6simondus, and toothpicks made of the bristles of the tachas--that\nlost animal which is found under the earth. These cushions come from\nEmath, and these mantle-fringes from Palmyra. On this Babylonian carpet\nthere is.... But come hither! come! come!\"\n\n(_She pulls Saint Anthony by the sleeve. He resists. She continues_:)\n\n\"This thin tissue which crackles under the finger with a sound as of\nsparks, is the famous yellow cloth which the merchants of Bactria bring\nus. I will have robes made of it for thee, which thou shalt wear in the\nhouse. Unfasten the hooks of that sycamore box, and hand me also the\nlittle ivory casket tied to my elephant's shoulder.\"\n\n(_They take something round out of a box--something covered with a\ncloth--and also bring a little ivory casket covered with carving._)\n\n\"Dost thou desire the buckler of Dgian-ben-Dgian, who built the\npyramids?--behold it!--It is formed of seven dragon-skins laid one over\nthe other, tanned in the bile of parricides, and fastened together by\nadamantine screws. Upon one side are represented all the wars that have\ntaken place since the invention of weapons; and upon the other, all the\nwars that will take place until the end of the world. The lightning\nitself rebounds from it like a ball of cork. I am going to place it\nupon thy arm; and thou wilt carry it during the chase.\n\n\"But if thou didst only know what I have in this little box of mine!\nTurn it over and over again! try to open it! No one could ever succeed\nin doing that. Kiss me! and I will tell thee how to open it.\"\n\n(_She takes Saint Anthony by both cheeks. He pushes her away at arms'\nlength._)\n\n\"It was one night that King Solomon lost his head. At last we concluded\na bargain. He arose, and stealing out on tiptoe....\"\n\n(_She suddenly executes a pirouette._)\n\n\"Ah, ah! comely hermit, thou shalt not know it! thou shalt not know!\"\n\n(_She shakes her parasol, making all its little bells tinkle._)\n\n\"And I possess many other strange things--oh! yes! I have treasures\nconcealed in winding galleries where one would lose one's way, as\nin a forest. I have summer-palaces constructed in trellis-work of\nreeds, and winter-palaces all built of black marble. In the midst of\nlakes vast as seas, I have islands round as pieces of silver, and all\ncovered with mother-of-pearl,--islands whose shores make music to\nthe lapping of tepid waves upon the sand. The slaves of my kitchens\ncatch birds in my aviaries, and fish in my fishponds. I have engravers\ncontinually seated at their benches to hollow out my likeness in hard\njewel-stones, and panting molders forever casting statues of me, and\nperfumers incessantly mingling the sap of rare plants with vinegar,\nor preparing cosmetic pastes. I have female dressmakers cutting out\npatterns in richest material, goldsmiths cutting and mounting jewels of\nprice, and careful painters pouring upon my palace wainscoting boiling\nresins, which they subsequently cool with fans. I have enough female\nattendants to form a harem, eunuchs enough to make an army. I have\narmies likewise; I have nations! In the vestibule of my palace I keep a\nguard of dwarfs--all bearing ivory trumpets at their backs.\" (_Anthony\nsighs._)\n\n\"I have teams of trained gazelles; I have elephant quadrig\u00e6; I have\nhundreds of pairs of camels, and mares whose manes are so long that\ntheir hoofs become entangled therein when they gallop, and herds of\ncattle with horns so broad that when they go forth to graze the woods\nhave to be hewn down before them. I have giraffes wandering in my\ngardens; they stretch their heads over the edge of my roof, when I take\nthe air after dinner.\n\n\"Seated in a shell drawn over the waters by dolphins, I travel\nthrough the grottoes, listening lo the dropping of the water from the\nstalactites. I go down to the land of diamonds, where my friends the\nmagicians allow me to choose the finest: then I reascend to earth and\nreturn to my home.\"\n\n(_She utters a sharp whistle; and a great bird, descending from the\nsky, alights upon her hair, from which it makes the blue powder fall._\n\n_Its orange-colored plumage seems formed of metallic scales. Its little\nhead, crested with a silver tuft, has a human face._\n\n_It has four wings, the feet of a vulture, and an immense peacock's\ntail which it spreads open like a fan._\n\n_It seizes the Queen's parasol in its beak, reels a moment ere\nobtaining its balance; then it erects all its plumes, and remains\nmotionless._)\n\n\"Thanks! my beautiful Simorg-Anka!--thou didst tell me where the loving\none was hiding! Thanks! thanks! my heart's messenger!\n\n\"He flies swiftly as Desire! He circles the world in his flight. At eve\nhe returns; he perches at the foot of my couch and tells me all he has\nseen--the seas that have passed far beneath him with all their fishes\nand ships, the great void deserts he has contemplated from the heights\nof the sky, the harvests that were bowing in the valleys, and the\nplants that were growing upon the walls of cities abandoned.\"\n\n(_She wrings her hands, languorously._)\n\n\"Oh! if thou wast willing! if thou wast willing!... I have a pavilion\non a promontory in the middle of an isthmus dividing two oceans. It is\nall wain-scoted with sheets of glass, and floored with tortoise shell,\nand open to the four winds of heaven. From its height I watch my fleets\ncome in, and my nations toiling up the mountain-slopes with burthens\nupon their shoulders. There would we sleep upon downs softer than\nclouds; we would drink cool draughts from fruit-shells, and we would\ngaze at the sun through emeralds! Come!\" ...\n\n(_Anthony draws back. She approaches him again, and exclaims in a tone\nof vexation_:--)\n\n\"How? neither the rich, nor the coquettish, nor the amorous woman can\ncharm thee: is it so? None but a lascivious woman, with a hoarse voice\nand lusty person, with fire-colored hair and superabundant flesh? Dost\nthou prefer a body cold as the skin of a serpent, or rather great dark\neyes deeper than the mystic caverns?--behold them, my eyes!--look into\nthem!\"\n\n(_Anthony, in spite of him, gazes into her eyes._)\n\n\"All the women thou hast ever met--from the leman of the cross-roads,\nsinging under the light of her lantern, even to the patrician lady\nscattering rose-petals abroad from her litter,--all the forms thou hast\never obtained glimpses of--all the imaginations of thy desire thou hast\nonly to ask for them! I am not a woman: I am a world! My cloak has only\nto fall in order that thou mayest discover a succession of mysteries.\"\n(_Anthony's teeth chatter._)\n\n\"Place but thy finger upon my shoulder: it will be as though a stream\nof fire shot through all thy veins. The possession of the least part\nof me will fill thee with a joy more vehement than the conquest of an\nEmpire could give thee! Approach thy lips: there is a sweetness in my\nkisses as of a fruit dissolving within thy heart. Ah! how thou wilt\nlose thyself beneath my long hair, inhale the perfume of my bosom,\nmadden thyself with the beauty of my limbs: and thus, consumed by the\nfire of my eyes, clasped within my arms as in a whirlwind....\"\n\n[Illustration: ... there is a sweetness in my kisses as of a fruit\ndissolving within thy heart]\n\n(_Anthony makes the sign of the cross._)\n\n\"Thou disdainest me! farewell!\"\n\n(_She departs, weeping; then, suddenly turning round_:--)\n\n\"Art quite sure?--so beautiful a woman....\"\n\n(_She laughs, and the ape that bears her train, lifts it up._)\n\n\"Thou wilt regret it, my comely hermit! thou wilt yet weep! thou wilt\nagain feel weary of thy life; but I care not a whit! La! la! la!--oh!\noh! oh!\"\n\n(_She takes her departure, hopping upon one foot and covering her face\nwith her hands._\n\n_All the slaves file off before Saint Anthony--the horses, the\ndromedaries, the elephant, the female attendants, the mules (which\nhave been reloaded), the negro boys, the ape, the green couriers each\nholding his broken lily in his hand; and the Queen of Sheba departs,\nuttering a convulsive hiccough at intervals, which might be taken\neither for a sound of hysterical sobbing, or the half-suppressed\nlaughter of mockery._)\n\n\n[1] _Thalamegii_--pleasure-boats having apartments.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\n(_When she has disappeared in the distance, Anthony observes a child\nseated upon the threshold of his cabin._)\n\n\"It is one of the Queen's servants, no doubt,\" (_he thinks_).\n\n(_This child is small like a dwarf, and nevertheless squat of build,\nlike one of the Cabiri; deformed withal, and wretched of aspect. His\nprodigiously large head is covered with white hair; and he shivers\nunder a shabby tunic, all the while clutching a roll of papyrus. The\nlight of the moon passing through a cloud falls upon him._)\n\nANTHONY\n\n(_watches him from a distance, and is afraid of him._) \"Who art thou?\"\n\nTHE CHILD (_replies_). \"Thy ancient disciple, Hilarion.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Thou liest! Hilarion hath been dwelling in Palestine for\nmany long years.\"\n\nHILARION. \"I have returned! It is really I!\"\n\nANTHONY (_draws near and examines him closely_). \"Yet his face was\nradiant as the dawn, candid, joyous. This face is the face of one\ngloomy and old.\"\n\nHILARION. \"Long and arduous labor hath wearied me!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"The voice is also different. It hath an icy tone.\"\n\nHILARION. \"Because I have nourished me with bitter things!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"And those white hairs?\"\n\nHILARION. \"I have endured many woes!\"\n\nANTHONY (_aside_). \"Could it be possible?\"\n\nHILARION. \"I was not so far from thee as thou doest imagine. The hermit\nPaul visited thee this year, during the month of Schebar. It is just\ntwenty days since the Nomads brought thee bread. Thou didst tell a\nsailor, the day before yesterday, to send thee three bodkins.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"He knows all!\"\n\nHILARION. \"Know further more that I have never left thee. But there are\nlong periods during which thou hast no knowledge of my presence.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"How can that be? Yet it is true that my head is so much\ntroubled--this night especially.\"\n\nHILARION. \"All the Capital Sins came hither. But their wretched snares\ncan avail nothing against such a Saint as thou.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Oh! no!--no! I fall at every moment! Why am I not of those\nwhose souls are ever intrepid, whose minds are always firm,--for\nexample, the great Athanasius?\"\n\nHILARION. \"He was illegally ordained by seven bishops.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"What matter if his virtue....\"\n\nHILARION. \"Go to!--a most vainglorious and cruel man, forever involved\nin intrigues, and exiled at last as a monopolist.\"[1]\n\nANTHONY. \"Calumny!\"\n\nHILARION. \"Thou wilt not deny that he sought to corrupt Eustates, the\ntreasurer of largesses?\"\n\nANTHONY. \"It is affirmed, I acknowledge.\"\n\nHILARION. \"Through vengeance he burned down the house of Arsenius.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Alas!\"\n\nHILARION. \"At the council of Nic\u00e6a he said in speaking of Jesus: 'The\nman of the Lord.'\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Ah! that is a blasphemy!\"\n\nHILARION. \"So limited in understanding, moreover, that he confesses he\ncomprehends nothing of the nature of the \"Word!\"\n\nANTHONY (_smiling with gratification_). \"In sooth his intelligence is\nnot ... very lofty.\"\n\nHILARION. \"Hypocrite! burying thyself in solitude only in order the\nmore fully to abandon thyself to the indulgence of thy envious desires!\nWhat if thou dost deprive thyself of meats, of wine, of warmth, of\nbath, of slaves, or honours?--dost thou not permit thy imagination to\noffer thee banquets, perfumes, women, and the applause of multitudes?\nThy chastity is but a more subtle form of corruption, and thy contempt\nof this world is but the impotence of thy hatred against it! Either\nthis it is that makes such as thyself so lugubrious, or else 'tis\ndoubt. The possession of truth giveth joy. Was Jesus sad? Did he not\ntravel in the company of friends, repose beneath the shade of olive\ntrees, enter the house of the publican, drink many cups of wine, pardon\nthe sinning woman, and assuage all sorrows? Thou!--thou hast no pity\nsave for thine own misery! It is like a remorse that gnaws thee, a\nsavage madness that impels thee to repel the caress of a dog or to\nfrown upon the smile of a child.\"\n\nANTHONY (_bursting into tears_). \"Enough! enough! thou dost wound my\nheart deeply.\"\n\nHILARION. \"Shake the vermin from thy rags! Rise up from thy filth! Thy\nGod is not a Moloch who demands human flesh in sacrifice!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Yet suffering is blessed. The cherubim stoop to receive the\nblood of confessors.\"\n\nHILARION. \"Admire, then, the Montanists!--they surpass all others.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"But it is the truth of the doctrine which makes the\nmartyrdom.\"\n\nHILARION. \"How can martyrdom prove the excellence of the doctrine,\ninasmuch as it bears equal witness for error?\"\n\nHILARION. \"Silence!--thou viper!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Perhaps martyrdom is not so difficult as thou dost imagine!\nThe exhortations of friends, the pleasure of insulting the people,\nthe oath one has taken, a certain dizzy excitement, a thousand\ncircumstances all aid the resolution of the martyrs....\"\n\n(_Anthony turns his back upon Hilarion, and moves away from him.\nHilarion follows him._)\n\n\" ... Moreover this manner of dying often brings about great disorders.\nDionysius, Cyprian and Gregory fled from it. Peter of Alexandria has\ncondemned it; and the council of Elvira....\"\n\nANTHONY (_stops his ears_). \"I will listen to thee no longer!\"\n\nHILARION (_raising his voice_). \"Lo! thou fallest again into the\nhabitual sin, which is sloth! Ignorance is the foam of pride. One says,\nforsoth:--'My conviction is formed! wherefore argue further?'--and one\ndespises the doctors, the philosophers, tradition itself, and even the\ntext of the law whereof one is ignorant! Dost thou imagine that thou\ndost hold all wisdom in the hollow of thy hand?\"\n\nANTHONY. \"I hear him still! His loud words fill my brain.\"\n\nHILARION. \"The efforts of others to comprehend God are mightier than\nall thy mortifications to move Him. We obtain merit only by our thirst\nfor truth. Religion alone cannot explain all things; and the solution\nof problems ignored by thee can render faith still more invulnerable\nand noble. Therefore, for our salvation we must communicate with our\nbrethren--otherwise the Church, the assembly of the faithful, would\nbe a meaningless word--and we must listen to all reasoning, despising\nnothing, nor any person. The magician Balaam, the poet Aeschylus,\nand the Sybil of Cum\u00e6--all foretold the Saviour. Dionysius, the\nAlexandrian, received from heaven the command to read all books. Saint\nClement orders us to cultivate Greek letters. Hennas was converted by\nthe illusion of a woman he had loved....\"\n\nANTHONY. \"What an aspect of authority! It seems to me thou art growing\ntaller....\"\n\n(_And, in very truth, the stature of Hilarion is gradually increasing;\nand Anthony shuts his eyes, that he may not see him._)\n\nHILARION. \"Reassure thyself, good Hermit. Let us seat ourselves there,\nupon that great stone, as we used to do in other years, when, at the\nfirst dawn of day, I was wont to salute thee with the appellation,\n'Clear star of morning'--and thou wouldst therewith commence to\ninstruct me. Yet my instruction is not yet completed. The moon gives us\nlight enough. I am prepared to hear thy words.\"\n\n(_He has drawn a calamus from his girdle, and seating himself\ncross-legged upon the ground, with the papyrus roll still in his hand,\nhe lifts his face toward Saint Anthony, who sits near him, with head\nbowed down._\n\n_After a moment of silence Hilarion continues_:--)\n\n\"Is not the word of God confirmed for us by miracles? Nevertheless\nthe magicians of Pharaoh performed miracles; other imposters can\nperform them; one may be thereby deceived. What then is a miracle?\nAn event which seems to us outside of nature. But do we indeed know\nall of Nature's powers; and because a common occurrence causes us no\nastonishment, does it therefore follow that we understand it.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"It matters little! We must believe the Scriptures!\"\n\nHILARION. \"Saint Paul, Origen, and many others did not understand\nthe Scriptures in a literal sense: yet if Holy Writ be explained by\nallegories it becomes the portion of a small number, and the evidence\nof the truth disappears. What must we do?\"\n\nANTHONY. \"We must rely upon the Church!\"\n\nHILARION. \"Then the Scriptures are useless?\"\n\nANTHONY. \"No! no! although I acknowledge that in the Old Testament\nthere are some ... some obscurities. But the New shines with purest\nlight.\"\n\nHILARION. \"Nevertheless, the Angel of the annunciation, in Matthew,\nappears to Joseph; while, in Luke, he appears to Mary. The anointing\nof Jesus by a woman takes place, according to the first Gospel, at the\ncommencement of his public life; and, according to the other three, a\nfew days before his death. The drink offered to him on the cross, is,\nin Matthew, vinegar mixed with gall; in Mark, it is wine and myrrh.\nAccording to Luke and Matthew, the apostles should take with them\nneither money nor scrip for their journey--not even sandals nor staff;\nin Mark, on the contrary, Jesus bids them take nothing with them,\nexcept sandals and a staff. I am thereby bewildered!\"\n\nANTHONY (_in amazement_). \"Aye, indeed!... in fact....\"\n\nHILARION. \"At the contact of the woman who had an issue of blood, Jesus\nturned and said, 'Who hath touched my garments?' He did not know, then,\nwho had touched him? That contradicts the omniscience of Jesus! If the\ntomb was watched by guards, the women need have felt no anxiety about\nfinding help to roll away the stone from the tomb. Therefore there\nwere no guards, or the holy women were not there. At Emmaus, he eats\nwith his disciples and makes them feel his wounds. It is a human body,\na material and ponderable object; and nevertheless it passes through\nwalls! Is that possible?\"\n\nANTHONY. \"It would require much time to answer thee properly!\"\n\nHILARION. \"Why did he receive the Holy Spirit, being himself Son of\nthe Holy Spirit? What need had he of baptism if he was the Word? How\ncould the Devil have tempted him, inasmuch as he was God? Have these\nthoughts never occurred to thee?\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Yes!... often! Sometimes torpid, sometimes furious--they\nremain forever in my conscience. I crush them; they rise again, they\nstifle me; and sometimes I think that I am accursed.\"\n\nHILARION. \"Then it is needless for thee to serve God?\"\n\nANTHONY. \"I shall always need to adore Him.\"\n\n(_After a long silence Hilarion continues_:)\n\n\"But aside from dogma, all researches are allowed us. Dost thou desire\nto know the hierarchy of the Angels, the virtue of the Numbers, the\nreason of germs and of metamorphoses?\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Yes! yes! my thought struggles wildly to escape from its\nprison. It seems to me that by exerting all my force I might succeed.\nSometimes, for an instant, brief as a lightning flash, I even feel\nmyself as thought uplifted,--then I fall back again!\"\n\nHILARION. \"The secret thou wouldst obtain is guarded by sages. They\ndwell in a distant land; they are seated beneath giant trees; they\nare robed in white; they are calm as Gods! A warm air gives them\nsufficient nourishment. All about them, leopards tread upon grassy\nturf. The murmuring of fountains and the neighing of unicorns mingle\nwith their voices. Thou shalt hear them; and the face of the Unknown\nshall be unveiled!\"\n\nANTHONY (_sighing_). \"The way is long; and I am old.\"\n\nHILARION. \"Oh! oh! wise men are not rare! there are some even very nigh\nthee!--here! Let us enter!\"\n\n\n[1] Gibbon, a sincere admirer of Athanasius, gives a curious history of\nthese charges, and expresses his disbelief in their truth. The story\nregarding the design to intercept the corn-fleet of Alexandria is\nreferred to in the use of the word \"monopolist.\"\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\n(_And Anthony beholds before him a vast basilica._\n\n_The light gushes from the further end, marvellous as a multi-colored\nsun. It illuminates the innumerable heads of the crowd that fills the\nnave, and that eddies about the columns toward the side-aisles--where\ncan be perceived, in wooden compartments, altars, beds, little chains\nof blue stones linked together, and constellations painted upon the\nwalls._\n\n_In the midst of the throng there are groups which remain motionless.\nMen standing upon stools harangue with fingers uplifted; others are\npraying, with arms outstretched in form of a cross; others are lying\nprostrate upon the pavement, or singing hymns, or drinking wine; others\nof the faithful, seated about a table, celebrate their agape;[1]\nmartyrs are unbandaging their limbs in order to show their wounds; and\naged men, leaning upon staffs, recount their voyages._\n\n_There are some from the country of the Germans, from Thrace also, and\nfrom the Gauls, from Scythia and from the Indies, with snow upon their\nbeards, feathers in their hair; thorns in the fringe of their garments;\nthe sandals of some are black with dust, their skins are burnt by the\nsun. There is a vast confusion of costumes, mantles of purple and\nrobes of linen, embroidered dalmaticas, hair shirts, sailors' caps,\nbishops' mitres. Their eyes fulgurate strangely. They have the look of\nexecutioners, or the look of eunuchs._\n\n_Hilarion advances into their midst. All salute him. Anthony, shrinking\ncloser to his shoulder, observes them. He remarks the presence of a\ngreat many women. Some of these are attired like men, and have their\nhair cut short. Anthony feels afraid of them._)\n\nHILARION. \"Those are Christian women who have converted their husbands.\nBesides, the women were always upon the side of Jesus, even the\nidolatrous ones, for example, Procula, the wife of Pilate, and Popp\u00e6a,\nthe concubine of Nero. Do not tremble!--come on.\"\n\n(_And others are continually arriving._\n\n_They seem to multiply, to double themselves by self-division, light\nas shadows--all the while making an immense clamour, in which yells of\nrage, cries of love, canticles and objurgations intermingle._)\n\nANTHONY (_in a low voice_). \"What do they desire?\"\n\nHILARION. \"The Lord said: 'I have yet many things to say to you....\n'[2] They possess the knowledge of those things.\"\n\n(_And he pushes Anthony forward to a golden throne approached by five\nsteps, whereon--surrounded by ninety-five disciples, all very thin and\npale, and anointed with oil--sits the prophet Manes. He is beautiful\nas an archangel, immobile as a statue; he is clad in an Indian robe;\ncarbuncles gleam in his plaited hair; at his left hand lies a book of\npainted images; his right reposes upon a globe. The images represent\nthe creatures that erst slumbered in Chaos. Anthony bends forward to\nlook upon them. Then----_)\n\nMANES\n\n(_makes his globe revolve; and regulating the tone of his words by a\nlyre which gives forth crystalline sounds, exclaims_:--)\n\n\"The celestial earth is at the superior extremity; the terrestrial\nearth at the inferior extremity. It is sustained by two angels--the\nAngel Splenditeneus, and Omophorus, whose faces are six.\n\n\"At the summit of the highest heaven reigns the impassible Divinity;\nbelow, face to face, are the Son of God and the Prince of Darkness.\n\n\"When the darkness had advanced even to his kingdom, God evolved from\nhis own essence a virtue which produced the first man; and he environed\nhim with the five elements. But the demons of darkness stole from him a\npart; and that part is the soul.\n\n\"There is but one soul, universally diffused, even as the waters of\na river divided into many branches. It is this universal soul that\nsighs in the wind--that shrieks in the marble under the teeth of the\nsaw--that roars in the voice of the sea--that weeps tears of milk when\nthe leaves of the fig tree are torn off.\n\n\"The souls that leave this world emigrate to the stars, which are\nthemselves animated beings.\"\n\nANTHONY (_bursts into a laugh_). \"Ah! ah! what an absurd imagination!\"\n\nA MAN (_having no beard, and of a most austere aspect_). \"Wherefore\nabsurd?\"\n\n(_Anthony is about to reply when Hilarion tells him in a low voice\nthat the questioner is none other than the tremendous Origen himself;\nand_:--)\n\nMANES (_continues_). \"But first they remain awhile in the Moon, where\nthey are purified. Then they rise into the sun.\"\n\nANTHONY (_slowly_). \"I do not know of anything ... which prevents us\n... from believing it.\"\n\nMANES. \"The proper aim of every creature is the deliverance of the ray\nof celestial light imprisoned within matter. It finds easier escape\nthrough the medium of perfumes, spices, the aroma of warmed wine, the\nlight things which resemble thoughts. But the acts of life retain it\nwithin its prison. The murderer shall be born again in the form of a\ncelephus; he that kills an animal shall become that animal; if thou\nplantest a vine, thou shalt be thyself bound within its boughs. Food\nabsorbs the celestial light.... Therefore abstain! fast!\"\n\nHILARION. \"Thou seest, they are temperate!\"\n\nMANES. \"There is much of it in meats, less of it in herbs. Moreover\nthe Pure Ones, by means of their great merits, despoil vegetation of\nthis luminous essence; and, thus liberated, it reascends to its source.\nBut through generation, animals keep it imprisoned within the flesh!\nTherefore, avoid women!\"\n\nHILARION. \"Admire their continence.\"\n\nMANES. \"Or rather contrive that they shall not create..............[3]\n\nANTHONY. \"Oh--abomination!\"\n\nHILARION. \"What signifies the hierarchy of turpitudes? The Church has,\nforsooth, made marriage a sacrament!\"\n\nSATURNINUS (_in Syrian costume_). \"He teaches a most dismal system of\nthe universe!... The Father, desiring to punish the angels who had\nrevolted, ordered them to create the world. Christ came, in order that\nthe God of the Jews, who was one of those angels....\"\n\nANTHONY. \"He an angel! the Creator!\"\n\nCERDO. \"Did he not seek to kill Moses, to deceive his own prophets, to\nseduce nations?--did he not sow falsehood and idolatry broadcast?\"\n\nMARCION. \"Certainly, the Creator is not the true God!\"\n\nSAINT CLEMENT OF ALEXANDRIA. \"Matter is eternal!\"\n\nBARDESANES (_in the costume of the Babylonian magi_). \"It was formed by\nthe Seven Planetary Spirits.\"\n\nTHE HERMIANS. \"Souls were made by the angels.\"\n\nTHE PRISCILLIANISTS. \"It was the Devil who made the world.\"\n\nANTHONY (_rushing back from the circle_). \"Horror!\"\n\nHILARION (_supporting him_). \"Thou despairest too hastily!--thou dost\nmisapprehend their doctrine! Here is one who received his teaching\ndirectly from Theodas, the friend of St. Paul. Hearken to him.\"\n\n(_And at a sign from Hilarion_\n\nVALENTINUS\n\n_appears in a tunic of cloth of silver; his skull is pointed at its\nsummit; his voice has a wheezing sound._)\n\n\"The world is the work of a God in delirium!\"\n\nANTHONY (_bending his head down_). \"The work of a God in delirium!...\"\n\n(_After a long silence_): \"How can that be?\"\n\nVALENTINE. \"The most perfect of beings, and of the \u00c6ons, the Abyss;\ndwelt in the womb of the Deep together with Thought. By their union was\nbegotten Intelligence, to whom Truth was given as a companion.\n\n\"Intelligence and Truth engendered the Word and Life, who in their turn\nbegat Man and the Church; and that doth make eight \u00c6ons!\"\n\n(_He counts upon his fingers._)\n\n\"The Word and Truth also produced ten other \u00c6ons--which is to say, five\ncouples. Man and the Church had begotten twelve more--among these the\nParaclete and Faith, Hope and Charity, Perfection and Wisdom--Sophia.\n\n\"The union of these thirty \u00c6ons constitutes the Pleroma, or\nUniversality of God. Thus, even as the echo of a passing voice, as the\neffluvia of a perfume evaporating, as the fires of the setting sun,\nthe Powers that emanated from the Principle, forever continue to grow\nweaker.\n\n\"But Sophia, desirous to know the Father, darted from the Pleroma;\nand the Word then made another couple, Christ and the Holy Ghost, who\nreunited all the \u00c6ons; and all together formed Jesus, the flower of the\nPleroma.\n\n\"But the effort of Sophia to flee away had left in the void an image of\nher--an evil substance, Acharamoth.[4] The Saviour took pity upon her,\nfreed her from all passion; and from the smile of Acharamoth redeemed,\nlight was born; her tears formed the waters; by her sorrow was dark\nmatter begotten.\n\n\"Of Acharamoth was born the Demiurgos,--the fabricator of worlds,\nthe creator of the heaven and of the Devil. He dwells far below the\nPleroma--so far that he cannot behold it--so that he deems himself to\nbe the true God, and repeats by the mouths of his prophets--'There is\nno other God but I.' Then he made man, and instilled into his soul the\nimmaterial Seed which was the Church--a reflection of the other Church\nestablished in the Pleroma.\n\n\"One day Acharamoth shall reach the highest region and unite herself\nwith the Saviour; the fire that is hidden in the world shall annihilate\nall matter, and shall even devour itself and men, becoming pure\nspirits, shall espouse the angels!\"\n\nORIGEN. \"Then shall the Demon be over-thrown and the reign of God\ncommence!\"\n\n(_Anthony expresses a cry, and forthwith_)\n\nBASILIDES (_taking him by the elbow, exclaims_:--)\n\n\"The Supreme Being with all the infinite emanations is called\nAbraxas; and the Saviour with all his virtues, Kaulakau--otherwise,\nline-upon-line, rectitude upon rectitude.\n\n\"The power of Kaulakau is obtained by the aid of certain words, which\nare inscribed upon this chalcedony to help the memory.\"\n\n(_And he points to a little stone suspended at his neck, upon which\nstone fantastic characters are graven._)\n\n\"Then thou wilt be transported into the Invisible and placed above all\nlaw; thou shalt contemn all things--even virtue!\n\n\"We, the Pure, must flee from pain, after the example of Kaulakau.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"What! and the cross?\"\n\nTHE ELKHESAITES (_in robes of hyacinth answers him_). \"The woe and\nthe degradation, the condemnation and oppression of my fathers[5] are\nblotted out, through the mission which has come.\n\n\"One may deny the inferior Christ, the man--Jesus; but the other Christ\nmust be adored--whose personality was evolved under the brooding of the\nDove's wings.\n\n\"Honor marriage; the Holy Spirit is feminine!\"\n\n(_Hilarion has disappeared; and Anthony, carried along by the crowd,\narrives in the presence of_--)\n\nTHE CARPOCRATIANS\n\n(_reclining with women upon scarlet cushions._)\n\n\"Before entering into the Only thou shalt pass through a series of\nconditions and of actions. To free thyself from the powers of darkness,\nthou must at once accomplish their works. The husband shall say to the\nwife: 'Have charity for thy brother'--and she will kiss thee.\"\n\nTHE NICOLAITANS\n\n(_gathered about a mass of smoking meats_:)\n\n\"This is a portion of the meat offered to idols;--partake of it!\nApostasy is permissible when the heart is pure. Gorge thy flesh with\nall that it demands. Seek to exterminate it by dint of debauchery!\nProunikos, the Mother of Heaven, wallowed in ignominies.\"\n\nTHE MARCOSIANS\n\n(_wearing rings of gold, and glistening with precious balm and\nunguents_:)\n\n\"Enter among us that thou mayst unite thyself to the Spirit! Enter\namong us that thou mayst quaff the draught of immortality!\"\n\n(_And one of them shows him, behind a tapestry-hanging, the body of a\nman terminated by the head of an ass. This represents Sabaoth, father\nof the Devil. He spits upon the image in token of detestation._\n\n_Another shows him a very low bed, strewn with flowers, exclaiming_:)\n\n\"The spiritual marriage is about to be consummated.\"\n\n(_A third, who holds a cup of glass, utters an invocation;--blood\nsuddenly appears in the cup_:)\n\n\"Ah! behold it! behold it!--the blood of Christ!\"\n\n(_Anthony withdraws, but finds himself be-spattered by water splashed\nfrom a cistern._)\n\nTHE HELVIDIANS\n\n(_are flinging themselves into it head foremost, muttering_:--)\n\n\"The man regenerated by baptism is impeccable!\"\n\n(_Then he passes by a great fire at which the Adamites are warming\nthemselves--all completely naked in imitation of the purity of\nParadise; and he stumbles over_)\n\nTHE MESSALINES\n\n(_wallowing upon the pavement, half-slumbering, stupid_:)\n\n\"Oh! crush us if thou wilt! we shall not move! Work is crime; all\noccupation is evil.\"\n\n(_Behind these, the abject_)\n\nPATERNIANS\n\n(_--men, women, and children lying pell mell upon a heap of filth, lift\ntheir hideous faces, wine-besmeared, and they cry aloud_:)\n\n\"The inferior parts of the body, which were created by the Devil,\nbelong to him! Let us eat, drink, and sin!\"\n\n\u00c6TIUS. \"Crimes are necessities beneath the notice of God!\"\n\n(_But suddenly_--)\n\nA MAN (--_clad in a Carthaginian mantle, bounds into their midst,\nbrandishing a scourge of thongs in his hand; and strikes violently and\nindiscriminately at all in his path_:)\n\n\"Ah! imposters! simonists, heretics and demons!--vermin of the\nschools!--dregs of hell! Marcion, there, is a sailor of Sinopus\nexcommunicated for incest;--Carpocrates was banished for being a\nmagician; \u00c6tius stole his concubine; Nicholas prostituted his wife;\nand this Manes, who calls himself the Buddha, and whose real name is\nCubricus, was flayed alive with the point of a reed, so that his skin\neven now hangs at the gates of Ctesiphon!\"\n\nANTHONY (_recognizing Tertullian, rushes to join him_): \"Master! help!\nhelp!\"\n\nTERTULLIAN (_continuing_):\n\n\"Break the images! veil the virgins! Pray, fast, weep and mortify\nyourselves! No philosophy! no books! After Jesus, science is useless!\"\n\n(_All have fled away; and Anthony beholds, in lieu of Tertullian, a\nwoman seated upon a bench of stone._\n\n_She sobs; leaning her head against a column; her hair is loose; her\nbody, weakened by grief, is clad in a long brown simar. Then they find\nthemselves face to face and alone, far from the crowd; and a silence,\nan extraordinary stillness falls--as in the woods when the winds are\nlulled, and the leaves of the trees suddenly cease to whisper._\n\n_This woman is still very beautiful, although faded, and pale as a\nsepulcher. They look at one another; and their eyes send to each other\nwaves, as it were, of thoughts, bearing drift of a thousand ancient\nthings, confused, mysterious. At last_--)\n\nPRISCILLA (_speaks_:)\n\n\"I was in the last chamber of the baths; and the rumbling sounds of the\nstreet caused a sleep to fall upon me.\n\n\"Suddenly I heard a clamour of voices. Men were shouting--'It is a\nmagician!--it is the Devil!' And the crowd stopped before our house, in\nfront of the Temple \u00c6sculapius. I drew myself up with my hands to the\nlittle window.\n\n\"Upon the peristyle of the temple, there stood a man who wore about his\nneck a collar of iron. He took burning coals out of a chafing-dish, and\nwith them drew lines across his breast, the while crying out--'Jesus!\nJesus!' The people shouted--'This is not lawful! let us stone him!'\nBut he continued. Oh! those were unheard of marvels--things which\ntransported men who beheld them! Flowers broad as suns circled before\nmy eyes, and I heard in the spaces above me the vibrations of a golden\nharp. Day died. My hands loosened their grasp of the window-bars; my\nbody fell back, and when he had led me away to his house....\"\n\nANTHONY. \"But of whom art thou speaking?\"\n\nPRISCILLA. \"Why, of Montanus!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Montanus is dead!\"\n\nPRISCILLA. \"It is not true!\"\n\nA VOICE. \"No: Montanus is not dead!\"\n\n(_Anthony turns; and sees upon the bench near him, on the opposite\nside, another woman sitting; she is fair, and even paler than the\nother; there are swellings under her eyes, as though she had wept a\nlong time. She speaks without being questioned_:)\n\nMAXIMILLA. \"We were returning from Tarsus by way of the mountains,\nwhen, at a turn in the road, we saw a man under a fig tree.\n\n\"He cried from afar off: 'Stop! stop!' and rushed toward us, uttering\nwords of abuse. The slaves ran up; he burst into a loud laugh. The\nhorses reared; the molossi all barked.\n\n\"He stood before us. The sweat streamed from his forehead; his mantle\nnapped in the wind.\n\n\"And calling us each by our names, he reproached us with the vanity\nof our work, the infamy of our bodies; and he shook his fist at the\ndromedaries because of the silver bells hanging below their mouths.\n\n\"His fury now filled my very entrails with fear and yet there was a\nstrange pleasure in it which fascinated me, intoxicated me!\n\n\"First the slaves came. 'Master,' they said, 'our animals are weary.'\nThen the women said, 'We are frightened,' and the slaves departed. Then\nthe children began to weep,--'We are hungry.' And as the women were not\nanswered, they disappeared also from our view.\n\n\"He still spoke. I felt some one near me. It was my husband; but I\nlistened only to the other. My husband crawled to me upon his knees\namong the stones, and cried--'Dost thou abandon me,' and I replied:\n'Yes! go thy way!' that I might accompany Montanus.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"A eunuch!\"\n\nPRISCILLA. \"Ah! does that astound thee, vulgar soul! Yet Magdalen,\nJohanna, Martha and Susannah did not share the couch of the Saviour.\nSouls may know the delirium of embrace better than bodies. That he\nmight keep Eustolia with impunity, the bishop Leontius mutilated\nhimself--loving his love more than his virility. And then, it was\nno fault of mine. Sotas could not cure me; a spirit constrained me.\nIt is cruel, nevertheless! But what matter? I am the last of the\nprophetesses; and after me the end of the world shall come.\"\n\nMAXIMILLA. \"He showered his gifts upon me. Moreover, no one loves him\nas I, nor is any other so well beloved by him!\"\n\nPRISCILLA. \"Thou liest! I am the most beloved!\"\n\nMAXIMILLA. \"No: it is I!\"\n\n(_They fight. Between their shoulders suddenly appears the head of a\nnegro._)\n\nMONTANUS (_clad in a black mantle, clasped by two cross-bones_):\n\n\"Peace, my doves! Incapable of terrestrial happiness, we have obtained\nthe celestial plentitude of our union. After the age of the Father,\nthe age of the Son; and I inaugurate the third, which is that of the\nParaclete. His light descended upon me during those forty nights when\nthe heavenly Jerusalem appeared shining in the firmament, above my\nhouse at Pepuzza.\n\n\"Ah, how ye cry out with anguish when the thongs of the scourge\nlacerate! how your suffering bodies submit to the ardor of my spiritual\ndiscipline! how ye languish with irrealizable longing! So strong has\nthat desire become that it has enabled you to behold the invisible\nworld; and ye can now perceive souls even with the eyes of the body!\"\n\nANTHONY. (_Makes a gesture of astonishment._)\n\nTERTULLIAN (_who appears again, standing beside Montanus_):\n\n\"Without doubt; for the soul has a body, and that which is bodiless has\nno existence.\"\n\nMONTANUS. \"In order to render it yet more subtle, I have instituted\nmany mortifications, three Lents a year, and prayers to be uttered\nnightly by the mind only, keeping the mouth closed, lest breathing\nmight tarnish thought. It is necessary to abstain from second\nmarriages, or rather from all marriage! The Angels themselves have\nsinned with women!\"\n\nTHE ARCHONTICS (_wearing cilices of hair_):\n\n\"The Saviour said: 'I come to destroy the work of the Woman!'\"\n\nTHE TATIANITES (_wearing cilices of reed_):\n\n\"She is the tree of evil. Our bodies are but garments of skin.\"\n\n(_And continuing to advance along the same side, Anthony meets_:--)\n\nTHE VALESIANS (_extended upon the ground, with red wounds below their\nbellies, and blood saturating their tunics. They offer him a knife._)\n\n\"Do as Origen did and as we have done! Is it the pain that thou\nfearest, coward? Is it the love of thy flesh that restrains thee,\nhypocrite?\"\n\n(_And while he watches them writhing upon their backs, in a pool of\nblood_--)\n\nTHE CAINITES (_wearing knotted vipers as fillets about their hair, pass\nby, vociferating in his ear_):--\n\n\"Glory to Cain! Glory to Sodom! Glory be to Judas!\n\n\"Cain made the race of the strong; Sodom terrified the earth by her\npunishment, and it was by Judas that God saved the world! Yes! by\nJudas: without him there would have been no death and no redemption!\"\n\n(_They disappear beneath the horde of the_--)\n\nCIRCUMCELLIONES (_all clad in the skins of wolves, crowned with thorns,\nand armed with maces of iron_).\n\n\"Crush the fruit! befoul the spring! drown the child! Pillage the rich\nwho are happy--who cat their fill! Beat the poor who envy the ass\nhis saddle-cloth, the dog his meal, the bird his nest,--and who is\nwretched at knowing that others are not as miserable as himself.\n\n\"We, the Saints, poison, burn, massacre, that we may hasten the end of\nthe world.\n\n\"Salvation may be obtained through martyrdom only. We give ourselves\nmartyrdom. We tear the skin from our heads with pincers; we expose our\nmembers to the plough; we cast ourselves into the mouths of furnaces!\n\n\"Out upon baptism! out upon the Eucharist! out upon marriage! universal\ndamnation!\"\n\n(_Then throughout all the basilica there is a redoubling of fury._\n\n_The Audians shoot arrows against the Devil; the Collyridians throw\nblue cloths toward the roof; the Ascites prostrate themselves before\na waterskin; the Marcionites baptise a dead man with oil. A woman,\nstanding near Appelles, exhibits a round loaf within a bottle, in order\nthe better to explain her idea. Another, standing in the midst of an\nassembly of Sampseans distributes, as a sacrament, the dust of her\nown sandals. Upon the rose-strewn bed of the Marcosians, two lovers\nembrace. The Circumcellionites slaughter one another; the Valesians\nutter the death-rattle; Bardesanes sings; Carpocras dances; Maximilla\nand Priscilla moan; and the false prophetess of Cappadocia, completely\nnaked, leaning upon a lion, and brandishing three torches, shrieks the\nTerrible Invocation._\n\n_The columns of the temple sway to and fro like the trunks of trees in a\ntempest; the amulets suspended about the necks of the Heresiarchs seem\nto cross each other in lines of fire; the constellations in the chapels\npalpitate; and the walls recoil with the ebb and flow of the crowd, in\nwhich each head is a wave that leaps and roars._\n\n_Nevertheless, from the midst of the clamor arises the sound of a song,\nin which the name of Jesus is often repeated, accompanied by bursts of\nlaughter._\n\n_The singers belong to the rabble of the people; they all keep time to\nthe song by clapping their hands. In their midst stands_--)\n\nARTUS (_in a deacon's vestments_):\n\n\"The fools who declaim against me pretend to explain the absurd; and in\norder to confound them utterly, I have composed ditties so droll that\nthey are learned by heart in all the mills, in the taverns and along\nthe ports.\n\n\"No! a thousand times no!--the Son is not coeternal with the Father,\nnor of the same substance! Otherwise he would not have said: 'Father,\nremove this chalice from me! Why dost thou call me good? God alone is\ngood! I go to my God, to your God!'--and many other things testifying\nto his character of creature. The fact is further demonstrated for\nus by all his names:--lamb, shepherd, fountain, wisdom, son-of-man,\nprophet; the way, the corner-stone!\"\n\nSABELLIUS. \"I hold that both are identical.\"\n\nARIUS. \"The Council of Antioch has decided the contrary.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Then what is the Word?... What was Jesus?\"\n\nTHE VALENTINIANS. \"He was the husband of Acharamoth repentant!\"\n\nTHE SETHIANIANS. \"He was Shem, the son of Noah!\"\n\nTHE THEODOTIANS. \"He was Melchisedech!\"\n\nTHE MERINTHIANS. \"He was only a man!\"\n\nTHE APOLLINARISTS. \"He assumed the appearance of one! He simulated the\nPassion!\"\n\nMARCEL OF ANCYRA. \"He was a development of the Father!\"\n\nPOPE CALIXTUS. \"Father and Son are but two modes of one God's\nmanifestation!\"\n\nMETHODIUS. \"He was first in Adam, then in man!\"\n\nCERINTHUS. \"And He will rise again!\"\n\nVALENTINUS. \"Impossible--his body being celestial!\"\n\nPAUL OF SAMOSATA. \"He became God _only_ from the time of his baptism!\"\n\nHERMOGENES. \"He dwells in the sun!\"\n\n(_And all the Heresiarchs form a circle about Anthony, who weeps,\ncovering his face with his hands._)\n\nA JEW (_with a red beard, and spots of leprosy upon his shin,\napproaches close to Anthony, and, with a hideous sneer, exclaims_):\n\n\"His soul was the soul of Esau! He suffered from the Bellephorentian\nsickness. Was not his mother, the seller of perfumes, seduced by a\nRoman soldier, one Pantherus?.......................... [6]\n\nANTHONY (_suddenly raising his head, looks at them a moment in silence;\nthen advancing boldly upon them, exclaims_):\n\n\"Doctors, magicians, bishops, and deacons, men and phantoms, away from\nme! begone! Ye are all lies!\"\n\nTHE HERESIARCHS. \"We have martyrs more martyrs than thine, prayers\nthat are more difficult, outbursts of love more sublime, ecstasies as\nprolonged as thine are.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"But ye have no revelation! no proofs!\"\n\n(_They all at once brandish in the air their rolls of papyrus, tablets\nof wood, scrolls of leather, rolls of woven stuff bearing inscriptions;\nand elbowing; and pushing each other, they all shout to Anthony._)\n\nTHE CERINTHIANS. \"Behold the Gospel of the Hebrews!\"\n\nTHE MARCIONITES. \"Behold the Gospel of the Lord!\"\n\nTHE MARCOSIANS. \"The Gospel of Eve!\"\n\nTHE EUCRATITES. \"The Gospel of Thomas!\"\n\nTHE CAINITES. \"The Gospel of Judas!\"\n\nBASILIDES. \"The Treatise upon the Destiny of the Soul!\"\n\nMANES. \"The Prophecy of Barkouf!\"\n\n(_Anthony struggles, breaks from them, escapes them; and in a shadowy\ncorner perceives_--)\n\nTHE AGED EBIONITES\n\n(_withered as mummies, their eyes dull and dim, their eyebrows white as\nfrost._\n\n_In tremulous voices they exclaim_:--)\n\n\"We have known him, we have seen him! We knew the Carpenter's Son! We\nwere then the same age as he; we dwelt in the same street. He used to\namuse himself by modelling little birds of mud; aided his father at his\nwork without fear of the sharp tools, or selected for his mother the\nskeins of dyed wool. Then he made a voyage to Egypt, from whence he\nbrought back wondrous secrets. We were at Jericho when he came to find\nthe Eater of Locusts. They talked together in a low voice, so that no\none could hear what was said. But it was from that time that his name\nbegan to be noised abroad in Galilee, and that men began to relate many\nfables regarding him.\"\n\n(_They reiterate, tremulously_:)\n\n\"We knew him! we others, we knew him!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Ah, speak on, speak! What was his face like?\"\n\nTERTULLIAN. \"His face was wild and repulsive; forasmuch as he\nhad burthened himself with all the crimes, all the woes, all the\ndeformities of mankind.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Oh! no, no! I imagine, on the contrary, that his entire\nperson must have been glorious with a beauty greater than the beauty of\nman!\"\n\nEUSEBIUS OF C\u00c6SAREA. \"There is indeed, at Paneades, propped up against\nthe walls of a crumbling edifice surrounded by a wilderness of weeds\nand creeping plants, a certain statue of stone which, some say, was\nerected by the Woman healed of the issue of blood. But time has gnawed\nthe face of the statue, and the rains have worn the inscription away.\"\n\n(_A woman steps forward from the group of the Carpocratians._)\n\nMARCELLINA. \"I was once a deaconess at Rome, in a little church, where\nI used to exhibit to the faithful, the silver images, of Saint Paul,\nHomer, Pythagoras and Jesus Christ.\n\n\"I have only kept that of Jesus.\"\n\n(_She half opens her mantle._)\n\n\"Dost thou desire it?\"\n\nA VOICE. \"He reappears himself when we call upon him! It is the\nhour!--come!\"\n\n(_And Anthony feels a brutal hand seize him by the arm, and drag him\naway._\n\n_He mounts a stairway in complete darkness; and after having ascended\nmany steps, he finds himself before a door._\n\n_Then the one who is leading him--(is it Hilarion?--he does not\nknow)--whispers in the ear of another_: \"The Lord is about to\ncome!\"--_and they are admitted into a chamber, with a very low ceiling,\nand without furniture._\n\n_The first object which attracts his attention is a long blood-colored\nchrysalis, with a human head surrounded by rays, and the word_ Knouphus\n_inscribed all around it in Greek characters. It is placed upon the\nshaft of a column, which is in turn supported by a broad pedestal.\nHanging upon the walls of the chamber are medallions of polished iron\nrepresenting the heads of various animals:--the head of an ox, the head\nof a lion, the head of an eagle, the head of a dog, and the head of an\nass--again!_\n\n[Illustration: ... a long blood-colored chrysalis]\n\n_Earthen lamps, suspended below these images, create a vacillating\nlight. Through a hole in the wall, Anthony can see the moon shining\nfar off upon the waves; he can even hear the feeble regular sound of\nlapping water; together with the heavy thud occasionally caused by the\nbumping of a ship's hull against the stones of the mole._\n\n_There are men crouching down, with their faces hidden by their\nmantles. From time to time they utter sounds resembling a smothered\nbark. There are women also, sleeping with their foreheads resting upon\ntheir arms, and their arms supported by their knees; they are so hidden\nby their garments as to resemble heaps of cloth piled up at intervals\nagainst the wall. Near them are half naked children, whose persons\nswarm with vermin. They watch with idiotic stare the burning of the\nlamps; and nothing is done: all are waiting for something._\n\n_They talk in undertones about family matters, or recommend to each\nother various remedies for their ailments. Some of them must embark\nat earliest daylight; the persecution is becoming too terrible to be\nendured. Nevertheless, the pagans are easily enough deceived_:--\"The\nfools imagine that we are really adoring Knouphus!\"\n\n_But one of the brethren, feeling himself suddenly inspired, takes his\nplace before the column, where a basket has already been placed, filled\nwith fennel and aristolochia. On the top of the basket is placed a\nloaf._)\n\nTHE INSPIRED BROTHER\n\n(_unrolling a placard covered with designs representing cylinders\nblending with and fitting into one another, commences to pray_:)\n\n\"The ray of the Word descended upon the darknesses; and there arose a\nmighty cry, like unto the voice of Light.\"\n\nALL (_swaying their bodies in unison, respond_):\n\n\"Kyrie eleison!\"\n\nTHE INSPIRED BROTHER. \"Then was Man created by the infamous\nGod of Israel, aided by those who are these (_pointing to the\nmedallions_)--Astophaios, Oraios, Sabaoth, Adonai, Eloi, Iao!\n\n\"And Man, hideous, feeble, formless and thoughtless, lay upon the slime\nof the earth.\"\n\nALL (_in plaintive accents_):\n\n\"Kyrie eleison!\"\n\nTHE INSPIRED BROTHER. \"But Sophia, compassionating him, vivified him\nwith a spark of her own soul.\n\n\"Then God, beholding Man so beautiful, waxed wroth; and imprisoned him\nwithin His own kingdom, forbidding him to touch the Tree of Knowledge.\n\n\"Again did the other succor him. She sent to him the Serpent, who, by\nmany long subterfuges, made him disobey that law of hate.\n\n\"And Man, having tasted knowledge, understood celestial things.\"\n\nALL (_raising their voices_):\n\n\"Kyrie Eleison!\"\n\nTHE INSPIRED BROTHER. \"But Iabdalaoth through vengeance cast down man\ninto the world of matter, and the Serpent with him.\"\n\nALL (_in a very low tone_):\n\n\"Kyrie Eleison!\"\n\n(_Then all hold their peace, and there is silence._\n\n_The odors of the port mingle with the smoke of the lamps in the warm\nair. The lamp-wicks crepitate; their flames are about to go out, long\nmosquitoes flit in rapid circlings about them. And Anthony groans\nin an agony of anguish, as with the feeling that a monstrosity is\nfloating about him, as with the fear of a crime that is about to be\naccomplished._\n\n_But_--)\n\nTHE INSPIRED BROTHER (_stamping his heel upon the floor, snapping his\nfingers, tossing his head wildly, suddenly chants to a furious rhythm,\nwith accompaniment of cymbals and a shrill flute_:--)\n\n\"Come! come! come!--issue from thy cavern!\n\n\"O swift one, who runneth without feet, captor who seizeth without hand!\n\n\"Sinuous as the rivers, orbicular as the sun, black, with spots of\ngold, like the firmament star-besprinkled! Like unto the intertwinings\nof the vine, and the circumvolutions of entrails!\n\n\"Unengendered! eater of earth! immortally young! unfailing\nperspicacious! honored at Epidaurus! Kindly to man! thou who didst heal\nKing Ptolemy, and the warriors, of Moses, and Glaucus, son of Minos!\n\n\"Come! come! come!--issue from thy cavern!\"\n\nALL (_repeat_):\n\n\"Come! come! come!--issue from thy cavern!\"\n\n(_Nevertheless, nothing yet appears._)\n\n\"Why? What aileth him?\"\n\n(_And they concert together, devise means._\n\n_An old man presents a clod of turf as an offering. Then something\nupheaves within the basket. The mass of verdure shakes; the flowers\nfall, and the head of a python appears._\n\n[Illustration: ... the flowers fall and the head of a python\nappears]\n\n_It passes slowly around the edge of the loaf, like a circle moving\naround an immovable disk;--then it unfolds itself, lengthens out; it is\nenormous and of great weight. Lest it should touch the floor, the men\nuphold it against their breasts, the women support it upon their heads,\nthe children hold it up at arms' length; and its tail, issuing through\nthe hole in the wall, stretches away indefinitely to the bottom of the\nsea. Its coils double; they fill the chamber; they enclose Anthony._)\n\nTHE FAITHFUL (_press their mouths against its skin, snatch from one\nanother the loaf which it has bitten, and cry aloud_:--)\n\n\"It is thou! it is thou!\n\n\"First raised up by Moses, broken by Ezechias, re-established by the\nMessiah. He drank thee in the waters of baptism; but thou didst leave\nhim in the Garden of Olives; and then indeed he felt his own weakness!\n\n\"Writhing about the arms of the cross, and above his head, while\ncasting thy slime upon the crown of thorns, thou didst behold him die!\nFor thou art not Jesus, thou!--thou art the Word! thou art the Christ!\"\n\n(_Anthony faints with horror, and falls prostrate in front of his hut\nupon the splinters of wood, where the torch that had slipped from his\nhand, is burning low._\n\n_The shock arouses him. Opening his eyes again, he perceives the Nile,\nbrightly undulating under the moon, like a vast serpent winding over\nthe sands; so that the hallucination returns upon him again; he has not\nleft the company of the Ophites; they surround him, call him; he sees\nthem carrying baggage, descending to the port. He embarks along with\nthem._\n\n_An inappreciable time elapses._\n\n_Then the vaults of a prison environ him. Iron bars in front of him\nmake black lines against a background of blue; and in the darkness\nbeside him people are praying and weeping surrounded by others who\nexhort and console._\n\n[Illustration: ... and in the darkness beside him people are\npraying]\n\n_Without, there is a murmur like the deep humming of a vast crowd, and\nthere is splendour as of a summer's day._\n\n_Shrill voices announce watermelons for sale, iced drinks, and cushions\nof woven grass to sit upon. From time to time there are bursts of\napplause. He hears the sound of footsteps above his head._\n\n_Suddenly a long roar is heard, mighty and cavernous as the roar of\nwater in an aqueduct._\n\n_And he sees, directly opposite, behind the bars of another compartment\nacross the arena a lion walking to and fro, then a line of sandals,\nbare legs, and purple fringes. Beyond are the vast circling wreaths\nof people, in symmetrical tiers, enlarging as they rise, from the\nlowest which hems in the arena to the uppermost above which masts\nrise to sustain a hyacinth-colored awning, suspended in air by ropes.\nStairways radiating toward the centre, divide these huge circles of\nstone at regular intervals. The benches disappear under a host of\nspectators--knights, senators, soldiers, plebeians, vestals, and\ncourtesans--in woollen hoods, in silken maniples, in fallow-colored\ntunics; together with aigrettes of precious stones, plumes of feathers,\nthe fasces of lictors; and all this swarming multitude deafens and\nstupefies Anthony with its shoutings, its tumultuous fury, as of an\nenormous boiling vat. In the middle of the arena, a vase of incense\nsmokes upon an altar._\n\n_Anthony thus knows that the people with him are Christians condemned\nto be thrown to the wild beasts. The men wear the red mantle of the\npontiffs of Saturn; the women, the bandellettes of Ceres. Their friends\ndivide among themselves shreds of their garments, and rings. To obtain\naccess to the prison, they say, costs a great deal of money. But what\nmatter! They will remain until it is all over._\n\n_Anthony notices among these consolers, a certain bald-headed man,\nin a black tunic: Anthony has seen that face somewhere before. The\nconsoler discourses to them concerning the nothingness of this world,\nand the felicity of the Elect. Anthony feels within him a transport of\ncelestial love; he longs for the opportunity to lay down his life for\nthe Saviour--not knowing as yet whether he himself is to be numbered\namong the martyrs._\n\n_But all--except a certain Phrygian, with long hair, who stands with\nhis arms uplifted--have a look of woe. One old man is sobbing upon a\nbench; a youth standing close by, with drooping head, abandons himself\nto a reverie of sorrow._\n\nTHE OLD MAN _had refused to pay the customary contribution before the\nstatue of Minerva, erected at the angle of the cross-roads; and he\ngazes at his companions with a look that signifies_:--)\n\n\"Ye ought to have succored me! Communities can sometimes so arrange\nmatters as to insure their being left in peace. Some among ye also\nprocured those letters which falsely allege that one has sacrificed to\nidols.\"\n\n(_He asks aloud_:--)\n\n\"Was it not Petrus of Alexandria who laid down the rule concerning what\nshould be done by those who have yielded to torture?\"\n\n(_Then, to himself_:--)\n\n\"Ah! how cruel this at my age! My infirmities make me so weak!\nNevertheless, I might easily have lived until the coming winter, or\nlonger!\"\n\n(_The memory of his little garden makes him sad, and he gazes toward\nthe altar._)\n\nTHE YOUNG MAN (_who disturbed the festival of Apollo by violence and\nblows, murmurs_:--)\n\n\"Yet it would have been easy for me to have fled to the mountains!\"\n\n(_One of the brothers answers_:--)\n\n\"But the soldiers would have captured thee!\"\n\nTHE YOUNG MAN. \"Oh! I would have done as Cyprian did--I would have\nreturned, and the second time I would surely have had more force!\"\n\n(_Then he thinks of the innumerable days that he might have lived, of\nall the joys that he might have known, but will never know; and he\ngazes toward the altar._\n\n_But_--)\n\nTHE MAN IN THE BLACK TUNIC (_rushes to his side._)\n\n\"What scandal! What! Thou! a victim of God's own choice! And all these\nwomen here who are looking at thee! Nay, think what thou art doing!\nMoreover, remember that God sometimes vouchsafes to perform a miracle.\nPionius numbed and made powerless the hands of his executioners; the\nblood of Polycarp extinguished the fire of the stake.\"\n\n(_Then he turns to the Old Man_:--)\n\n\"Father, father! it behooves thee to edify us by thy death! By longer\ndelaying it, thou wouldst doubtless commit some evil action that would\nlose thee the fruit of all thy good works. Remember, also, that the\npower of God is infinite; and it may come to pass that all the people\nwill be converted by thy example.\"\n\n(_And in the great den opposite, the lions stride back and forth,\nceaselessly, with a rapid continuous motion. The largest suddenly looks\nat Anthony and roars, and a vapour issues from his jaws._\n\n_The women are huddled against the men._)\n\nTHE CONSOLER (_goes from one to the other._)\n\n\"What would ye say, what wouldst thou say if thou wert to be burned\nwith red-hot irons, if thou wert to be torn asunder by horses, if thou\nhadst been condemned to have thy body smeared with honey, and thus\nexposed to be devoured by flies! As it is, thou wilt only suffer the\ndeath of a hunter surprised by a beast in the woods.\"\n\n(_Anthony would prefer all those things to death by the fangs of the\nhorrible wild beasts; he fancies already that he feels their teeth and\ntheir claws, that he hears his bones cracking between their jaws._\n\n_A keeper enters the dungeon; the martyrs tremble._\n\n_Only one remains impassable, the Phrygian, who prays standing apart\nfrom the rest. He has burned three temples; and he advances with arms\nuplifted, mouth open, face turned toward heaven, seeing nothing around\nhim, like a somnambulist._)\n\nTHE CONSOLER (_shouts_). \"Back! back! lest the spirit of Montanus might\ncome upon you.\"\n\nALL (_recoil from the Phrygian, and vociferate_)\n\n\"Damnation to the Montanist!\"\n\n(_They insult him, spit upon him, excite each other to beat him._\n\n_The rearing lions bite each other's manes_;)\n\nTHE PEOPLE \"To the beasts with them, to the beasts.\"\n\n_The Martyrs burst into sobs, and embrace each other passionately. A\ncup of narcotic wine is offered them. It is passed from hand to hand,\nquickly._\n\n_Another keeper, standing at the door of the den, awaits the signal.\nThe den opens; a lion comes out._\n\n_He crosses the arena with great oblique strides. Other lions follow in\nfile after him; then a bear, three panthers, and some leopards. They\nscatter through the arena like a flock in a meadow._\n\n_The crack of a whip resounds. The Christians stagger forward; and\ntheir brethren push them, that it may be over the sooner._\n\n_Anthony closes his eyes._\n\n_He opens them again. But darkness envelopes him._\n\n_Soon the darkness brightens; and he beholds an arid plain, mamillated\nwith knolls, such as might be seen about abandoned quarries._\n\n[Illustration: ... and he beholds an arid plain, mamillated\nwith knolls]\n\n_Here and there a tuft of shrubbery rises among the slabs of stone,\nlevel with the soil; and there are white figures, vaguer than clouds,\nbending over the slabs._\n\n_Others approach, softly, silently. Eyes gleam through the slits of\nlong veils. By the easy indifference of their walk, and the perfumes\nexhaled from their garments, Anthony knows they are patrician women.\nThere are men also, but of inferior condition; for their faces are at\nonce simple-looking and coarse._\n\n(_One of the Women, taking a long breath_:)\n\n\"Ah! how good the cool air of night is, among the sepulchers! I am so\nweary of the softness of beds, the turmoil of days, the heavy heat of\nthe sun!\"\n\n(_Her maid-servant takes from a canvas bag, a torch which she ignites.\nThe faithful light other torches by it, and plant them upon the tombs._)\n\nA WOMAN (_panting_).\n\n\"I am here at last! Oh how wearisome to be the wife of an idolator!\"\n\nANOTHER. \"These visits to the prisons, interviews with our brethren,\nare all matters of suspicion to our husbands! And we must even hide\nourselves in order to make the sign of the cross; they would take it\nfor a magical conjuration!\"\n\nANOTHER. \"With my husband it was a quarrel every day. I would not\nsubmit myself to his brutal exactions; therefore he has had me\nprosecuted as a Christian.\"\n\nANOTHER. \"Do you remember Lucius, that young man who was so beautiful,\nwho was dragged like Hector, with his heels attached to a chariot,\nfrom the Esquiline Gate to the mountains of Tibur?--and how his blood\nspattered the bushes on either side of the road? I gathered up the\ndrops of his blood. Behold it!\"\n\n(_She drags a black sponge from her bosom, covers it with kisses, and\nflings herself down upon the slabs, crying aloud_:--)\n\n[Illustration: She drags a black sponge from her bosom, covers\nit with kisses ...]\n\n\"Ah! my friend! my friend!\"\n\nA MAN. \"It is just three years to-day since Domitilla died. They stoned\nher at the further end of the Grove of Proserpine. I gathered her\nbones, which shone like glowworms in the grass. The earth how covers\nthem.\"\n\n(_He casts himself down upon a tomb._)\n\n\"O my betrothed! my betrothed!\"\n\n(_And all the others scattered over the plain_:--)\n\n\"O my sister! O my brother! O my daughter! O my mother!\"\n\n(_Some kneel, covering their faces with their hands; others lie down\nupon the ground with their arms extended; and the sobs they smother\nshake their breasts with such violence as though their hearts were\nbreaking with grief. Sometimes they look up to heaven, exclaiming_:--)\n\n\"Have mercy upon her soul, O my God! She languishes in the sojourn of\nShades; vouchsafe to admit her to thy Resurrection, that she may enjoy\nThy Light!\"\n\n(_Or, with eyes fixed upon the gravestones, they murmur to the dead_:--)\n\n\"Be at peace, beloved! and suffer not! I have brought thee wine and\nmeats!\"\n\nA WIDOW. \"Here is pultis, made by my own hands, as he used to like it,\nwith plenty of eggs and a double measure of flour! We are going to eat\nit together as in other days, are we not?\"\n\n(_She lifts a little piece to her lips, and suddenly bursts into an\nextravagant and frenzied laugh._\n\n_The others also nibble a little bit as she does and drink a mouthful\nof wine._\n\n_They recount to each other the stories of their martyrs; grief becomes\nexalted! libations redouble. Their tear-swimming eyes are fixed upon\neach other's faces. They stammer with intoxication and grief; gradually\nhands touch hands, lips join themselves to lips, and they seek each\nother upon the tombs, between the cups and the torches._\n\n_The sky begins to whiten. The fog makes damp their garments; and,\nwithout appearing even to know one another, they depart by different\nways and seek their homes._\n\n_The sun shines; the weeds and the grass have grown higher; the face of\nthe plain is changed._\n\n_And Anthony, looking between tall bamboos, sees distinctly a forest of\ncolumns, of bluish-grey color. These are tree-trunks, all originating\nfrom one vast trunk. From each branch of the colossal tree descend\nother branches which may bury themselves in the soil; and the aspect of\nall these horizontal and perpendicular lines, indefinitely multiplied,\nwould closely resemble a monstrous timber-work, were it not that they\nhave small figs[7] growing upon them here and there, and a blackish\nfoliage, like that of the sycamore._\n\n_He perceives in the forkings of their branches, hanging bunches of\nyellow flowers, violet flowers also, and ferns that resemble the plumes\nof splendid birds._\n\n_Under the lowest branches the horns of a bubalus gleam at intervals,\nand the bright eyes of antelopes are visible; there are hosts of\nparrots; there are butterflies flittering hither and thither; lizards\nlazily drag themselves up or down; flies buzz and hum; and in the midst\nof the silence, a sound is audible as of the palpitation of a deep and\nmighty life._\n\n_Seated upon a sort of pyre at the entrance of the wood is a strange\nbeing--a man--besmeared with cow-dung, completely naked, more withered\nthan a mummy; his articulations form knots at the termination of bones\nthat resemble sticks. He has bunches of shells suspended from his ears;\nhis face is very long, and his nose like a vulture's beak. His left arm\nremains motionlessly erect in air, anchylosed, rigid as a stake; and he\nhas been seated here so long that birds have made themselves a nest in\nhis long hair._\n\n_At the four corners of his wooden pyre flame four fires. The sun is\ndirectly in front of him. He gazes steadily at it with widely-opened\neyes; and, then without looking at Anthony, asks him_:--)\n\n\"Brahmin from the shores of the Nile, what hast thou to say regarding\nthese things?\"\n\n(_Flames suddenly burst out on all sides of him, through the intervals\nbetween the logs of the pyre; and_--)\n\nTHE GYMNOSOPHIST (_continues_).\n\n\"Lo! I have buried myself in solitude, like the rhinoceros. I dwelt in\nthe tree behind me.\"\n\n[Illustration: I have buried myself in solitude, like the\nrhinoceros. I dwelt in the tree behind me.]\n\n(_The vast fig-tree, indeed, shows in one of its groves, a natural\nexcavation about the size of a man._)\n\n\"And I nourished me with flowers and fruits, observing the precepts so\nrigidly that not even a dog ever beheld me eat.\n\n\"Inasmuch as existence originates from corruption, corruption from\ndesire, desire from sensation, sensation from contact, I have ever\navoided all action, all contact, and perpetually--motionless as the\nstela of a tomb, exhaling my breath from my two nostrils, fixing my\neyes upon my nose, and contemplating the ether in my mind, the world in\nmy members, the moon in my heart--I dreamed of the essence of the great\nSoul whence continually escape the principles of life, even as sparks\nescape from fire.\n\n\"Thus at last I found the supreme Soul in all beings, and all beings\nin the supreme Soul; and I have been able to make mine own soul all my\nsenses.\n\n\"I receive knowledge directly from heaven, like the bird Tchataka, who\nquenches his thirst from falling rain only.\n\n\"Even by so much as things are known to me, things no longer exist.\n\n\"For me now there is no more hope, no more anguish, there is neither\nhappiness nor virtue, nor day nor night, nor Thou nor I--absolutely\nnothing!\n\n\"My awful austerities have made me superior to the Powers. A single\ncontraction of my thought would suffice to kill a hundred sons of\nkings, to dethrone gods, to overturn the world.\"\n\n(_He utters all these things in a monotonous voice._\n\n_The surrounding leaves shrivel up. Fleeing rats rush over the ground._\n\n_He slowly turns his eyes downward toward the rising flames, and then\ncontinues_:--)\n\n\"I have loathed Form, I have loathed Perception, I have loathed even\nKnowledge itself, for the thought does not survive the transitory fact\nwhich caused it; and mind, like all else, is only an illusion.\n\n\"All that is engendered will perish; all that is dead must live again;\nthe beings that have even now disappeared shall sojourn again in wombs\nas yet unformed, and shall again return to earth to serve in woe other\ncreatures.\n\n\"But inasmuch as I have rolled through the revolution of an indefinite\nmultitude of existences, under the envelopes of gods, of men, and of\nanimals, I renounce further wanderings; I will endure this weariness\nno more! I abandon the filthy hostelry of this body of mine, built\nwith flesh, reddened with blood, covered with a hideous skin, full of\nuncleanliness; and, for my recompense, I go at last to slumber in the\ndeepest deeps of the Absolute--in Annihilation.\"\n\n(_The flames rise to his chest, then envelope him. His head rises\nthrough them as through a hole in the wall. His cavernous eyes still\nremain icicle open, gazing._)\n\nANTHONY (_rises_).\n\n(_The torch, which had fallen to the ground, has ignited the splinters\nof wood; and the flames have singed his beard._\n\n_With a loud cry, Anthony tramples the fire out; and, when nothing\nremains but ashes, he exclaims_:--)\n\n\"Where can Hilarion be? He was here a moment ago. I saw him!\n\n\"What! No; it is impossible; I must have been mistaken!\n\n\"Yet why?... Perhaps my cabin, these stones, this sand, have no real\nexistence. I am becoming mad! Let me be calm! Where was I? What was it\nthat happened?\n\n\"Ah! the gymnosophist!... Such a death is frequent among the sages of\nIndia. Kalanos burned himself before Alexander; another did likewise\nin the time of Augustus. What hatred of life men must have to do thus!\nUnless, indeed, they are impelled by pride alone?... Yet in any event\nthey have the intrepidity of martyrs.... As for the latter, I can now\nwell believe what has been told me regarding the debauchery they cause.\n\n\"And before that? Yes: I remember now! the host of the Heresiarchs!\nWhat outcries! What eyes! Yet why so much rebellion of the flesh, so\nmuch dissoluteness, so many aberrations of the intellect.\n\n\"They claim, nevertheless, to seek God through all those ways! What\nright have I to curse them--I, who stumble so often in mine own path?\nI was perhaps about to learn more of them at the moment when they\ndisappeared. Too rapid was the whirl; I had no time to answer. Now I\nfeel as though there were more space, more light in my understanding. I\nam calm. I even feel myself able to.... What is this? I thought I had\nput out the fire!\"\n\n(_A flame flits among the rocks; and soon there comes the sound of\na voice--broken, convulsed as by sobs--from afar off, among the\nmountains._)\n\n\"Can it be the cry of a hyena, or the lamentation of some traveler that\nhas lost his way?\"\n\n(_Anthony listens. The flame draws nearer._\n\n_And he beholds a weeping woman approach, leaning upon the shoulder of\na white-bearded man._\n\n_She is covered with a purple robe in rags. He is bareheaded like lier,\nwears a tunic of the same color, and carries in his hands a brazen\nvase, whence arises a thin blue flame._\n\n_Anthony feels a fear come upon him, and wishes to know who this woman\nmay be._)\n\nTHE STRANGER SIMON. \"It is a young girl, a poor child that I lead about\nwith me everywhere.\"\n\n(_He uplifts the brazen vase._\n\n_Anthony contemplates the girl, by the light of its vacillating flame._\n\n_There are marks of bites upon her face, traces of blows upon her arms;\nher dishevelled hair entangles itself in the rents of her rags; her\neyes appear to be insensible to light._)\n\nSIMON. \"Sometimes she remains thus for a long, long time without\nspeaking; then all at once she revives, and discourses of marvellous\nthings.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"In truth?\"\n\nSIMON. \"Ennoia; Ennoia! Ennoia!--tell us what thou hast to say!\"\n\n(_She rolls her eyes like one awaking from a dream, slowly passes her\nfingers over her brows, and in a mournful voice, speaks_:--)\n\nHelena[8] (_Ennoia_).\n\n[Illustration: Helena - Ennoia]\n\n\"I remember a distant land, of the color of emerald. Only one tree\ngrows there.\n\n(_Anthony starts_).\n\n\"Upon each of its tiers of broad-extending arms, a pair of Spirits\ndwell in air. All about them the branches intercross, like the veins\nof a body; and they watch the eternal Life circulating, from the roots\ndeep plunging into darkness even to the leafy summit that rises higher\nthan the sun. I, dwelling upon the second branch, illuminated the\nnights of Summer with my face.\"\n\nANTHONY, (_tapping his own forehead_:--)\n\n\"Ah! ah! I comprehend! her head!...\"\n\nSIMON (_placing his finger to his lips_:--)\n\n\"Hush!\"\n\nHELENA. \"The sail remained well filled by the wind; the keel cleft the\nfoam. He said to me: 'What though I afflict my country, though I lose\nmy kingdom! Thou wilt belong to me, in my house!'\n\n\"How sweet was the lofty chamber of his palace! Lying upon the ivory\nbed, he caressed my long hair, singing amorously the while.\n\n\"Even at the close of the day I beheld the two camps, the watchfires\nbeing lighted, Ulysses at the entrance of his tent, armed Achilles\ndriving a chariot along the sea-beach.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Why! she is utterly mad! How came this to pass?...\"\n\nSIMON. \"Hush! hush!\"\n\nHELENA. \"They anointed me with unguents, and sold me to the people that\nI might amuse them.\n\n\"One evening I was standing with the sistrum in my hand, making music\nfor some Greek sailors who were dancing. The rain was falling upon the\nroof of the tavern like a cataract, and the cups of warm wine were\nsmoking.\n\n\"A man suddenly entered, although the door was not opened to let him\npass.\"\n\nSIMON. \"It was I! I found thee again!\n\n\"Behold her, Anthony, she whom they call Sigeh, Ennoia, Barbelo,\nProunikos! The Spirits governing the world were jealous of her; and\nthey imprisoned her within the body of a woman.\n\n\"She was that Helen of Troy, whose memory was cursed by the poet\nStesichorus. She was Lucretia, the patrician woman violated by a king.\nShe was Delilah, by whom Samson's locks were shorn.... She has loved\nadultery, idolatry, lying and foolishness. She has prostituted herself\nto all nations. She has sung at the angles of all cross-roads. She has\nkissed the faces of all men.\n\n\"At Tyre, she, the Syrian, was the mistress of robbers. She caroused\nwith them during the nights; and she concealed assassins amidst the\nvermin of her tepid bed.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Ah! what is this to me?...\"\n\nSIMON (_with a furious look_:--)\n\n\"I tell thee that I have redeemed her, and re-established her in her\nformer splendor; insomuch that Caius C\u00e6sar Caligula became enamoured of\nher, desiring to sleep with the Moon!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"What then?...\"\n\nSIMON. \"Why this, that she herself is the Moon! Has not Pope Clement\nwritten how she was imprisoned in a tower? Three hundred persons\nsurrounded the tower to watch it; and the moon was seen at each of the\nloop-holes at the same time, although there is not more than one moon\nin the world, nor more than one Ennoia!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Yes ... it seems to me that I remember....\"\n\n(_He falls into a reverie._)\n\nSIMON. \"Innocent as the Christ who died for men, so did she devote\nherself for women. For the impotence of Jehovah is proven by the\ntransgression of Adama, and we must shake off the yoke of the old law,\nwhich is antipathetic to the order of things.[9]\n\n\"I have preached the revival in Ephraim and in Issachar by the torrent\nof Bizor, beyond the Lake of Houleh, in the valley of Maggedo, further\nthan the mountains, at Bostra and at Damascus. Let all come to me who\nare covered with wine, who are covered with filth, who are covered with\nblood! and I shall take away their uncleanliness with the Holy Spirit,\ncalled Minerva by the Greeks. She is Minerva! she is the Holy Spirit! I\nam Jupiter, Apollo, the Christ, the Paraclete, the great might of God,\nincarnated in the person of Simon!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Ah! it is thou!... so it is thou! But I know thy crimes!\n\n\"Thou wast born at Gittoi near Samaria, Dositheas, thy first master,\ndrove thee from him. Thou didst execrate Saint Paul because he\nconverted one of thy wives; and, vanquished by Saint Peter, in thy rage\nand terror thou didst cast into the waves the bag which contained thy\nartifices!\"\n\nSIMON. \"Dost thou desire them?\"\n\n(_Anthony looks at him, and an interior voice whispers hi his\nheart:--\"Why not?\"_)\n\nSIMON (_continues_).\n\n\"He who knows the forces of Nature and the essence of Spirits must be\nable to perform miracles. It has been the dream of all sages; it is the\ndesire which even now gnaws thee!--confess it!\"\n\n\"In the sight of the multitude of the Romans, I flew in the air so\nhigh that none could behold me move. Nero ordered that I should be\ndecapitated; but it was the head of a sheep which fell upon the ground\nin lieu of mine. At last they buried me alive; but I rose again upon\nthe third day. The proof is that thou dost behold me before thee!\"\n\n(_He presents his hands to Anthony to smell. They have the stench of\ncorpse-flesh. Anthony recoils with loathing._)\n\n\"I can make serpents of bronze writhe; I can make marble statues\nlaugh; I can make dogs speak. I will show thee vast quantities of gold;\nI will reestablish kings; thou shalt see nations prostrate themselves\nin adoration before me! I can walk upon the clouds and upon the waves,\nI can pass through mountains, I can make myself appear as a youth, as\nan old man, as a tiger, or as an ant; I can assume thy features; I can\ngive thee mine; I can make the thunder follow after me. Dost hear it?\"\n\n(_The thunder rumbles; flashes of lightning succeed._)\n\n\"It is the voice of the Most High; for 'the Lord thy God is a fire;'\nand all creations are accomplished by sparks from the fire-centre of\nall things.\n\nThou shalt even now receive the baptism of it--that second baptism\nannounced by Jesus, which fell upon the apostles on a day of tempest\nwhen the windows were open!\"\n\n(_And stirring up the flame with his hand, slowly, as though preparing\nto sprinkle Anthony with it, he continues_:--)\n\n\"Mother of mercies, thou who discoverest all secrets, in order that we\nmay find rest in the eighth mansion....\"\n\nANTHONY (_cries out_:--)\n\n\"Oh! that I had only some holy water!...\"\n\n(_The flame goes out, producing much smoke._\n\n_Ennoia and Simon have disappeared._\n\n_An exceedingly cold, opaque and f[oe]tid mist fills the atmosphere._)\n\nANTHONY (_groping with his hands like a blind man_:--)\n\n\"Where am I?... I fear lest I fall into the abyss! And the cross,\nsurely, is too far from me. Ah! what a night! what a terrible night!\"\n\n(_The mist is parted by a gust of wind; and Anthony sees two men\ncovered with long white tunics._\n\n_The first is of lofty stature, with a gentle face, and a grave mien.\nHis blond hair, parted like that of Christ, falls upon his shoulders.\nHe has cast aside a wand that he had been holding in his hand; his\ncompanion takes it up, making a reverence after the fashion of the\nOrientals._\n\n_The latter is small of stature, thick set, flat-nosed; his neck and\nshoulders expresses good natured simplicity._\n\n_Both are barefooted, bareheaded, and dusty, like persons who have made\na long journey._)\n\nANTHONY (_starting up_:--)\n\n\"What do ye seek? Speak!... Begone from here!\"\n\nDAMIS (_who is a little man_).\n\n\"Nay! nay! be not angered, good hermit. As for that I seek, I know not\nmyself what it is! Here is the Master!\"\n\n(_He sits down. The other stranger remains standing. Silence._)\n\nANTHONY (_asks_).\n\n\"Then ye come?...\"\n\nDAMIS. \"Oh! from afar off--very far off!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"And ye go?...\"\n\nDAMIS (_pointing to the other_)\n\n\"Whithersoever he shall desire!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"But who may he be?\"\n\nDAMIS. \"Look well upon him!\"\n\nANTHONY (_aside_).\n\n\"He looks like a saint! If I could only dare....\"\n\n(_The mist is all gone. The night is very clear. The moon shines._)\n\nDAMIS. \"Of what art thou dreaming, that thou dost not speak?\"\n\nANTHONY. \"I was thinking.... Oh! nothing!\"\n\nDAMIS (_approaches Apollonius, and walks all round him several times,\nbending himself as he walks, never raising his head_:--)\n\n\"Master, here is a Galilean hermit who desires to know the beginnings\nof wisdom.\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"Let him approach!\" (_Anthony hesitates._)\n\nDAMIS. \"Approach!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS (_in a voice of thunder_:--)\n\n\"Approach! Thou wouldst know who I am, what I have done, and what I\nthink,--is it not so, child?\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Always supposing that these things can contribute to the\nsalvation of my soul.\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"Rejoice! I am about to inform thee of them!\"\n\nDAMIS (_in an undertone, to Anthony_:--)\n\n\"Is it possible? He must surely have at the first glance discerned in\nthee extraordinary aptitude for philosophy. I shall also strive to\nprofit by his instruction.\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"First of all, I shall tell thee of the long course which\nI have followed in order to obtain the doctrine; and if thou canst\ndiscover in all my life one evil action, thou shalt bid me pause, for\nhe who hath erred in his actions may well give scandal by his words.\"\n\nDAMIS (_to Anthony_).\n\n\"How just a man? Is he not?\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Indeed I believe him to be sincere.\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"Upon the night of my birth, my mother imagined that\nshe was gathering flowers by the shore of a great lake. A flash of\nlightning appeared; and she brought me into the world to the music of\nthe voices of swans singing to her in her dream.\n\n\"Until I had reached the age of fifteen I was plunged thrice a day into\nthe fountain, Asbadeus, whose waters make perjurers hydropical; and my\nbody was rubbed with the leaves of the onyza, that I might be chaste.\n\n\"A Palmyrian princess came one evening to seek me, offering me\ntreasures that she knew to be in the tombs. A hierodule of the temple\nof Diana, slew herself in despair with the sacrificial knife; and the\ngovernor of Cilicia, finding all his promises of no avail, cried out in\nthe presence of my family that he would cause my death; but it was he\nthat died only three days after, assassinated by the Romans.\"\n\nDAMIS (_nudging Anthony with his elbow_).\n\n\"Eh? did I not tell thee? What a man!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"For the space of four successive years I maintained the\nunbroken silence of the Pythagoreans. The most sudden and unexpected\npain never extorted a sigh from me; and when I used to enter the\ntheatre, all drew away from me, as from a phantom.\"\n\nDAMIS. \"Wouldst thou have done so much?--thou?\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"After the period of my trial had been accomplished, I\nundertook to instruct the priests regarding the tradition they had\nlost.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"What tradition?\"\n\nDAMIS. \"Interrupt him not! Be silent!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"I have conversed with the Samaneans of the Ganges, with\nthe astrologers of Chaldea, with the magi of Babylon, with the Gaulish\nDruids, with the priests of the negroes! I have ascended the fourteen\nOlympii; I have sounded the Scythian lakes; I have measured the breadth\nof the Desert!\"\n\nDAMIS. \"It is all true! I was with him the while!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"But first I had visited the Hyrcanian Sea; I made the tour\nof it; and descending by way of the country of the Baraomati, where\nBucephalus is buried, I approached the city of Nineveh. At the gates of\nthe city, a man drew near me....\"\n\nDAMIS. \"I--even I, good master! I loved thee from the first. Thou wert\ngentler than a girl and more beautiful than a god!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS (_without hearing him_).\n\n\"He asked me to accompany him, that he might serve as interpreter.\"\n\nDAMIS. \"But thou didst reply that all languages were familiar to thee,\nand that thou couldst divine all thoughts. Then I kissed the hem of thy\nmantle, and proceeded to walk behind thee.\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"After Ctesiphon, we entered upon the territory of Babylon.\"\n\nDAMIS. \"And the Satrap cried aloud on beholding a man so pale.\"\n\nANTHONY (_aside_).\n\n\"What signifies this?...\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"The king received me standing, near a throne of silver,\nin a hall constellated with stars; from the cupola hung suspended by\ninvisible threads four great birds of gold, with wings extended.\"\n\nANTHONY (_dreamily_).\n\n\"Can there be such things in the world?\"\n\nDAMIS. \"Ah! that is a city! that Babylon! everybody there is rich! The\nhouses, which are painted blue, have doors of bronze, and flights of\nsteps descending to the river.\"\n\n(_Drawing lines upon the ground, with his stick_:)\n\n\"Like that, seest thou? And then there are temples, there are squares,\nthere are baths, there are aqueducts! The palaces are roofed with red\nbrass; and the interior ... ah! if thou only knewest!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"Upon the north wall rises a tower which supports a second,\na third, a fourth, a fifth, and there are also three others! The eighth\nis a chapel containing a bed. No one enters it save the woman chosen by\nthe priests for the God Belus. I was lodged there by order of the King\nof Babylon.\"\n\nDAMIS. \"As for me, they hardly deigned to give me any attention! So I\nwalked through the streets all by myself. I informed myself regarding\nthe customs of the people; I visited the workshops; I examined the\ngreat machines that carry water to the gardens. But I soon wearied of\nbeing separated from the Master.\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"At last we left Babylon; and as we travelled by the light\nof the moon, we suddenly beheld an Empusa.\"\n\nDAMIS. \"Aye, indeed! She leaped upon her iron hoof; she brayed like an\nass; she galloped among the rocks. He shouted imprecations at her; she\ndisappeared.\"\n\nANTHONY (_aside_).\n\n\"What can be their motive?\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"At Taxilla, the capital of five thousand fortresses,\nPhraortes, King of the Ganges, showed us his guard of black men, whose\nstature was five cubits, and under a pavilion of green brocade in his\ngardens, an enormous elephant, which the queens amused themselves by\nperfuming. It was the elephant of Porus which had taken flight after\nthe death of Alexander.\"\n\nDAMIS. \"And which had been found again in a forest.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Their speech is superabundant, like that of drunken men!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"Phraortes seated us at his own table.\"\n\nDAMIS. \"How strange a country that was! During their drinking\ncarousels, the lords used to amuse-themselves by shooting arrows under\nthe feet of a dancing child. But I do not approve....\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"When I was ready to depart, the king gave me a parasol,\nand he said to me: 'I have a stud of white camels upon the Indus. When\nthou shalt have no further use for them, blow in their ears. They will\ncome back.'\n\n\"We descended along the river, marching at night by the light of the\nfire-flies, which glimmered among the bamboos. The slave whistled an\nair to drive away the serpents; and our camels bent down in passing\nbelow the branches of the trees, as if passing under low gates.\n\n\"One day a black child, who held a golden caduceus in his hand,\nconducted us to the College of the Sages. Iarchas, their chief, spoke\nto me of my ancestors, told me of all my thoughts, of all my actions,\nof all my existences. In former time he had been the River Indus; and\nhe reminded me that I had once been a boatman upon the Nile, in the\ntime of King Sesostris.\"\n\nDAMIS. \"As for me, they told me nothing; so that I know not who or what\nI have been.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"They have a vague look, like shadows!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"Upon the shores of the sea we met with the milk-gorged\nCynocephali, who were returning from their expedition to the Island\nTaprobana. The tepid waves rolled blond pearls to our feet. The amber\ncrackled beneath our steps. Whale-skeletons were whitening in the\ncrevasses of the cliffs. At last the land became narrow as a sandal;\nand after casting drops of ocean water toward the sun, we turned to the\nright to return.\n\n\"So we returned through the Region of Aromatics, by way of the country\nof the Gangarides, the promontory of Comaria, the country of the\nSachalites, of the Adramites and of the Homerites; then, across the\nCassanian mountains, the Red Sea, and the Island Topazos, we penetrated\ninto Ethiopia through the country of the Pygmies.\"\n\nANTHONY (_to himself_).\n\n\"How vast the world is!\"\n\nDAMIS. \"And after we had returned home, we found that all those whom we\nused to know, were dead.\"\n\n(_Anthony lowers his head. Silence._)\n\nAPOLLONIUS (_continues_).\n\n\"Then men began to talk of me the world over.\n\n\"The plague was ravaging Ephesus; I made them stone an old mendicant\nthere.\"\n\nDAMIS. \"And forthwith the plague departed.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"What! Does he drive away pestilence?\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"At Cnidos, I cured the man that had become enamored of\nVenus.\"\n\nDAMIS. \"Aye! a fool who had even vowed to espouse her! To love a woman\nis at least comprehensible; but to love a statue--what madness! The\nMaster placed his hand upon the young man's heart; and the fire of that\nlove was at once extinguished.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"How! does he also cast out devils?\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"At Tarentum they were carrying the dead body of a young\ngirl to the funeral pyre.\"\n\nDAMIS. \"The Master touched her lips; and she arose and called her\nmother.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"What! he raises the dead!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"I predicted to Vespasian his accession to power.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"What! he foretells the future!\"\n\nDAMIS. \"At Corinth there was a ...\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"It was when I was at table with him, at the waters of\nBaia ...\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Excuse me, strangers--it is very late ...\"\n\nDAMIS. \"At Corinth there was a young man called Menippus ...\"\n\nANTHONY. \"No! no!--go ye away!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"A dog came in, bearing a severed hand in his mouth.\"\n\nDAMIS. \"One evening, in one of the suburbs, he met a woman.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Do ye not hear me? Begone!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"He wandered in a bewildered way around the couches ...\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Enough!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"They sought to drive him out.\"\n\nDAMIS. \"So Menippus went with her to her house; they loved one\nanother.\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"And gently beating the mosaic pavement with his tail, he\nlaid the severed hand upon the knees of Flavius.\"\n\nDAMIS. \"But next morning, during the lessons in the school, Menippus\nwas pale.\"\n\nANTHONY (_starting up in anger_).\n\n\"Still continuing! Ah! then let them continue till they be weary,\ninasmuch as there is no ...\"\n\nDAMIS. \"The Master said to him: 'O beautiful youth, thou dost caress\na serpent; by a serpent thou art caressed! And when shall be the\nnuptials?' We all went to the wedding.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Assuredly I am doing wrong, to hearken to such a story!\"\n\nDAMIS. \"Servants were hurrying to and fro in the vestibule; doors were\nopening; nevertheless there was no sound made either by the fall of\nthe footsteps nor the closing of the doors. The Master placed himself\nbeside Menippus. And the bride forthwith became angered against the\nphilosophers. But the vessels of gold, the cupbearers, the cooks, the\npanthers disappeared; the roof receded and vanished into air; the walls\ncrumbled down; and Apollonius stood alone with the woman at his feet,\nall in tears. She was a vampire who satisfied the beautiful young men\nin order to devour their flesh, for nothing is more desirable for such\nphantoms than the blood of amorous youths.\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"If thou shouldst desire to learn the art ...\"\n\nANTHONY. \"I do not wish to learn anything!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"The same evening that we arrived at the gates of Rome ...\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Oh! yes!--speak to me rather of the City of Popes!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"A drunken man accosted us, who was singing in a low voice.\nThe song was an epithalamium of Nero; and he had the power to cause\nthe death of whosoever should hear it with indifference. In a box upon\nhis shoulders he carried a string taken from the Emperor's cithara. I\nshrugged my shoulders. He flung mud in our faces. Then I unfastened my\ngirdle and placed it in this hand.\"\n\nDAMIS. \"In sooth, thou wert most imprudent!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"During the night the Emperor summoned me to his house. He\nwas playing at osselets with Sporus, supporting his left arm upon a\ntable of agate. He turned and, knitting his brows, demanded: 'How comes\nit that thou dost not fear me?' 'Because,' I replied, 'the God who made\nthee terrible, also made me intrepid.\"\n\nANTHONY (_to himself_).\n\n\"There is something inexplicable that terrifies me!\"\n\n(_Silence._)\n\nDAMIS (_breaking the silence with his shrill voice_).\n\n\"Moreover, all Asia can tell thee ...\"\n\nANTHONY (_starting up_).\n\n\"I am ill! let me be!\"\n\nDAMIS. \"But listen! At Ephesus, he beheld them killing Domitian, who\nwas at Rome.\"\n\nANTHONY (_with a forced laugh_). \"Is it possible?\"\n\nDAMIS. \"Yes: at the theatre at noon-day, the fourteenth of the Kalenda\nof October, he suddenly cried out: 'C\u00e6sar is being murdered!' and\nfrom time to time he would continue to ejaculate: 'He rolls upon the\npavement ... Oh! how he struggles ... He rises ... He tries to flee\n... The doors are fastened ... Ah! it is all over! He is dead!' And in\nfact Titus Flavius Domitianus was assassinated upon that very day, as\nthou knowest.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Without the aid of the Devil ... certainly ...\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"He had purposed putting me to death, that same Domitian!\nDamis had taken flight according to my order, and I remained alone in\nmy prison.\"\n\nDAMIS. \"A terrible hardihood on thy part, it must be confessed!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"About the fifth hour, the soldiers led me before the\ntribunal. I had my harangue all ready hidden beneath my mantle.\"\n\nDAMIS. \"We others were then upon the shores of Puteoli, we believed\nthee dead; we were all weeping, when all of a sudden about the sixth\nhour, thou didst suddenly appear before us, exclaiming: 'It is I.'\"\n\nANTHONY (_to himself_). \"Even as He...!\"\n\nDAMIS (_in a very loud voice_). \"Precisely!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Oh! no! ye lie! is it not so?--ye lie!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"He descended from heaven. I rise thither, by the power of\nmy virtue that has lifted me up even to the height of the Principle of\nall things!\"\n\nDAMIS. \"Thyana, his natal city, has established in his honor a temple\nand a priesthood!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS (_draws near Anthony, and shouts in his ear_:--)\n\n\"It is because I know all gods, all rites, all prayers, all oracles!\nI have penetrated into the cave of Trophonius, son of Apollo! I\nhave kneaded for Syracusan women the cakes which they carry to the\nmountains. I have endured the eighty tests of Mithra! I have pressed to\nmy heart the serpent of Sabasius! I have received the scarf of Kabiri!\nI have laved Cybele in the waters of the Campanian gulfs! and I have\npassed three moons in the caverns of Samothracia!\"\n\nDAMIS (_with a stupid laugh_).\n\n\"Ah! ah! ah! at the mysteries of the good Goddess!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"And now we recommence our pilgrimage.\n\n\"We go to the North to the land of Swans and of snows. Upon the vast\nwhite plains, the blind hippopodes break with the tips of their feet\nthe ultramarine plant.\"\n\nDAMIS. \"Hasten! it is already dawn. The cock has crowed, the horse has\nneighed, the sail is hoisted!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"The cock has not crowed! I hear the locusts in the sands, and\nI see the moon still in her place.\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"We go to the South, beyond the mountains and the mighty\nwaters, to seek in perfumes the secret source of love. Thou shalt\ninhale the odor of myrrhodion which makes the weak die. Thou shalt\nbathe thy body in the lake of Rose-oil which is in the Island Junonia.\nThou shalt see slumbering upon primroses that Lizard which awakes\nevery hundred years when the carbuncle upon its forehead, arriving\nat maturity, falls to the ground. The stars palpitate like eyes; the\ncascades sing like the melody of lyres; strange intoxication is exhaled\nby blossoming flowers; thy mind shall grow vaster in that air; and thy\nheart shall change even as thy face.\"\n\nDAMIS. \"Master! it is time! The wind has risen, the swallows awaken,\nthe myrtle leaves are blown away.\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"Yes! let us go!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Nay! I remain here!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"Shall I tell thee where grows the plant Balis, that\nresurrects the dead?\"\n\nDAMIS \"Nay; ask him rather for the audrodamas which attracts silver,\niron and brass!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Oh! how I suffer! how I suffer!\"\n\nDAMIS. \"Thou shalt comprehend the voices of all living creatures, the\nroarings, the cooings!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"I shall enable thee to ride upon unicorns and upon\ndragons, upon hippocentaurs and dolphins!\"\n\nANTHONY (_weeping_). \"Oh ... oh!... oh!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"Thou shalt know the demons that dwell in the caverns, the\ndemons that mutter in the woods, the demons that move in the waves, the\ndemons that push the clouds!\"\n\nDAMIS. \"Tighten thy girdle, fasten thy sandals!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"I shall explain to thee the reason of divine forms--why\nApollo stands, why Jupiter is seated, why Venus is black, at Corinth,\nsquare-shaped at Athens, conical at Paphos.\"\n\nANTHONY (_clasping his hands_).\n\n\"Let them begone! let them begone!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"In thy presence I will tear down the panoplies of the\nGods; we shall force open the sanctuaries, I will enable thee to\nviolate the Pythoness!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Help! O my God!\"\n\n(_He rushes to the cross._)\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"What is thy desire? What is thy dream? Thou needst only\ndevote the moment of time necessary to think of it ...\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Jesus! Jesus! Help me!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"Dost thou wish me to make him appear, thy Jesus?\"\n\nANTHONY. \"What? How!\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"It shall be He!--no other! He will cast off his crown, and\nwe shall converse face to face!\"\n\nDAMIS (_in an undertone_).\n\n\"Say thou dost indeed wish it! say thou dost desire it!\"\n\n(_Anthony kneeling before the cross, murmurs prayers. Damis walks\naround him, with wheedling gestures._)\n\n\"Nay, nay! good hermit. Be not horrified! These are only exaggerated\nforms of speech, borrowed from the Orientals. That need in no way ...\"\n\nAPOLLONIUS. \"Let him alone, Damis!\n\n\"He believes, like a brute, in the reality of things. The terror which\nhe entertains of the Gods prevents him from comprehending them; and he\ndebases his own God to the level of a jealous king!\n\n\"But thou, my son, do not leave me!\"\n\n(_He moves to the edge of the cliff, walking backward, passes beyond\nthe verge of the precipice, and remains suspended in air._)\n\n\"Above all forms, further than the ends of the earth, beyond the\nheavens themselves, lies the world of Idea, replete with the splendor\nof the Word! With one bound we shall traverse the impending spaces, and\nthou shalt behold in all his infinity, the Eternal, the Absolute, the\nBeing! Come! give me thy hand! Let us rise.\"\n\n(_Side by side, both rise up through the air, slowly. Anthony, clinging\nto the cross, watches them rise. They disappear._)\n\n\n[1] Agape.--Love-feast of the primitive Christians.\n\n[2] John XVI: 12.--T.\n\n[3] See note at end.\n\n[4] Masheim gives _Achamoth._ I prefer to remain faithful to the\northography given by Flaubert.\n\n[5] The French text gives _mes p\u00e8res_ not _nos p\u00e8res._ Elxai, or\nElkhai, who established his sect in the reign of Trajan, was a Jew.\n\n[6] See note.\n\n[7] The banyan is a fig-tree--the _Ficus indicus._--Trans.\n\n[8] Readers may remember Longfellow's exquisite poem \"Helena of Tyre.\"\n\n[9] See the second part of \"Faust,\" and _Kundry_ in \"Parsifal.\"\n\n\n\n\nV.\n\n\nANTHONY (_walking to and fro, slowly_).\n\n\"That one, indeed, seems in himself equal to all the powers of Hell!\n\n\"Nebuchadnezzar did not so much dazzle me with his splendours;--the\nQueen of Sheba herself charmed me less deeply.\n\n\"His manner of speaking of the gods compels one to feel a desire to\nknow them.\n\n\"I remember having beheld hundreds of them at one time, in the island\nof Elephantius, in the time of Diocletian. The emperor had ceded to the\nNomads a great tract of country, upon the condition that they should\nguard the frontiers; and the treaty was concluded in the name of the\n'Powers Invisible.' For the gods of each people were unknown unto the\nother people.\n\n\"The Barbarians had brought theirs with them. They occupied the\nsand-hills bordering the river. We saw them supporting their idols in\ntheir arms, like great paralytic children;--others, paddling through\nthe cataracts upon trunks of palm tree, displayed from afar off the\namulets hung about their necks, the tattooings upon their breasts; and\nthese things were not more sinful than the religion of the Greeks, the\nAsiatics, and the Romans!\n\n\"When I was dwelling in the temple of Heliopolis I would often consider\nthe things I beheld upon the walls:--vultures bearing sceptres,\ncrocodiles playing upon lyres, faces of men with the bodies of\nserpents, cow-headed women prostrating themselves before ithyphallic\ngods:--and their supernatural forms attracted my thoughts to other\nworlds. I longed to know that which drew the gaze of all those calm and\nmysterious eyes.\n\n\"If matter can exert such power, it must surely contain a spirit. The\nsouls of the Gods are attached to their images ...\n\n\"Those possessing the beauty of forms might seduce. But the others\n... those of loathsome or terrible aspect ... how can men believe in\nthem?...\"\n\n(_And he beholds passing over the surface of the ground,--leaves,\nstones, shells, branches of trees,--then a variety of hydropical\ndwarfs: these are gods. He bursts into a laugh. He hears another laugh\nbehind him;--and Hilarion appears, in the garb of a hermit, far taller\nthan before, colossal._)\n\nANTHONY (_who feels no surprise at seeing him_).\n\n\"How stupid one must be to worship such things!\"\n\nHILARION. \"Aye!--exceedingly stupid!\"\n\n(_Then idols of all nations and of all epochs--of wood, of metal, of\ngranite, of feathers, of skins sewn together,--pass before them._\n\n_The most ancient of all anterior to the Deluge are hidden under masses\nof seaweed hanging down over them like manes. Some that are too long\nfor their bases, crack in all their joints, and break their own backs\nin walking. Others have rents torn in their bellies through which sand\ntrickles out._\n\n_Anthony and Hilarion are prodigiously amused. They hold their sides\nfor laughter. Then appear sheep-headed idols. They totter upon their\nbandy-legs, half-open their eye-lids, and stutter like the dumb,_ \"Ba!\nba! ba!\"\n\n_The more that the idols commence to resemble the human forms, the\nmore they irritate Anthony. He strikes them with his fist, kicks them,\nattacks them with fury. They become frightful,--with lofty plumes, eyes\nlike balls, fingers terminated by claws, the jaws of sharks._\n\n_And before these gods men are slaughtered upon altars of stone; others\nare brayed alive in huge mortars, crushed under chariots, nailed upon\ntrees. There is one all of red-hot iron with the horns of a bull, who\ndevours children._)\n\nANTHONY. \"Horror!\"\n\nHILARION. \"But the gods always demand tortures--and suffering. Even\nthine desired ...\"\n\nANTHONY (_weeping_). \"Ah! say no more!--do not speak to me!\"\n\n(_The space girdled by the rocks suddenly changes into a valley. A herd\nof cattle are feeding upon the short grass._\n\n_The herdman who leads them, observes a cloud;--and in a sharp voice,\nshouts out words of command, as if to heaven._)\n\nHILARION. \"Because he needs rain, he seeks by certain chants to compel\nthe King of heaven to open the fecund cloud.\"\n\nANTHONY (_laughing_).\n\n\"Verily, such pride is the extreme of foolishness!\"\n\nHILARION. \"Why dost thou utter exorcisms?\"\n\n(_The valley changes into a sea of milk, motionless and infinite. In\nits midst floats a long cradle formed by the coils of a serpent, whose\nmany curving heads shade, like a dais, the god slumbering upon its\nbody._\n\n_He is beardless, young, more beautiful than a girl, and covered with\ndiaphanous veils. The pearls of his tiara gleam softly like moons; a\nchaplet of stars is entwined many times about his breast, and with one\nhand beneath his head, he slumbers with the look of one who dreams\nafter wine._\n\n_A woman crouching at his feet, awaits the moment of his awaking._)\n\nHILARION. \"Such is the primordial duality of the Brahmans,--the\nAbsolute being inexpressible by any form.\"\n\n(_From the navel of the god has grown the stem of a lotus flower; it\nblossoms, and within its chalice appears another god with three faces._)\n\nANTHONY. \"How strange an invention!\"\n\nHILARION. \"Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are but one and the same\nPerson!\"\n\n(_The three faces separate; and three great gods appear._\n\n_The first, who is pink, bites the end of his great toe._\n\n_The second, who is blue, uplifts his four arms._\n\n_The third, who is green, wears a necklace of human skulls._\n\n_Before them instantly arise three goddesses--one is enveloped in a\nnet; another offers a cup; the third brandishes a bow._\n\n[Illustration: ... instantly arise three goddesses]\n\n_And these gods, these goddesses, decuple themselves, multiply. Arms\ngrow from their shoulders; at the end of these arms hands appear\nbearing standards, axes, bucklers, swords, parasols and drums.\nFountains gush from their heads, plants grow from their nostrils._\n\n_Riding upon birds rocked in palanquins, enthroned upon seats of gold,\nstanding in ivory niches,--they dream, voyage, command, drink wine,\nrespire the breath of flowers. Dancing girls whirl in the dance; giants\npursue monsters; at the entrances of grottoes solitaries meditate. Eyes\ncannot be distinguished from stars; nor clouds from banderolles;\npeacocks quench their thirst at rivers of gold dust; the embroidery\nof pavilions seems to blend with the spots of leopards; coloured rays\nintercross in the blue air, together with flying arrows, and swinging\ncensers._\n\n_And all this develops like a lofty frieze, resting its base upon the\nrocks, and rising to the sky._)\n\nANTHONY (_dazzled by the sight_).\n\n\"How vast is their number! What do they seek?\"\n\nHILARION. \"The god who rubs his abdomen with his elephant-trunk, is the\nsolar Deity, the inspiring spirit of wisdom.\n\n\"That other whose six heads are crowned with towers, and whose fourteen\narms wield javelins,--is the prince of armies,--the Fire-Consumer.\n\n\"The old man riding the crocodile washes the soul of the dead upon\nthe shore. They will be tormented by that black woman with the putrid\nteeth, who is the Ruler of Hell.\n\n\"That chariot drawn by red mares, driven by one who has no legs, bears\nthe master of the sun through heaven's azure. The moon-god accompanies\nhim, in a litter drawn by three gazelles.\n\n\"Kneeling upon the back of a parrot, the Goddess of Beauty presents to\nLove, her son, her rounded breast. Behold her now, further off, leaping\nfor joy in the meadows. Look! Look! Coiffed with dazzling mitre, she\ntrips lightly over the ears of growing wheat, over the waves; she rises\nin air, extending her power over all elements.\n\n\"And among these gods are the Genii of the winds, of the planets, of\nthe months, of the days,--a hundred thousand others;--multiple are\ntheir aspects, rapid their transformations. Behold, there is one who\nchanges from a fish into a tortoise: he assumes the form of a boar, the\nshape of a dwarf.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Wherefore?\"\n\nHILARION. \"That he may preserve the equilibrium of the universe, and\ncombat the works of evil. But life exhausts itself; forms wear away;\nand they must achieve progression in their metamorphoses.\"\n\n(_All upon a sudden appears a_ NAKED MAN _seated in the midst of the\nsand, with legs crossed._)\n\n(_A large halo vibrates, suspended in air behind him. The little\nringlets of his black hair in which blueish tints shift symmetrically\nsurround a protuberance upon the summit of his skull. His arms,\nwhich are very long, hang down against his sides. His two hands rest\nflat upon his thighs, with the palms open. The soles of his feet\nare like the faces of two blazing suns; and he remains completely\nmotionless--before Anthony and Hilarion--with all the gods around him,\nrising in tiers above the rocks, as if upon the benches of some vast\ncircus. His lips, half-open; and he speaks in a deep voice_):\n\n\"I am the Master of great charities, the succor of all creatures; and\nnot less to the profane than to believers, do I expound the law.\n\n\"That I might deliver the world, I resolved to be born among men. The\ngods wept when I departed from them.\n\n\"I sought me first a woman worthy to give me birth: a woman of warrior\nrace, the wife of a king, exceedingly good, excessively beautiful,\nwith body firm as adamant;--and at time of the full moon, without the\nauxiliation of any male, I entered her womb.\n\n\"I issued from it by the right side. Stars stopped in their courses.\"\n\nHILARION (_murmurs between his teeth_).\n\n\"And seeing the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy!\"[1]\n\n(_Anthony watches more attentively._)\n\nTHE BUDDHA[2] (_continuing_).\n\n\"From the furthest recesses of the Himalayas, a holy man one hundred\nyears of age, hurried to see me.\"\n\nHILARION. \"A man named Simeon ... who should not see death, before he\nhad seen the Christ of the Lord.\"[3]\n\nTHE BUDDHA. \"I was led unto the schools; and it was found that I knew\nmore than the teachers.\"\n\nHILARION. \"... In the midst of the doctors ... and all that heard him\nwere astonished at his wisdom!\"[4]\n\n(_Anthony makes a sign to Hilarion to be silent._)\n\nTHE BUDDHA. \"Continually did I meditate in the gardens. The shadows of\nthe trees turned with the turning of the sun; but the shadow of that\nwhich sheltered me turned not.\n\n\"None could equal me in the knowledge of the Scriptures, the\nenumeration of atoms, the conduct of elephants, the working of wax,\nastronomy, poetry, pugilism, all the exercises and all the arts!\n\n\"In accordance with custom, I took to myself a wife; and I passed the\ndays in my kingly palace;--clad in pearls, under a rain of perfumes,\nrefreshed by the fans of thirty thousand women,--watching my peoples\nfrom the height of my terraces adorned with fringes of resonant bells.\n\n\"But the sight of the miseries of the world turned me away from\npleasure. I fled.\n\n\"I begged my way upon the high roads, clad myself in rags gathered\nwithin the sepulchres;--and, hearing of a most learned hermit, I chose\nto become his slave. I guarded his gate! I washed his feet.\n\n\"Thus I annihilated all sensation, all joy, all languor.\n\n\"Then, concentrating my thoughts within vaster meditation, I learned to\nknow the essence of things, the illusion of forms.\n\n\"Soon I exhausted the science of the Brahmans. They are gnawed by\ncovetousness and desire under their outward aspect of austerity; they\ndaub themselves with filth, they live upon thorns,--hoping to arrive at\nhappiness by the path of death!\"\n\nHILARION.... \"Pharisees, hypocrites, whited sepulchres, generation of\nvipers!\"\n\nTHE BUDDHA. \"I also accomplished wondrous things,--eating but one\ngrain of rice each day (and the grains of rice in those times were no\nlarger than at present)--my hair fell off; my body became black; my\neyes receding within their sockets, seemed even as stars beheld at the\nbottom of a well.\n\n\"During six years I kept myself motionless, exposed to the flies, the\nlions and the serpents; and the great summer suns, the torrential\nrains, lightnings and snows, hails and tempests,--all of these I\nendured without even the shelter of my lifted hand.\n\n\"The travellers who passed by, believing me dead, cast clods of earth\nupon me!\n\n\"Only the temptation of the Devil remained!\n\n\"I summoned him.\n\n\"His sons came,--hideous, scale-covered, nauseous as\ncharnel-houses,--shrieking, hissing, bellowing; interclashing their\npanoplies, rattling together the bones of dead men. Some belched\nflame through their nostrils; some made darkness about me with their\nwings; some wore chaplets of severed fingers; some drank serpent-venom\nfrom the hollows of their hands;--they were swine-headed; they were\nrhinoceros-headed or toad-headed; they assumed all forms that inspire\nloathing or affright.\"\n\nANTHONY (_to himself_).\n\n\"I also endured all that in other days!\"\n\nTHE BUDDHA. \"Then did he send me his daughters--beautiful with\ndaintily painted faces, and wearing girdles of gold. Their teeth were\nwhiter than the jasmine-flower; their thighs round as the trunk of\nan elephant. Some extended their arms and yawned, that they might so\ndisplay the dimples of their elbows; some winked their eyes; some\nlaughed; some half-opened their garments. There were blushing virgins,\nmatrons replete with dignity, queens who came with great trains of\nbaggage and of slaves.\"\n\nANTHONY (_aside_). \"Ah! he too ...\"\n\nTHE BUDDHA. \"Having vanquished the Demon, I nourished myself for twelve\nyears with perfumes only;--and as I had acquired the five virtues,\nthe five faculties, the ten forces, the eighteen substances, and had\nentered into the four spheres of the invisible world, Intelligence\nbecame mine! I became the Buddha.\"\n\n[Illustration: Intelligence became mine! I became the Buddha.]\n\n(_All the gods bow themselves down. Those having several heads, bend\nthem all simultaneously. He lifts his mighty hand aloft, and resumes_:)\n\n\"That I might effect the deliverance of beings, I have made hundreds\nof thousands of sacrifices! To the poor I gave robes of silk, beds,\nchariots, houses, heaps of gold and of diamonds. I gave my hands to the\none-handed, my legs to the lame, my eyes to the blind;--even my head I\nsevered for the sake of the decapitated. In the day that I was King, I\ngave away provinces;--when I was a Brahman I despised no one. When I\nwas a solitary, I spake kindly words to the robber who slew me. When I\nwas a tiger I allowed myself to die of hunger.\n\n\"And having, in this last existence, preached the law, nothing now\nremains for me to do. The great period is accomplished! Men, animals,\nthe gods, the bamboos, the oceans, the mountains, the sand-grains of\nthe Ganges, together with the myriad myriads of the stars,--all shall\ndie;--and until the time of the new births, a flame shall dance upon\nthe wrecks of worlds destroyed!\"\n\n(_Then a great dizziness comes upon the gods. They stagger, fall into\nconvulsions, and vomit forth their existences. Their crowns burst\napart; their banners fly away. They tear off their attributes, their\nsexes, fling over their shoulders the cups from which they quaffed\nimmortality, strangle themselves with their serpents, vanish in\nsmoke;--and when all have disappeared_ ...)\n\nHILARION (_solemnly exclaims_):\n\n\"Thou hast even now beheld the belief of many hundreds of millions of\nmen.\"\n\n(_Anthony is prostrate upon the ground, covering his face with his\nhands. Hilarion, with his back turned to the cross, stands near him and\nwatches him._\n\n_A considerable time elapses._\n\n_Then a singular being appears--having the head of a man upon the body\nof a fish. He approaches through the air, upright, beating the sand\nfrom time to time with his tail; and the patriarchal aspect of his face\nby contrast with his puny little arms, causes Anthony to laugh._)\n\nOANNES (_in a plaintive voice_):\n\n\"Respect me! I am the contemporary of beginnings.\n\n\"I dwelt in that formless world where hermaphroditic creatures\nslumbered, under the weight of an opaque atmosphere, in the deeps of\ndark waters--when fingers, fins, and wings were blended, and eyes\nwithout heads were floating like mollusks, among human-headed bulls,\nand dog-footed serpents.\n\n[Illustration: ... and eyes without heads were floating like\nmollusks]\n\n\"Above the whole of these beings, OMOROCA, bent like a hoop, extended\nher woman-body. But Belus cleft her in two halves; with one he made the\nearth; with the other, heaven;--and the two equal worlds do mutually\ncontemplate each other.\n\n\"I, the first consciousness of CHAOS, arose from the abyss that I might\nharden matter, and give a law unto forms:--also I taught men to fish\nand to sow: I gave them knowledge of writing, and of the history of the\ngods.\n\n[Illustration: I, the first consciousness of Chaos, arose from\nthe abyss that I might harden matter, and give a law unto forms ...]\n\n\"Since then I have dwelt in the deep pools left by the Deluge. But the\ndesert grows vaster about them; the winds cast sand into them; the sun\ndevours them;--and I die upon my couch of slime, gazing at the stars\nthrough the water. Thither I return!\"\n\n(_He leaps and disappears in the Nile._)\n\nHILARION. \"That is an ancient God of the Chald\u00e6ans!\"\n\nANTHONY (_ironically_). \"What, then, were those of Babylon?\"\n\nHILARION. \"Thou canst behold them!\"\n\n(_And they find themselves upon the platform of a lofty quadrangular\ntower dominating six other towers, which, narrowing as they rise, form\none monstrous pyramid. Far below a great black mass is visible--the\ncity, doubtless--extending over the plains. The air is cold; the sky\ndarkly blue; multitudes of stars palpitate above._\n\n_In the midst of the platform rises a column of white stone. Priests\nin linen robes pass and repass around it, so as to describe by their\nevolutions a moving circle; and with faces uplifted, they gaze upon the\nstars._ ...)\n\nHILARION. (_pointing out several of these stars to Anthony_):\n\n\"There are thirty principal stars. Fifteen look upon the upper side\nof the earth; fifteen below. At regular intervals one shoots from the\nupper regions to those below; while another abandons the inferior deeps\nto rise to sublime altitudes ...\n\n\"Of the seven planets, two are beneficent; two evil; three\nambiguous:--all things in the world depend upon the influence of these\neternal fires. According to their position or movement presages may be\ndrawn;--and here thou dost tread the most venerable place upon earth.\nHere Pythagoras and Zoroaster have met;--here for twelve thousand years\nthese men have observed the skies that they might better learn to know\nthe gods.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"The stars are not gods.\"\n\nHILARION. \"Aye, they say the stars are gods; for all things about us\npass away;--the heavens only remain immutable as eternity.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Yet there is a master!\"\n\nHILARION (_pointing to the column_):\n\n\"He! Belus!--the first ray, the Sun, the Male! The Other, whom he\nfecundates, is beneath him!\"\n\n(_Anthony beholds a garden, illuminated by lamps_: _He finds himself\nin the midst of the crowd, in an avenue of cypress-trees. To right and\nleft are little pathways leading to huts constructed within a wood of\npomegranate trees, and enclosed by treillages of bamboo._\n\n_Most of the men wear pointed caps, and garments bedizened like the\nplumage of a peacock. But there are also people from the North clad\nin bearskins, nomads wearing mantles of brown wool, pallid Gangarides\nwith long earrings;--and there seems to be as much confusion of rank\nas there is confusion of nations; for sailors and stone-cutters elbow\nthe princes who wear tiaras blazing with carbuncles and who carry\nlong canes with carven knobs. All proceed upon their way with dilated\nnostrils, absorbed by the same desire._\n\n_From time to time, they draw aside to make way for some long covered\nwagon drawn by oxen, or some ass jolting upon his back a woman bundled\nup in thick veils, who finally disappears in the direction of the\ncabins._\n\n_Anthony feels afraid; he half-resolves to turn back. But an\nunutterable curiosity takes possession of him, and draws him on._\n\n_At the foot of the cypress-trees there are ranks of women squatting\nupon deerskins, all wearing in lieu of diadem, a plaited fillet of\nropes. Some, magnificently attired, loudly call upon the passers-by.\nOthers, more timid, seek to veil their faces with their arms, while\nsome matron standing behind them, their mother doubtless, exhorts\nthem. Others, their heads veiled with a black shawl, and their bodies\nentirely nude, seem from afar off to be statues of flesh. As soon as a\nman has thrown some money upon their knees, they arise._\n\n_And the sound of kisses is heard under the foliage,--sometimes a great\nsharp cry._)\n\nHILARION. \"These are the virgins of Babylon, who prostitute themselves\nto the goddess.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"What goddess?\"\n\nHILARION. \"Behold her!\"\n\n(_And he shows him at the further end of the avenue, upon the threshold\nof an illuminated grotto, a block of stone representing a woman._)\n\nANTHONY. \"Ignominy!--how abominable to give a sex to God!\"\n\nHILARION. \"Thou thyself dost figure him in thy mind as a living person!\"\n\n(_Anthony again finds himself in darkness._\n\n_He beholds in the air a luminous circle, poised upon horizontal\nwings. This ring of light, girdles like a loose belt, the waist of a\nlittle man wearing a mitre upon his head and carrying a wreath in his\nhand. The lower part of his figure is completely concealed by immense\nfeathers outspreading about him like a petticoat._\n\n_It is_--ORMUZD--_the God of the Persians. He hovers in the air above,\ncrying aloud_:)\n\n\"I fear! I can see his monstrous jaws! I did vanquish thee, O Ahriman!\nBut again thou dost war against me.\n\n\"First revolting against me, thou didst destroy the eldest of\ncreatures, Kaiomortz, the Man-Bull. Then didst thou seduce the first\nhuman couple, Meschia and Meschian\u00e9; and thou didst fill all hearts\nwith darkness, thou didst urge thy battalions against heaven!\n\n\"I also had mine own, the people of the stars; and from the height of\nmy throne I contemplated the marshalling of the astral hosts.\n\n\"Mithra, my son, dwelt in heavens inaccessible. There he received\nsouls, from thence did he send them forth; and he arose each morning to\npour forth the abundance of his riches.\n\n\"The earth reflected the splendour of the firmament. Fire blazed upon\nthe crests of the mountains,--symbolizing that other fire of which\nI had created all creatures. And that the holy flame might not be\npolluted, the bodies of the dead were not burned; the beaks of birds\ncarried them aloft toward heaven.\n\n\"I gave to men the laws regulating pastures, labour, the choice of wood\nfor the sacrifices, the form of cups, the words to be uttered in hours\nof sleeplessness;--and my priests unceasingly offered up prayers, so\nthat worship might be as the eternity of God in its endlessness. Men\npurified themselves with water; loaves were offered upon the altars,\nsins were confessed aloud.\n\n\"Homa[5] gave himself to men to be drank, that they might have his\nstrength communicated to them while the Genii of heaven were combating\nthe demons, the children of Iran were pursuing the serpents. The\nKing, whom an innumerable host of courtiers served upon their knees,\nrepresented me in his person, and wore my coiffure. His gardens had the\nmagnificence of a heaven upon earth; and his tomb represented him in\nthe act of slaying a monster,--emblem of Good destroying Evil.\n\n\"For it was destined that I should one day definitely conquer Ahriman,\nby the aid of Time-without-limits.\n\n\"But the interval between us disappears;--the deep night rises! To\nme! ye Amschaspands, ye Izeds, ye Ferouers! Succor me, Mithra! seize\nthy sword! And thou, Kaosyac, who shall return for the universal\ndeliverance, defend me! What!--none to aid! Ah! I die! Thou art the\nvictor, Ahriman!\"\n\n(_Hilarion, standing behind Anthony, restrains a cry of joy;--and_\nORMUZD _is swallowed up in the darkness._)\n\n(_Then appears_:)\n\nTHE GREAT DIANA OF EPHESUS\n\n(_black with enamelled eyes, her elbows pressed to her side, her\nforearms extended, with hands open._\n\n_Lions crawl upon her shoulders; fruits, flowers, and stars intercross\nupon her bosom; further down three rows of breasts appear; and from her\nbelly to her feet she is covered with a tightly fitting sheath from\nwhich bulls, stags, griffins, and bees, seem about to spring, their\nbodies half-protruding from it. She is illuminated by the white light\nemanating from a disk of silver, round as the full moon, placed behind\nher head._)\n\n\"Where is my temple? Where are my Amazons?\n\n\"What is this I feel?--I, the Incorruptible!--a strange faintness comes\nupon me!\"...\n\n(_Her flowers wither, her over-ripe fruits become detached and fall.\nThe lions and the bulls hang their heads; the deer foam at the mouth,\nwith a slimy foam, as though exhausted; the buzzing bees die upon the\nground._\n\n_She presses her breasts, one after the other. All are empty! But under\na desperate effort her sheath bursts. She seizes it by the bottom, like\nthe skirt of a robe, throws her animals, her fruits, her flowers, into\nit,--then withdraws into the darkness._\n\n_And afar off there are voices, murmuring, growling, roaring,\nbellowing, belling. The density of the night is augmented by breaths.\nDrops of warm rain fall._)\n\nANTHONY. \"How sweet the odour of the palm trees, the trembling of\nleaves, the transparency of springs! I feel the desire to lie flat upon\nthe Earth that I might feel her against my heart; and my life would be\nreinvigorated by her eternal youth!\"\n\n(_He hears the sound of castanets and of cymbals; and men appear, clad\nin white tunics with red stripes,--leading through the midst of a\nrustic crowd an ass, richly harnessed, its tail decorated with knots of\nribbons, and its hoofs painted._\n\n_A box, covered with a saddle-cloth[6] of yellow material shakes to\nand fro upon its back, between two baskets,--one receives the offerings\ncontributed,--eggs, grapes, pears, cheeses, fowls, little coins; and\nthe other basket is full of roses, which the leaders of the ass pluck\nto pieces as they walk before the animal, shedding the leaves upon the\nground._\n\n_They wear earrings and large mantles; their locks are plaited, their\ncheeks painted, olive-wreaths are fastened upon their foreheads by\nmedallions bearing figurines;--all wear poniards in their belts, and\nbrandish ebony-handled whips, having three thongs to which osselets are\nattached._[7]\n\n_Those who form the rear of the procession, place upon the soil,--so as\nto remain upright as a candelabrum,--a tall pine, which burns at its\nsummit, and shades under its lower branches a lamb._\n\n_The ass halts. The saddle-cloth is removed. Underneath appears a\nsecond covering of black felt. Then one of the men in white tunics\nbegins to dance, rattling his crotali;--another, kneeling before the\nbox, beats a tambourine and_--)\n\nTHE OLDEST OF THE BAND, _begins_:--\n\n\"Here is the Good Goddess, the Id\u00e6an of the mountains, the Great Mother\nof Syria! Come ye hither, good people all!\n\n[Illustration: Here is the Good Goddess, the Id\u00e6an of the mountains ...]\n\n\"She gives joy to men, she heals the sick; she sends inheritances; she\nsatisfies the hunger of love!\n\n\"We bear her through the land, rain or shine, in fair weather, or in\nfoul.\n\n\"Oft times we lie in the open air, and our table is not always well\nserved. Robbers dwell in the woods. Wild beasts rush from their\ncaverns. Slippery paths border the precipices. Behold her! behold her!\"\n\n(_They lift off the covering; and a box is seen, inlaid with little\npebbles._)\n\n\"Loftier than the cedars, she looks down from the blue ether. Vaster\nthan the wind she encircles the world. Her breath is exhaled by the\nnostrils of tigers; the rumbling of her voice is heard beneath the\nvolcanoes; her wrath is the tempest; the pallor of her face has\nwhitened the moon. She ripens the harvest; by her the tree-bark swells\nwith sap; she makes the beard to grow. Give her something; for she\nhates the avaricious!\"\n\n(_The box opens; and under a little pavilion of blue silk appears a\nsmall image of Cybele--glittering with spangles, crowned with towers,\nand seated in a chariot of red stone, drawn by two lions, with uplifted\npaws._\n\n_The crowd presses forward to see._)\n\nTHE ARCHIGALLUS (_continues_):\n\n\"She loves the sound of resounding tympanums, the echo of dancing\nfeet, the howling of wolves, the sonorous mountains and the deep\ngorges, the flower of the almond tree, the pomegranate and the green\nfig, the whirling dance, the snoring flute, the sugary sap, the salty\ntear,--blood! To thee, to thee!--Mother of the mountains!\"\n\n(_They scourge themselves with their whips; and their chests resound\nwith the blows;--the skins of the tambourines vibrate almost to\nbursting. They seize their knives; they gash their arms._)\n\n\"She is sorrowful; let us be sorrowful! Thereby your sins will be\nremitted. Blood purifies all--fling its red drops abroad like blossoms!\nShe, the Great Mother, demands the blood of another creature--of a pure\nbeing!\"\n\n(_The Archigallus raises his knife above the head of a lamb._)\n\nANTHONY (_seized with horror_):\n\n\"Do not slay the lamb!\"\n\n(_There is a gush of purple blood. The priest sprinkles the crowd\nwith it; and all--including Anthony and Hilarion--standing around the\nburning tree, silently watch the last palpitations of the victim._\n\n_A Woman comes forth from the midst of the priests; she resembles\nexactly the image within the little box._\n\n_She pauses, perceiving before her a Young Man wearing a Phrygian\ncap. His thighs are covered with a pair of narrow trousers, with\nlozenge-shaped openings here and there at regular intervals, closed by\nbow knots of coloured material. He stands in an attitude of languor,\nresting his elbow against a branch of the tree, holding a flute in his\nhand._)\n\nCYBELE (_flinging her arms about his waist_).\n\n\"I have traversed all regions of the earth to join thee--and famine\nravaged the fields Thou hast deceived me! It matters not! I love thee!\nWarm my body in thine embrace! Let us be united!\"\n\nATYS. \"The springtime will never again return, O eternal Mother!\nDespite my love, it is no longer possible for me to penetrate thy\nessence! Would that I might cover myself with a painted robe like\nthine! I envy thy breasts, swelling with milk, the length of thy\ntresses, thy vast flanks that have borne and brought forth all\ncreatures! Why am I not thou?--Why am I not a woman?--No, never! depart\nfrom me! My virility fills me with horror!\"\n\n(_With a sharp stone he dismembers himself, and runs furiously from\nher ..._\n\n_The priests imitate the god; the faithful do even as the priests. Men\nand women exchange garments, embrace;--and the tumult of bleeding flesh\npasses away, while the sound of voices remaining, becomes even more\nstrident,--like the shrieking of mourners, like the voices heard at\nfunerals._\n\n_ ... A huge catafalque, hung with purple, supports upon its summit an\nebony bed, surrounded by torches and baskets of silver filagree, in\nwhich are verdant leaves of lettuce, mallow and fennel. Upon the steps\nof the construction, from summit to base, sit women all clad in black,\nwith loosened girdles and bare feet, holding in their hands with a\nmelancholy air, great bouquets of flowers._\n\n_At each corner of the estrade urns of alabaster, filled with myrrh,\nslowly send up their smoke._\n\n_Upon the bed can be perceived the corpse of a man. Blood flows from\nhis thigh. One of his arms hangs down lifelessly;--and a dog licks his\nfinger nails and howls._\n\n_The row of torches placed closely together, prevents his face from\nbeing seen; and Anthony feels a strange anguish within him. He fears\nlest he should recognize some one._\n\n_The sobs of the women cease--and after an interval of silence_,)\n\nALL (_psalmody together_):\n\n\"Fair! fair!--all fair he is! Thou hast slept enough!--lift thy\nhead!--arise!\n\n\"Inhale the perfume of our flowers--narcissus--blossoms and anemones,\ngathered in thine own gardens to please thee. Arouse thee! thou dost\nmake us fear for thee!\n\n\"Speak to us! What dost thou desire? Wilt thou drink wine?--wilt thou\nlie in our beds?--dost wish to eat the honeycakes which have the form\nof little birds?\n\n\"Let us press his lips,--kiss his breast! Now!--now!--dost thou not\nfeel our ring-laden fingers passing over thy body?--and our lips that\nseek thy mouth?--and our tresses that sweep thy thighs? O faint God,\ndeaf to our prayers!\"\n\n(_They cry aloud, and rend their faces with their nails; then all\nrush,--and the howling of the dog continues in the silence._)\n\n\"Alas! alas! Woe!--the black blood trickles over his snowy flesh!\nSee! his knees writhe!--his sides sink in! The bloom of his face hath\ndampened the purple. He is dead, dead! O weep for him! Lament for him!\"\n\n(_In long procession they ascend to lay between the torches the\nofferings of their several tresses, that seem from afar off like\nserpents, black or blond;--and the catafalque is lowered gently to the\nlevel of, a grotto,--the opening of a shadowy sepulchre that yawns\nbehind it._\n\n_Then_--)\n\nA WOMAN (_bends over the corpse. Her long hair, uncut, envelopes her\nfrom head to feet. She sheds tears so abundantly that her grief cannot\nbe as that of the others, but more than human--infinite!_\n\n_Anthony dreams of the Mother of Jesus. She speaks_:--)\n\n\"Thou didst emerge from the Orient, and didst take me, all trembling\nwith the dew, into thy arms, O Sun! Doves fluttered upon the azure\nof thy mantle; our kisses evoked low breezes among the foliage; and I\nabandoned myself wholly to thy love, delighting in the pleasure of my\nweakness.\n\n\"Alas! alas--Why didst thou depart, to run upon the mountains! A boar\ndid wound thee at the time of the autumnal equinox!\n\n\"Thou art dead; and the fountains weep,--the trees bend down. The wind\nof winter whistles through the naked brushwood.\n\n\"My eyes are about to close, seeing that darkness covers them! Now thou\ndwellest in the underworld near the mightiest of my rivals.\n\n\"O Persephone, all that is beautiful descends to thee, never to return!\"\n\n(_Even while she speaks, her companions lift the dead, to place him\nwithin the sepulchre. He remains in their hands! It was only a waxen\ncorpse._\n\n_Wherefore Anthony feels something resembling relief._\n\n_All vanish;--and the hut, the rocks, and the cross reappear._\n\n_But upon the other side of the Nile, Anthony beholds a Woman,\nstanding in the midst of the desert._\n\n_She retains in her hand the lower part of a long black veil that hides\nall her face; supporting with her left arm a little child to whom she\nis giving suck. A great ape crouches down in the sand beside her._\n\n_She uplifts her head toward heaven; and in spite of the great\ndistance, her voice is distinctly heard_:)\n\nISIS. \"O Neith, Beginning of all things! Ammon, Lord of Eternity;\nPthah, demiurgos; Thoth, his intelligence; gods of the Amenthi,\nparticular triads of the Nomes,--falcons in the azure of heaven,\nsphinxes before the temples, ibises perched between the horns of oxen,\nplanets, constellations, shore, murmurs of the wind, gleams of the\nlight,--tell me where I may find Osiris.\n\n\"I have sought him in all the canals and all the lakes--aye, further\nyet, even to Ph[oe]nician Byblos. Anubis, with ears pricked up, leaped\nabout me, and yelped, and thrust his muzzle searchingly into the tufts\nof the tamarinds.\n\n\"Thanks, good Cynocephalos--thanks to thee!\"\n\n(_She gives the ape two or three friendly little taps upon the head._)\n\n\"Hideous Typhon, the red-haired slew him, tore him in pieces! We have\nfound all his members. But I have not that which rendered me fecund!\"\n\n(_She utters wild lamentations._)\n\nANTHONY (_is filled with fury. He casts stones at her, reviles her._)\n\n\"Begone! thou shameless one!--Begone!\"\n\nHILARION. \"Nay! respect her! Her religion was the faith of thy\nfathers!--thou didst wear her amulets when thou wert a child in the\ncradle!\"\n\nISIS. \"In the summers of long ago, the inundation drove the impure\nbeasts into the desert. The dykes were opened, the boats dashed against\neach other; the panting earth drank the river with the intoxication of\njoy. Then, O God, with the horns of the bull, thou didst lie upon my\nbreast, and then was heard, the lowings of the Eternal Cow!\n\n\"The seasons of sowing and reaping, of threshing and of vintage,\nfollowed each other in regular order with the years. In the eternal\npurity of the nights, broad stars beamed and glowed. The days were\nbathed in never-varying splendour. Like a royal couple the Sun and the\nMoon appeared simultaneously, at either end of the horizon.\n\n\"Then did we both reign above a sublimer world, twin-monarchs, wedded\nwithin, the womb of eternity--he bearing a concupha-headed sceptre; I,\nthe sceptre that is tipped with a lotus-flower; both of us erect with\nhands joined; and the crumblings of empires affected not our attitude.\n\n\"Egypt extended, below us, monumental and awful, long-shaped like the\ncorridor of a temple; with obelisks on the right, pyramids on the\nleft, and its labyrinth in the midst. And everywhere were avenues\nof monsters, forests of columns, massive pylons flanking gates\nsummit-crowned with the mysterious globe--the globe of the world,\nbetween two wings.\n\n\"The animals of her Zodiac also existed in her pasture lands; and\nfilled her mysterious writing with their forms and colours. Divided\ninto twelve regions as the year is divided into-twelve months--each\nmonth, each day also having its own god--she reproduced the immutable\norder of heaven. And man even in dying changed not his face; but\nsaturated with perfumes, invulnerable to decay, he lay down to sleep\nfor three thousand years in another and silent Egypt.\n\n\"And that Egypt, vaster than the Egypt of the living, extended beneath\nthe earth.\n\n\"Thither one descended by dark stairways leading into halls where were\nrepresented the joys of the good, the tortures of the wicked, all that\npasses in the third and invisible world. Ranged along the wall the dead\nin their painted coffins awaited their turn; and the soul, exempted\nfrom migrations, continued its heavy slumber until the awakening into a\nnew life.\n\n\"Nevertheless, Osiris sometimes came to see me. And by his ghost I\nbecame the mother of Harpocrates.\"\n\n(_She contemplates the child._)\n\n\"Aye! it is he. Those are his eyes; those are his locks, plaited into\nram horns! Thou shalt recommence his works. We shall bloom again like\nthe lotus. I am still the Great Isis!--none has yet lifted my veil! My\nfruit is the Sun!\n\n[Illustration: I am still the Great Isis!\u0097none has yet lifted\nmy veil! My fruit is the Sun!]\n\n\"Sim of Springtime, clouds now obscure thy face! The breath of Typhon\ndevours the pyramids. But a little while ago I beheld the Sphinx flee\naway. He was galloping like a jackal.\n\n\"I look for my priests,--my priests clad in mantles of linen, with\ntheir great harps, and bearing a mysterious bark, adorned with\nsilver pateras. There are no more festivals upon the lakes!--no more\nilluminations in my delta!--no more cups of milk at Phil\u00e6! Apis has\nlong ceased to reappear.\n\n\"Egypt! Egypt! thy great motionless gods have their shoulders already\nwhitened by the dung of birds; and the wind that passes over the desert\nrolls with it and the ashes of thy dead!--Anubis, guardian of ghosts,\nabandon me not!\"\n\n(_The Cynocephalos has vanished. She shakes her child._)\n\n\"But ... what ails thee ... thy hands are cold, thy head droops!\"\n\n(_Harpocrates expires. Then she cries aloud with a cry so piercing,\nfunereal, heart-rending, that Anthony answers it with another cry,\nextending his arms as to support her._\n\n_She is no longer there. He lowers his face, overwhelmed by shame._\n\n_All that he has seen becomes confused within his mind. It is like the\nbewilderment of travel, the illness of drunkenness. He wishes to hate;\nbut a vague and vast pity fills his heart. He begins to weep, and weeps\nabundantly._)\n\nHILARION. \"What makes thee sorrowful?\"\n\nANTHONY (_after having long sought within himself for a reply_):\n\n\"I think of all the souls that have been lost through these false gods!\"\n\nHILARION. \"Dost thou not think that they ... sometimes ... bear much\nresemblance to the TRUE?\"\n\nANTHONY. \"That is but a device of the Devil to seduce the faithful more\neasily. He attacks the strong through the mind, the weak through the\nflesh.\"\n\nHILARION. \"But luxury, in its greatest fury, has all the\ndisinterestedness of penitence. The frenzied love of the body\naccelerates the destruction thereof,--and proclaims the extent of the\nimpossible by the exposition of the body's weakness.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"What signifies that to me! My heart sickens with disgust\nof these beautiful bestial gods, forever busied with carnages and\nincests!\"\n\nHILARION. \"Yet recollect all those things in the Scripture which\nscandalize thee because thou art unable to comprehend them! So also may\nthese Gods conceal under their sinful forms some mighty truth. There\nare more of them yet to be seen. Look around!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"No, no!--it is dangerous!\"\n\nHILARION. \"But a little while ago thou didst desire to know them! Is\nit because thy faith might vacillate in the presence of lies? What\nfearest thou?\"\n\n(_The rocks fronting Anthony have become as a mountain. A line of\nclouds obscures the mountain half way between summit and base; and\nabove the clouds appears another mountain, enormous, all green,\nunequally hollowed by valleys nestling in its slopes, and supporting at\nits summit, in the midst of laurel-groves a palace of bronze, roofed\nwith tiles of gold, and supported by columns having capitals of ivory._\n\n_In the centre of the peristyle Jupiter,--colossal, with torso\nnude,--holds Victory in one hand, his thunderbolts in the other; and\nhis eagle, perched between his feet, rears its head._\n\n_Juno, seated near him, rolls her large eyes, beneath a diadem whence\nher wind-blown veil escapes like a vapour._\n\n_Behind them, Minerva, standing upon a pedestal, leans on her spear.\nThe skin of the Gorgon covers her breast, and a linen peplos falls in\nregular folds to the nails of her toes. Her glaucous eyes, which gleam\nbeneath her vizor, gaze afar off, attentively._\n\n_On the right of the palace, the aged Neptune bestrides a dolphin\nbeating with its fins a vast azure expanse which may be sea or sky, for\nthe perspective of the Ocean seems a continuation of the blue ether:\nthe two elements are interblended._\n\n_On the other side weird Pluto in night-black mantle, crowned with\ndiamond tiara and bearing a sceptre of ebony, sits in the midst of an\nislet surrounded by the circumvolutions of the Styx;--and this river of\nshadow empties itself into the darknesses, which form a vast black gulf\nbelow the cliff,--a bottomless abyss!_\n\n_Mars, clad in brass, brandishes as in wrath his broad shield and his\nsword._\n\n_Hercules, leaning upon his club, gazes at him from below._\n\n_Apollo, his face ablaze with light, grasps with outstretched right\narm the reins of four white horses urged to a gallop; and Ceres in her\nox-drawn chariot advances toward him with a sickle in her hand._\n\n_Behind her comes Bacchus, riding in a very low chariot, gently drawn\nby lynxes. Plump and beardless, with vine leaves garlanding his brow,\nhe passes by holding in his hand an overflowing cup of wine. Silenus\nriding beside him reels upon his ass. Pan of the pointed ears, blows\nupon his syrinx; the Mimalon\u00e6ides beat drums; the M\u00e6nads strew\nflowers; the Bacchantes turn in the dance with heads thrown back and\nhair dishevelled._\n\n_Diana, with tunic tucked up, issues from the wood together with her\nnymphs._\n\n_At the further end of a cavern, Vulcan among his Cabiri, hammers the\nheated iron; here and there the aged Rivers leaning recumbent upon\ngreen rocks pour water from their urns; the Muses stand singing in the\nvalleys_.\n\n_The Hours, all of equal stature, link hands; and Mercury poses\nobliquely upon a rainbow, with his caduceus, winged sandals, and winged\npetasus._\n\n_But at the summit of the stairway of the Gods,--among clouds soft\nas down, from whose turning volutes a rain of roses falls,--Venus\nAnadyomene stands gazing at herself in a mirror:--her eyes move\nlanguorously beneath their slumbrous lids._\n\n_She has masses of rich blond hair rolling down over her shoulders; her\nbreasts are small; her waist is slender; her hips curve out like the\nsweeping curves of a lyre; her thighs are perfectly rounded; there are\ndimples about her knees; her feet are delicate: a butterfly hovers near\nher mouth. The splendour of her body makes a nacreous-tinted halo of\nbright light about her; while all the rest of Olympus is bathed in a\npink dawn, rising gradually to the heights of the blue sky._)\n\nANTHONY. \"Ah! my heart swells! A joy never known before thrills me to\nthe depths of my soul! How beautiful, how beautiful it is!\"\n\nHILARION. \"They leaned from the heights of cloud to direct the way of\nswords; one used to meet them upon the high roads; men had them in\ntheir houses--and this familiarity divinized life.\n\n\"Life's aim was only to be free and beautiful. Nobility of attitude was\nfacilitated by the looseness of garments. The voice of the orator,\ntrained by the sea, rolled its sonorous waves against the porticoes of\nmarble. The ephebus, anointed with oil, wrestled all naked in the full\nlight of the sun. The holiest of actions was to expose perfection of\nforms to all.\n\n\"And these men respected wives, aged men, suppliants.\n\n\"Behind the temple of Hercules there was an altar erected to Pity.\n\n\"Victims were immolated with flowers wreathed about the fingers of the\nsacrificer. Even memory was exempted from thoughts of the rottenness\nof death. Nothing remained but a little pile of ashes. And the Soul,\nmingling with the boundless ether, rose up to God.\"\n\n(_Bending to whisper in Anthony's ear_:--)\n\n\"And they still live! The Emperor Constantine adores Apollo. Thou wilt\nfind the Trinity in Samothracian mysteries,--baptism in the religion of\nIsis,--redemption in the faith of Mithra,--a martyrdom of a God in the\nfestivals of Bacchus. Prosperpine is the Virgin!... Arist\u00e6us is Jesus!\"\n\nANTHONY (_remains awhile with downcast eyes, as if in deep thought;\nthen suddenly repeats aloud the Symbol of Jerusalem, as he remembers\nit, uttering a long sigh between each phrase_):--\n\n\"I believe in one only God, the Father,--and in one only Lord, Jesus\nChrist,--the first born son of God, who was incarnated and made\nman,--who was crucified, and buried,--who ascended into Heaven,--who\nwill come to judge the living and the dead,--of whose Kingdom there\nshall be no end;--and in one Holy Spirit,--and in one baptism of\nrepentance,--and in one Holy Catholic Church,--and in the resurrection\nof the flesh,--and in the life everlasting!\"\n\n(_Immediately the cross becomes loftier and loftier; it pierces the\nclouds, and casts its shadow upon the heaven of the gods._\n\n_All grow pale;--Olympus shudders._\n\n_And at its base Anthony beholds vast bodies enchained, sustaining the\nrocks upon their shoulders,--giant figures half buried in the deeps\nof caverns. These are the Titans, the Giants, the Hecatonchires, the\nCyclops._)\n\nA VOICE\n\n(_rises, indistinct and awful, like the far roar of leaves, like the\nvoice of forests in time of tempest, like the mighty moaning of the\nwind among the precipices_):\n\n\"We knew these things!--we knew them! There must come an end even for\nthe Gods! Uranus was mutilated by Saturn,--Saturn by Jupiter. And\nJupiter himself shall be annihilated. Each in his turn;--it is Destiny!\"\n\n(_And little by little they sink into the mountain, and disappear._\n\n_Meanwhile the golden tiles of the palace rise and fly away._)\n\nJUPITER (_has descended from his throne. At his feet the thunderbolts\nlie, smoking like burning coals about to expire;--and the great eagle\nbends its neck to pick up its falling feathers_):\n\n\"Then I am no longer the master of all things,--most holy, most\nmighty, god of the phatrias and Greek peoples,--ancestor of all the\nKings,--Agamemnon of heaven.\n\n\"Eagle of apotheoses, what wind from Erebus has wafted thee to me? or,\nfleeing from the Campus Martins, dost thou bear me the soul of the last\nof the Emperors?\n\n\"I no longer desire to receive those of men. Let the Earth keep them;\nand let them move upon the level of its baseness. Their hearts are now\nthe hearts of slaves;--they forget injuries, forget their ancestors,\nforget their oaths,--and everywhere the folly of crowds, the mediocrity\nof individuals, the hideousness of races, hold sway!\"\n\n(_He pants with such violence that his sides seem ready to burst\nasunder; he clenches his hands. Weeping_, HEBE _offers him a cup. He\nseizes it._)\n\n\"No, no! So long as there shall be a brain enclosing a thought, in\nwhatsoever part of the world;--so long as there shall exist a mind\nhating disorder, creating LAW,--so long will the spirit of Jupiter\nlive!\"\n\n(_But the cup is empty. He turns its edge down over his thumbnail._)\n\n\"Not one drop left! When the ambrosia fails, the Immortals must indeed\ndepart!\"\n\n(_The cup drops from his hands; and he leans against a column, feeling\nhimself about to die._)\n\nJUNO. \"Thou shouldst not have had so many amours! Eagle, bull, swan,\nrain of gold, cloud and flame, thou didst assume all forms,--dissipate\nthy light in all elements,--lose thy hair upon all beds! This time\nthe divorce is irrevocable; and our domination, our very existence,\ndissolved.\"\n\n(_She passes away in air._)\n\nMINERVA (_has no longer her spear; and the ravens nesting among the\nsculptures of the friezes, wheel about her, peeking at her helmet._)\n\n\"Let me see whether my vessels cleave the bright sea, returning to my\nthree ports,--let me discover why the fields are deserted, and learn\nwhat the daughters of Athens are now doing.\n\n\"In the month of Hecatombeon my whole people came to worship me, under\nthe guidance of their magistrates and priests. Then, all in white robes\nand wearing chitons of gold, they advanced the long line of virgins\nbearing cups, baskets, parasols; then the three hundred sacrificial\noxen, and the old men having green boughs, the soldiers with clashing\nof armour, the ephebi singing hymns, flute players, lyre players,\nrhapsodists, dancing women;--and lastly attached to the mast of a\ntrireme mounted upon wheel, my great veil embroidered by virgins who\nhad been nourished in a particular way for a whole year. And when it\nhad been displayed in all the streets, in all the squares, and before\nthe temples, in the midst of the ever-chanting procession, it was borne\nstep by step up the hill of the Acropolis, grazed the Propyl\u00e6a, and\nentered the Parthenon....\n\n\"But a strange feebleness comes upon me,--me the Industrious One! What!\nwhat! not one idea comes to me! Lo! I am trembling more than a woman!\"\n\n(_She turns, beholds a ruin behind her, utters a cry, and stricken by a\nfallen fragment, falls backward upon the ground._)\n\nHERCULES (_has flung away his lion-skin; and with feet firmly braced,\nback arched, teeth clenched, he exhausts himself in immeasurable\nefforts to bear up the mass of crumbling Olympus._)\n\n\"I vanquished the Cercopes, the Amazons, and the Centaurs. Many were\nthe kings I slew. I broke the horn of the great river, Achelous. I cut\nthe mountains asunder; I freed nations from slavery; and I peopled\nlands that were desolate. I travelled through the countries of Gaul;\nI traversed the deserts where thirst prevails. I defended the gods\nfrom their enemies; and I freed myself from Omphale. But the weight of\nOlympus is too great for me. My arms grow feebler:--I die!\"\n\n(_He is crushed beneath the ruins._)\n\nPLUTO. \"It is thy fault, Amphytrionad;--wherefore didst thou descend\ninto my empire?\n\n\"The vulture that gnaws the entrails of Tityus lifted its head;--the\nlips of Tantalus were moistened;--the wheel of Ixion stopped.\n\n\"Meanwhile the K\u00e6res extended their claws to snatch back the escaping\nghosts; the Furies tore the serpents of their locks; and Cerberus\nfettered by thee with a chain, sounded the death rattle in his throat,\nand foamed at all his three mouths.\n\n\"Thou didst leave the gate ajar; others have come. The daylight of men\nhas entered into Tartarus!\"\n\n(_He sinks into the darkness._)\n\nNEPTUNE. \"My trident can no longer call up the tempests. The monsters\nthat terrified of old, lie rotting at the bottom of the sea.\n\n\"Amphitrite whose white feet tripped lightly over the foam, the green\nNereids seen afar off in the horizon, the scaly Sirens who stopped\nthe passing vessels to tell stories, and the ancient Tritons mightily\nblowing upon their shells, all have passed away. All is desolate and\ndead; the gaiety of the great Sea is no more!\"\n\n(_He vanishes beneath the azure._)\n\nDIANA (_clad in black and surrounded by her dogs, which have been\nchanged into wolves_).\n\n\"The freedom of the deep forests once intoxicated me; the odours of the\nwild beasts and the exhalations of the marshes made me as one drank\nwith joy. But the women whose maternity I protected, now bring dead\nchildren into the world. The moon trembles with the incantations of\nwitches. Desires of violence, of immensity, seize me, fill me! I wish\nto drink poisons,--to lose myself in vapours, in dreams...!\"\n\n(_And a passing cloud carries her away._)\n\nMARS (_unhelmed and covered with blood_).\n\n\"At first I fought alone;--singlehanded I would provoke a whole army by\nmy insults,--caring nothing for countries or nations, demanding battle\nfor the pleasure of carnage alone.\n\n\"Afterward I had comrades. They marched to the sound of flutes, in good\norder, with equal step, respiring above their bucklers, with plumes\nloftily nodding, lances oblique. Then on rushed to battle with mighty\neagle cries. War was joyous as a banquet. Three hundred men strove\nagainst all Asia.\n\n\"But the Barbarians are returning;--by myriads they come, by millions!\nAh! since numbers, and engines, and cunning are stronger than valour,\nit were better that I die the death of the brave!\"\n\n(_He kills himself._)\n\nVULCAN (_sponging the sweat from his limbs_):\n\n\"The world is growing cold. The source of heat must be nourished, the\nvolcanoes and rivers of flowing metal underground. Strike harder!--with\nfull swing of the arms,--with might and main!\"\n\n(_The Cabiri wound themselves with their hammers, blind themselves with\nsparks, and groping, lose themselves in the darkness._)\n\nCERES (_standing in her chariot, impelled by wheels having wings at\ntheir hubs_):\n\n\"Stop! Stop! Ah! it was with good reason that the exclusion of\nstrangers, atheists, Epicureans, and Christians was commended! Now the\nmystery of the basket has been unveiled; the sanctuary profaned: all is\nlost!\"\n\n(_She descends a precipitous slope--shrieking, despairing, tearing her\nhair._)\n\n\"Ah! lies, lies! Daira has not been restored to me. The voice of brass\ncalls me to the dead. This is another Tartarus, whence there is no\nreturn! Horror!\"\n\n(_The abyss engulfs her._)\n\nBACCHUS (_with a frenzied laugh_).\n\n\"What matters it? The Archon's wife is my spouse! The law itself reels\nin drunkenness! To me the new song, the multiplied forms!\n\n\"The fire by which my mother was devoured, flows in my veins! Let it\nburn yet more fiercely, even though I perish!\n\n\"Male and female, complaisant to all, I abandon myself to you,\nBacchantes! I abandon myself to you, Bacchanalians!--and the vine shall\ntwine herself about the tree-trunks! Howl! dance! writhe! Loosen the\ntiger and the slave!--rend flesh with ferocious bitings!\"\n\n(_And Pan, Silenus, the Bacchantes, the Mimalon\u00e6ides, and the\nM\u00e6nads,--with their serpents, torches, sable masks,--cast flowers at\neach other ... shake their tympanums, strike their thyrsi, pelt each\nother with shells, devour grapes, strangle a goat, and tear Bacchus\nasunder._)\n\nAPOLLO (_furiously whipping his coursers, while his blanching locks are\nfalling from his head_):\n\n\"I have left far behind me stony Delos, so pure that all now there\nseems dead; and I must strive to reach Delphi ere its inspiring vapour\nbe wholly lost. The mules browse in its laurel groves. The Pythoness\nhas wandered away, and cannot be found.\n\n\"By a stronger concentration of my power, I will obtain sublime hymns,\neternal monuments; and all matter will be penetrated by the vibrations\nof my cithara!\"\n\n(_He strikes the strings of the instrument. They burst, lashing his\nface with their broken ends. He flings the cithara away; and furiously\nwhipping his quadriga, cries_):\n\n\"No! enough of forms!--Further, higher!--to the very summit!--to the\nrealm of pure thought!\"\n\n(_But the horses back, rear, dash the chariot to pieces. Entangled by\nthe harness, caught by the fragments of the broken pole, he falls head\nforemost into the abyss._\n\n[Illustration: ... he falls head foremost into the abyss.]\n\n_The sky is darkened._)\n\nVENUS (_blue with cold, shivering_):\n\n\"Once with my girdle I made all the horizon of Hellas.\n\n\"Her fields glowed with the roses of my cheeks; her shores were\noutlined after the fashion of my lips; and her mountains, whiter than\nmy doves, palpitated beneath the hands of the statuaries. My spirit's\nmanifestation was found in the ordinances of the festivals, in the\narrangement of coiffures, in the dialogues of philosophers, in the\nconstitution of republics. But I have doted too much upon men! It is\nLove that has dishonoured me!\"\n\n(_She casts herself back weeping_):\n\n\"This world is abominable;--there is no air for me to breathe!\n\n\"O Mercury, inventor of the lyre, conductor of souls, take me away!\"\n\n(_She places one finger upon her lips, and describing an immense\nparabola, falls into the abyss._\n\n_Nothing is now visible. The darkness is complete._\n\n_Only, that from the eyes of Hilarion escape two flashes, two rays of\nlurid light._)\n\nANTHONY (_begins at last to notice his immense stature_):\n\n\"Already several times, while thou wert speaking, it seemed to me thou\nwert growing taller; and it was no illusion! How? Explain to me ... Thy\naspect terrifies me!\"\n\n(_Footsteps are heard approaching._)\n\n\"What is that?\"\n\nHILARION (_extending his arm_):\n\n\"Look!\"\n\n(_Then, under a pale beam of moonlight, Anthony distinguishes an\ninterminable caravan defiling over the summit of the rocks;--and each\nvoyager, one after the other, falls from the cliff into the gulf below._\n\n_First comes the three great gods of_ Samothrace,--AXIEROS, AXIOKEROS,\nAXIOKERSA,--_united together as in a fascia, purple-masked, all with\nhands uplifted._\n\n_\u00c6sculapius advances with a melancholy air, not even perceiving\nSamos and Telesphorus, who question him with gestures of anguish._\nELEAN SOSIPOLIS, _of python-form, rolls his coils toward the abyss._\nDOSIPOENA, _becomes dizzy, leaps in of her own accord._ BRITOMARTIS,\n_shrieking with fear, clutches fast the meshes of her net. The Centaurs\ncome at a wild gallop, and roll pell-mell into the black gulf._\n\n_Behind them, all limping, advance the bands of the mourning Nymphs.\nThose of the meadows are covered with dust; those of the woods moan and\nbleed; wounded by the axes of the woodcutters._\n\n_The Gelludes, the Strygii, the Empus\u00e6, all the infernal goddesses,\nform one pyramid of blended fangs, vipers, and torches;--and seated\nupon a vulture-skin at its summit, Eurynome, blue as the flies that\ncorrupt meat, devours her own arms._\n\n_Then in one great whirl simultaneously disappear the bloody Orthia,\nHymina of Orchomenus, the Laphria of the Patr\u00e6ns, Aphia of Agina,\nBendis of Thrace, Stymphalia with thighs like a bird's. Triopas, in\nlieu of three eyes, has now but three empty orbits. Erichthonius, his\nlegs paralysed, crawls upon his hands like a cripple._)\n\nHILARION. \"What a pleasure, is it not!--to see them all in the\nabjection of their death-agony! Climb up here beside me, on this rock;\nand thou shalt be even as Xerxes, reviewing his army.\n\n\"Beyond there, very far, dost thou behold that fair-bearded giant,\nwho even now lets fall his sword crimsoned with blood?--that is\nthe Scythian Zalmoxis between two planets,--Artimpasa, Venus, and\nOrsiloche, the Moon.\n\n\"Still further away, now emerging from pallid clouds, are the gods whom\nthe Cimmerians adore, even beyond Thule.\n\n\"Their huge halls were warm, and by the gleam of swords that tapestried\nthe vault, they drank their hydromel from horns of ivory. They ate the\nliver of the whale in dishes of brass wrought by the hammers of demons;\nor, betimes, they listened to captive sorcerers whose fingers played\nupon harps of stone.\n\n\"They are feeble! They are cold! The snow makes heavy their bearskins;\nand their feet show through the rents in their sandals.\n\n\"They weep for the vast fields upon whose grassy knolls they were\nwont to draw breath in pauses of battle; they weep for the long ships\nwhose prows forced a way through the mountains of ice;--and the skates\nwherewith they followed the orb of the poles, upbearing at the length\nof their mighty arms all the firmament that turned with them.\"\n\n(_A gust of frosty wind carries them off. Anthony turns his eyes\nanother way. And he perceives--outlined in black against a red\nbackground--certain strange personages, with chinbands and gauntlets,\nwho throw balls at one another, leap over each other's heads, make\ngrimaces, dance a frenzied dance._)\n\nHILARION. \"Those are the divinities of Etruria, the innumerable \u00c6sars.\n\n\"There is Tages, by whom augury was invented. With one hand he seeks to\naugment the divisions of the sky; with the other he supports himself\nupon the earth: let him sink therein!\n\n\"Nortia gazes at the wall into which she drave nails to mark the number\nof the passing years. Its whole surface is now covered; and the period\nis accomplished.\n\n\"Like two travellers overtaken by a storm, Kastur and Pulutuk,\ntrembling, seek to shelter themselves beneath the same mantle.\"\n\nANTHONY (_closes his eyes_):\n\n\"Enough! Enough!\"\n\n(_But with a mighty noise of wings, all the Victories of the Capitol\npass through the air,--hiding their faces with their hands, dropping\nthe trophies hanging upon their arms._\n\n_Janus,--lord of crepuscules,--flees upon a black ram; and one of his\ntwo faces is already putrified; the other slumbers with fatigue._\n\n_Summanus, the headless god of the dark heavens, presses against his\nheart an odd cake shaped like a wheel._\n\n_Vesta, beneath a ruined cupola, tries to relight her extinguished\nlamp._\n\n_Bellona gashes her cheeks,--without being able to make that blood flow\nby which her devotees were purified._)\n\nANTHONY. \"Mercy!--they weary me!\"\n\nHILARION. \"Before, they amused thee!\"\n\n(_And he shows him in a grove of bean-trees,_ A WOMAN, _naked....\n.........and a black man, holding in each hand a torch._[8])\n\n\"It is the goddess of Aricia, with the demon Virbius. Her sacerdote,\nthe King of the grove, had to be an assassin;[9] and the fugitive\nslaves, the despoilers of corpses, the brigands of the Via Salaria, the\ncripples of the Pons Sublicius, all the human vermin of the Suburra\nworshipped no deities so fervently.\n\n\"In the time of Marcus Antonius the patrician women preferred Libitina.\"\n\n(_And he shows him under the shadow of cypresses and rose-trees_,\nANOTHER WOMAN, _clad in gauze. Around her lie spades, litters, black\nhangings, all the paraphernalia of funerals. She smiles. Her diamonds\nshine afar off through spiders' webs. The Larv\u00e6, like skeletons, show\ntheir bones through the branches; and the Lemures, who are phantoms,\nextend their bat-like wings._\n\n_At the end of a field lies the god Terminus, uprooted, and covered\nwith ordures._\n\n_In the centre of a furrow, the great corpse of Vertumnus is being\ndevoured by red dogs._\n\n_The rustic deities all depart, weeping:--Sartor, Sarrator, Vervactor,\nCollina, Vallona, Hostilinus--all wearing little hooded mantles, and\ncarrying either a hoe, a pitchfork, a hurdle, or a boar-spear._)\n\nHILARION. \"Their spirits made prosperous the villa,--with its dovecots,\nits parks of dormice, its poultry-yards protected by nets, its warm\nstables fragrant with odours of cedar.\n\n\"Also they protected all the wretched population who dragged the irons\nupon their legs over the flinty ways of the Sabine country,--those who\ncalled the swine together by sound of horn,--those who were wont to\ngather the bunches at the very summits of the elms,--those who drove\nthe asses, laden with manure, over the winding bypaths. The panting\nlabourer, leaning over the handle of his plough, prayed them to give\nstrength to his arms; and under the shade of the lindens, beside\ncalabashes filled with milk, the cow-herds were wont, in turn, to sound\ntheir praises upon flutes of reed.\"\n\nANTHONY (_sighs._)\n\n(_And in the centre of a chamber, upon a lofty estrade, an ivory bed is\nvisible, surrounded by persons bearing torches of pine._)\n\n\"Those are the deities of marriage. They await the coming of the bride.\n\n\"Domiduca should lead her in,--Virgo unfasten her girdle,--Subigo place\nher in the bed,--and Pr\u00e6ma open her arms, and whisper sweet words into\nher ear.\n\n\"But she will not come!--and they dismiss the others:--Nona and Decima\nwho watch by sick-beds; the three Nixii who preside over child-birth;\nthe two nurses, Educa and Potina; and Carna, guardian of the cradle,\nwhose bouquet of hawthorne keeps evil dreams from the child.\n\n\"Afterwards, Ossipago should strengthen his knees;--Barbatus give him\nhis first beard; Stimula inspire his first desires; Volupia grant him\nhis first enjoyment; Fabulimus should have taught him to speak, Numera\nto count, Cam[oe]na to sing, Consus to reflect.\"\n\n(_This chamber is empty; and there remains only the centenarian N\u00e6nia\nbeside the bed,--muttering to herself the dirge she was wont to howl at\nthe funerals of aged men._\n\n_But her voice is soon drowned by sharp cries. These are uttered by_--\n\n_The_ LARES DOMESTICI, _crouching at the further end of the atrium,\nclad in dog-skins, with flowers wreathed about their bodies,--pressing\ntheir clenched hands against their cheeks, and weeping as loudly as\nthey can._)\n\n\"Where is the portion of food we received at each repast, the kindly\ncare of the maid-servant, the smile of the matron, the merriment of\nthe little boys playing at knuckle-bones on the mosaic pavement of the\ncourt-yard? When grown up, they used to hang about our necks their\nbull\u00e6 of gold or leather!\n\n\"What happiness it was, when on the evening of a triumph, the master,\nentering, turned his humid eyes upon us! He would recount his combats;\nand the little house would be prouder than a palace; sacred as a temple!\n\n\"How sweet were the family repasts, above all on the morrow of the\nFeralia! Tenderness for the dead appeased all discords; all kissed each\nother, while drinking to the glories of the past, and the hopes of the\nfuture.\n\n\"But the ancestors, of painted wax, locked up behind us, are slowly\nbecoming covered with mold. The new races, visiting their own\ndeceptions upon us, have shattered our jaws; our wooden bodies are\ndisappearing piece-meal under the teeth of rats.\"\n\n(_And the innumerable gods, watching over doors, kitchens, cellars,\nbaths, disperse in every direction--under the form of enormous ants\nrunning over the pavement, or great butterflies soaring away._\n\n_Then a roll of thunder is heard._)\n\n\nA VOICE:\n\n\"I was the God of Armies, the Lord, the Lord God! I pitched the tents\nof Jacob on the hills; and in the midst of the sands I nourished my\nchosen people in their flight.\n\n\"It was I who consumed the city of Sodom with fire! It was I who\noverwhelmed the world with the waters of the Deluge! It was I that\ndrowned Pharaoh, with all the princes, sons of Kings,--making the sea\nto swallow up his chariots of war, and his charioteers!\n\n\"I, the Jealous God, held all other gods in abomination. I brayed the\nimpure in my anger; the mighty I cast down; and swiftly the desolation\nof my wrath ran to the right and to the left, like a dromedary loosened\nin a field of maize.\n\n\"I chose the humble to deliver Israel. Angels, flame-winged, spake to\nthem from out the bushes.\n\n\"Perfumed with spikenard, with cinnamon and myrrh, clad in transparent\nrobes, and shod with high-heeled sandals,--women of valiant heart went\nforth to slay captains. The passing wind carried my prophets with it.\n\n\"My law I graved upon tables of stone. Within that law my people were\nenclosed, as within a strong citadel. They were my people. I was their\nGod! The land was mine; the men also belonged to me, together with\ntheir every thought, and all their works, and the tools they wrought\nwith, and their prosperity.\n\n\"My ark reposed within a triple sanctuary,--surrounded by curtains\nof purple and lighted candelabra. I had a whole tribe to serve me as\nservants, swinging censers; and the high-priest, robed in robes of\nhyacinth, wore upon his breast precious stones disposed in symmetrical\norder.\n\n\"Woe! Woe! the Holy of Holies is open, the veil is rent, the perfumes\nof the holocaust are dissipated by all the winds of heaven! The jackal\nwhines in the sepulchres; my temple is destroyed; my people dispersed!\n\n\"The priests have been strangled with the girdles of their robes. The\nwomen languish in captivity; the holy vessels have all been melted!\"\n\n(_The voice, becoming more distant_):\n\n\"I was the God of Armies; the Lord, the Lord God!\"\n\n(_An enormous silence follows,--and deepest night._)\n\nANTHONY. \"All have passed away!\"\n\nSOME ONE (_replies_):\n\n\"I remain!\"\n\n(_And Hilarion stands before him--but transfigured wholly,--beautiful\nas an archangel, luminous as a sun, and so lofty that in order to\nbehold his face_--\n\nANTHONY\n\n_is compelled to throw back his head, to look up as though gazing as a\nstar_):\n\n\"Who art thou?\"\n\nHILARION. \"My kingdom is vast as the universe; and my desire knows no\nlimits. I go on forever,--freeing minds, weighing worlds,--without\nhatred, without fear, without pity, without love, and without God. Men\ncall me SCIENCE!\"\n\nANTHONY (_recoiling from him_):\n\n\"Say, rather, that thou art ... the Devil!\"\n\nHILARION (_fixing his eyes upon him_:)\n\n\"Wouldst thou behold him?\"\n\nANTHONY (_cannot detach his eyes from that mighty gaze:--the curiosity\nof the Devil comes upon him. His terror augments; yet his wish grows\neven to boundlessness_):\n\n\"Yet if I should see him ... if I were to see him!\"\n\n(_Then in a sudden spasm of wrath_):\n\n\"The horror that I have of him will free me from his presence\nforever!... Yes!\"\n\n(_A cloven foot appears. Anthony regrets his wish._\n\n_But the Devil flings him upon his horns and bears him away._)\n\n\n\n[1] Matthew II: 10--T.\n\n[2] \"Buddha, or more correctly, the Buddha, for Buddha is an\nappellative meaning Enlightened.\"--Max M\u00fcller (Chips, Vol. I., 206).\n\n[3] Luke II: 25-26.--T.\n\n[4] Ibid II: 46-47.--T.\n\n[5] Or, Haoma, also Hom, the sacred plant, whose fermented juice\noccupied an important place in the practical rites of Iran. Supposed\nto be the same plant known in botany as _Sarcostemma viminalis._\nDeified in Iranian worship, like the sacred drink _Soma_ in the Vedic\nhymns. The _Soma_ was the fermented extract of the _Asclepias acida_\nor _Sarcostemma ritalis._ See Marius Fontane, \"L'Inde V\u00e9dique,\" \"Les\nIraniens.\"--Trans.\n\n[6] Apuleius says, \"a silken mantle.\"--Trans.\n\n[7] Apuleius says, \"strung with knuckle-bones of sheep.\"--Trans.\n\n[8] This scene, like certain paintings in the Naples museum, is all\nsuited for public exhibition.--Trans.\n\n[9] Readers will recollect the lines in Macaulay's _Lays of Ancient\nRome_:\n\n\"Beneath Aricia's trees,\n   Those trees in whose dim shadow\n A ghastly priest doth reign,\n   The priest who slew the slayer,\n And must himself be slain.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\n\n(_He flies beneath him, outstretched like a swimmer; his vast-spreading\nwings, wholly concealing him, seem like one huge cloud._)\n\nANTHONY. \"Whither do I go? But a little while ago I beheld in a glimpse\nthe form of the Accurst. Nay!--'tis a cloud that upbears me! Perhaps I\nam dead, and am ascending to God....\n\n\"How freely I respire. The immaculate air seems to vivify my soul. No\nsense of weight!--no more suffering.\n\n\"Far below me the lightning breaks,--the horizon broadens, widens,--the\nrivers cross each other. That blond-bright spot is the desert; that\npool of water the ocean!\n\n\"And other oceans appear!--vast regions of which I knew nothing!\nThere are the countries of the blacks, which seem to smoke like\nbrasiers!--then is the zone of snows always made dim by fog! Would I\nmight behold those mountains where the sun, each evening, sinks to\nrest!\"\n\nTHE DEVIL. \"The sun never sinks to rest; the sun never rests!\"\n\n(_Anthony is not surprised at this voice. It seems to him an echo of\nhis own thought--a response made by his own memory._\n\n_Meanwhile the earth gradually assumes the shape of a ball; and he\nbeholds it in the midst of the azure, turning upon its poles, and\nrevolving with the sun._)\n\nTHE DEVIL. \"So it does not form the centre of the universe! Pride of\nman! humiliate thyself!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Now I can scarcely distinguish it. It mingles confusedly with\nother glowing worlds. The firmament itself is but one tissue of stars.\"\n\n(_And they still rise._)\n\n\"No sound!--not even the hoarse cry of eagles! Nothing? I listen for\nthe harmony of the spheres.\"\n\nTHE DEVIL. \"Thou wilt not hear them! Nor wilt thou behold the\nantichtonus of Plato,--or the central furnace of Philola\u00fcs,--or the\nspheres of Aristotle, or the seven heavens of the Jews, with the great\nwaters above the vault of crystal!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Yet from below the vault seemed solid as a wall!--on the\ncontrary I penetrate it, I lose myself in it!\"\n\n(_And he beholds the moon,--like a rounded fragment of ice filled with\nmotionless light._)\n\nTHE DEVIL. \"Formerly it was the sojourn of souls! Even the good\nPythagoras adorned it with magnificent flowers, populated it with\nbirds!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"I can see only desolate plains there, with extinct craters\nyawning under a black sky!\n\n\"Let us go towards those milder-beaming stars, that we may contemplate\nthe angels who uphold them at arms' length, like torches!\"\n\nTHE DEVIL (_bears him into the midst of the stars_):\n\n\"They attract at the same time that they repel each other. The\naction of each one results from that of others, and contributes\nthereunto,--without the aid of any auxiliary, by the force of a law,\nthe virtue of order alone!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Yes!...yes! My intelligence grasps the great truth! It is\na joy greater than all tender pleasures! Breathless I find myself with\nastonishment at the enormity of God!\"\n\nTHE DEVIL. \"Even as the firmament ever rises as thou dost ascend, so\nwith the expansion of thy thought will He become greater to thee; and\nafter this discovery of the universe thou wilt feel thy joy augment\nwith the broadening and deepening of the infinite.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Ah! higher!--higher still!--- forever higher!\"\n\n(_Then the stars multiply, scintillate. The Milky Way develops in the\nzenith like a monstrous belt, with holes at intervals; through these\nrents in its brightness stretches of prolonged darkness are visible.\nThere are rains of stars, long trains of golden dust, luminous vapours\nthat float and dissolve.\n\nAt times a comet suddenly passes by; then the tranquillity of\ninnumerable lights recommences.\n\nAnthony, with outstretched arms, supports himself upon the Devil's\nhorns, and thus occupies all the space between them.\n\nHe remembers with disdain the ignorance of other days, the mediocrity\nof his dreams. And now those luminous globes he was wont to gaze upon\nfrom below, are close to him. He distinguishes the intercrossing of\nthe lines of their orbits, the complexity of their courses. He beholds\nthem coming from afar,--and, like stones suspended in a sling, describe\ntheir circles, form their hyperbolas.\n\nHe perceives, all within the field of his vision at once, the Southern\nCross and the Great Bear, the Lynx and the Centaur, the nebula of\nDorado, the six suns in the constellation of Orion, Jupiter with his\nfour satellites, and the triple ring of the monstrous Saturn!--all the\nplanets, all the stars that men will discover in the future. He fills\nhis eyes with their light; he over-burthens his mind with calculation\nof their distances: then, bowing his head, he murmurs_):\n\n\"What is the purpose of all that?\"\n\nTHE DEVIL. \"There is no purpose. How could God have a purpose? What\nexperience could have instructed him?--what reflection determined him?\n\n[Illustration: Anthony: What is the purpose of all that? The\nDevil: There is no purpose.]\n\n\"Before the beginning he could not have acted;--and now his action\nwould be useless.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Yet he created the world, at one time, by his word only.\"\n\nTHE DEVIL. \"But the beings that people the earth come upon it\nsuccessively. So also, in heaven, new stars arise--different effects of\nvarying causes.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"The varying of causes is the will of God!\"\n\nTHE DEVIL. \"But to admit several acts of will in God is to admit\nvarious causes, and therefore to deny his unity.\n\n\"His will is inseparable from his essence. He can have but one will,\nhaving but one essence; and inasmuch as he externally exists, he acts\neternally.\n\n\"Contemplate the sun! From its surface leap vast jets of flame, casting\nforth sparks that disperse beyond to become worlds here-after;--and\nfurther than the last, far beyond those deeps where thou seest only\nnight, whirl other suns,--and behind them others again, and beyond\nthose yet others ... without end!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Enough! Enough! I fear!--I will fall into the abyss!\"\n\nTHE DEVIL (_pauses, and rocks Anthony gently in the midst of space_).\n\n\"Nothingness is--not--there is no void! Everywhere and forever bodies\nmove upon the immovable deeps of space! Were there boundaries to\nspace, it would not be space, but a body only: it is limitless!\"\n\nANTHONY (_stupefied by wonder_):\n\n\"Limitless!\"\n\nTHE DEVIL. \"Ascend skyward forever and forever,--yet thou wilt not\nattain the summit. Descend below the earth for billions of billions of\ncenturies: never wilt thou reach the bottom. For there is no summit,\nthere is no bottom; there is no Above, no Below--nor height, nor\ndepth as signified by the terms of human utterance. And Space itself\nis comprised in God, who is not a portion thereof of such or such a\nsize,--but is Immensity itself!\"\n\nANTHONY (_slowly_):\n\n\"Matter ..., then, ... must be a part of God?\"\n\nTHE DEVIL. \"Why not? Canst thou know the end of God?\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Nay: on the contrary, I prostrate, I crush myself beneath his\nmightiness!\"\n\nTHE DEVIL. \"And yet thou dost pretend to move him! Thou dost speak to\nhim,--thou dost even adorn him with virtues,--with goodness, justice,\nmercy,--in lieu of recognising that all perfections are his!\n\n\"To conceive aught beyond him is to conceive God above God, the Being\nabove the Being. For He is the only being, the only substance.\n\n\"If the Substance could be divided, it would not be the Substance, it\nwould lose its nature: God could not exist. He is therefore indivisible\nas infinite;--and if he had a body, he would be composed of parts,\nhe would not be One--he would not be infinite. Therefore he is not a\nPerson!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"What? my prayers, my sobs, my groans, the sufferings of my\nflesh, the transports of my love,--have all these things gone out to a\nlie,--to emptiness, unavailingly--like the cry of a bird, like a whirl\nof dead leaves?\"\n\n(_Weeping_):\n\n\"Oh, no!--there is Some One above all things,--a great Soul, a Lord, a\nFather whom my heart adores and who must love me!\"\n\nTHE DEVIL. \"Thou dost desire that God were not God;--for did he feel\nlove, or anger, or pity,--he would abandon his perfection for a greater\nor a lesser perfection. He can stoop to no sentiment, nor be contained\nin any form.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"One day, nevertheless, I shall see him!\"\n\nTHE DEVIL. \"With the blessed, is it not?--when the finite shall enjoy\nthe infinite in some restricted place, containing the Absolute!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Matters not!--there must be a paradise for the good, as there\nis a hell for the wicked.\"\n\nTHE DEVIL. \"Can the desire of thy mind create the law of the universe?\nWithout doubt evil is indifferent to God,--forasmuch as the Earth is\ncovered with it!\n\n\"Is it through impotence that he endures it, or through cruelty that he\nmaintains it?\n\n\"Dost thou fancy that he is eternally readjusting the world, like an\nimperfect machine?--that he is forever watching the movements of all\nbeings, from the flight of a butterfly to the thought of a man?\n\n\"If he have created the universe, his providence is superfluous. If\nProvidence exists, then creation is defective.\n\n\"But evil and good concern only thee--even like night and day, pleasure\nand pain, death and birth, which are relative only to one corner\nof space, to a special centre, to a particular interest. Since the\nInfinite is permanent, the Infinite is;--and that is all.\"\n\n(_The Devil's wings have been gradually expanding: now they cover all\nspace._)\n\nANTHONY (_now perceives nothing: a great faintness comes upon him_):\n\n\"A hideous cold freezes me, even to the depths of my soul! This is\nbeyond the extreme of pain! It is like a death that is deeper than\ndeath! I roll in the immensity of darkness; and the darkness itself\nenters within me. My consciousness bursts beneath this dilation of\nnothingness!\"\n\nTHE DEVIL. \"Yet the knowledge of things comes to thee only through the\nmedium of thy mind. Even as a concave mirror, it deforms the objects\nit reflects; and thou hast no means whatever of verifying their\nexactitude.\"\n\n\"Never canst thou know the universe in all its vastness; consequently\nit will never be possible for thee to obtain an idea of its cause,\nto have a just notion of God, nor even to say that the universe is\ninfinite,--for thou must first be able to know what the Infinite is!\"\n\n\"May not Form be, perhaps, an error of thy senses,--Substance a figment\nof thy imagination?\"\n\n\"Unless, indeed, that the world being a perpetual flux[1] of things,\nappearance, on the contrary, be wholly true; illusion the only reality.\"\n\n\"But art thou sure thou dost see?--art thou even sure thou dost live?\nPerhaps nothing exists!\"\n\n(_The Devil has seized Anthony, and, holding him at arms' length,\nglares at him with mouth yawning as though to devour him_):\n\n\"Adore me, then!--and curse the phantom thou callest God!\"\n\n(_Anthony lifts his eyes with a last effort of hope._\n\n_The Devil abandons him._)\n\n\n[1] The original text seems to me slightly obscure. The idea of the\nuniverse being a perpetual ebb and flow of shapes, is that of forms\npassing away to reappear like waves, is that of the Nidana-Sutris:\n\"Individuality is only a form ... _Everything is only a flux of\naggregates_, interminably uniting and disuniting,\" as Barth observes in\nhis \"Religions of India.\"--Trans.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\n\nANTHONY (_finds himself lying upon his back, at the verge of the cliff._\n\n_The sky commences to blanch._)\n\n\"Is it the glow of dawn, or only an effect of moonlight?\"\n\n(_He tries to rise, falls back,--his teeth chattering_):\n\n\"I feel such a helplessness of weakness, as though all my bones were\nbroken!\n\n\"Why?\n\n\"Ah! the Devil!--I remember!--he even repeated to me all that I\nlearned from the aged Didymus respecting the opinions of Xenophanes,\nHeraclitus, of Melissus, of Anaxagoras,--concerning the infinite, the\ncreation, the impossibility of knowing anything!\n\n\"And yet I believed that I could unite myself to God!\"\n\n(_Laughing bitterly_):\n\n\"Ah! madness! madness! Is the fault mine? Prayer has become\nintolerable to me! My heart is dry as a rock! Once, it was wont to\noverflow with love!...\n\n\"The sand used to smoke of mornings like the odourous dust of a\ncenser;--at sunset flowers of fire used to bloom upon the cross; and in\nthe middle of the night, it often seemed as though all beings and all\nthings, lying under the same awful silence, were adoring the Lord with\nme. O charms of prayer, felicities of ecstasy, gifts of heaven,--what\nhave become of you?\n\n\"I remember a voyage I made with Ammon in search of a solitary place\nsuited for the establishment of a monastery. It was the last evening;\nwe hastened our steps, walked side by side, murmuring hymns, without\nconversing. As the sun sank, the shadows of our bodies lengthened like\ntwo obelisks, continually growing taller, and moving before us. Here\nand there we planted crosses, made with fragments of our sticks, to\nmark the site of a future cell. Night was tardy in her coming; and\nwaves of darkness overspread the earth, even while a vast rose-coloured\nlight still glowed in heaven.\n\n\"When I was a child, I used to amuse myself by building hermitages\nwith pebbles. My mother sitting beside me would watch me so attentively!\n\n\"Will she not have cursed me for having abandoned her?--will she not\nhave plucked out her white hair by handfuls in the despair of her\ngrief? And her corpse remains lying on the floor of the hut, under the\nroof of reeds, between the crumbling walls. Through an orifice a hyena,\nsnuffing, thrusts his head, advances his mouth ... horror! horror!\"\n\n(_Sobbing_):\n\n\"No: Ammonaria will not have abandoned her! Where is she\nnow,--Ammonaria?\n\n\"Perhaps at the further end of a bathroom, she removes her garments\none after the other: first the mantle, then the girdle, then the first\ntunic, the second lighter tunic, all her necklaces,--and the vapour\nof cinnamon envelops her naked limbs. At last she lies down upon the\ntepid mosaic. Her long hair spreading below the curve of her hips,\nseems like a sable fleece; and the oppressiveness of the heated air\ncauses her to pant; her waist arched, her breasts standing out ...\nWhat! my flesh rebels again! Even in the midst of grief am I tortured\nby concupiscence. To be subjected thus unto two tortures at once is\nbeyond endurance! I can no longer bear myself!\"\n\n(_He leans over, and gazes into the abyss._)\n\n\"The man who should fall would be killed. Nothing easier: it were only\nnecessary to roll over upon my left side:--only one movement--one!\"\n\n(_Then suddenly appears_--AN AGED WOMAN. _Anthony starts to his feet in\naffright. It seems to him that he beholds his mother arisen._\n\n_But this woman is far older, and prodigiously thin._\n\n_A shroud, knotted about her head, hangs down, together with her white\nhair, so as to cover her legs, slender as crutches. The brilliancy of\nher ivory-coloured teeth make her earthy skin darker still. The orbits\nof her eyes are full of shadow; and far back within them two flames\nvacillate, like the lamps of sepulchres._\n\n_She exclaims_):\n\n\"Advance! What hinders thee?\"\n\nANTHONY (_stammering_):\n\n\"I fear ... to commit a sin!\"\n\nSHE (_replies_):\n\n\"But King Saul killed himself! Razias, a just man, killed himself!\nSaint Pelagia of Antioch killed herself! Dommina of Aleppo and her two\ndaughters--all three saints--killed themselves: and remember also how\nmany confessors delivered themselves up to the executioner in their\nimpatient longing for death! That they might enjoy death more speedily,\nthe virgins of Miletus strangled themselves with their girdles. At\nSyracuse the philosopher Hegesias preached so eloquently upon death\nthat men deserted the lupanars to go hang themselves in the fields. The\npatricians of Borne sought for death as a new form of debauch.\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Aye! the love of death is strong; and many a anchorite has\nsuccumbed to it.\"\n\nTHE OLD WOMAN. \"To do that which will make thee equal unto God--think!\nHe created thee: thou wilt destroy his work--thou! and by thy\ncourage,--of thy own free will! The enjoyment that Erostratus knew was\nnot greater than this. And moreover thy body has so long mocked thy\nsoul that it is full time thou shouldst take vengeance upon it. Thou\nwilt not suffer. It will soon be over. Of what art thou afraid?--a\nwide, black hole! Perhaps it is a void!\"\n\n[Illustration: The Old Woman: Of what art thou afraid?\u0097a wide,\nblack hole! Perhaps it is a void!]\n\n(_Anthony hearkens without replying; and upon the other side appears_--\n\nANOTHER WOMAN--_young and marvellously beautiful. At first he takes\nher to be Ammonaria. But she is taller, blond as honey, very plump,\nwith paint upon her cheeks and roses upon her head. Her long robe,\nweighty with spangles, gleams with metallic lustre;--her fleshy lips\nare sanguinolent; and her somewhat heavy eyelids are so drowned with\nlanguor that one would almost take her to be blind._\n\n_She murmurs_):\n\n\"Nay, live! enjoy! Solomon counsels joy! Follow the guiding of thy\nheart and the desire of thine eyes!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"What joy is there for me? My heart is weary; my eyes are dim!\"\n\nSHE (_answers_):\n\n\"Seek the suburb of Racotis; push open a door that is painted\nblue;--and when thou shalt be in the atrium where a fountain jet\nmurmurs unceasingly, a woman will present herself before thee--in\npeplos of white silk striped with gold; her hair is unloosed, her\nlaugh like the clatter of crotali. She is skilful. In her caress thou\nwilt taste the pride of initiation and the appeasement of desire.\n\n\"Hast ever pressed to thy bosom a virgin who loved thee? Dost remember\nthe surrenders of her modesty,--the passing away of her remorse in a\nsweet flow of tears?\n\n\"Thou canst even now imagine thyself walking with her--canst thou\nnot?--in the wood by the light of the moon? At each pressure of your\njoined hands, a sweet shuddering passes through you both,--looking\nclosely into each other your eyes seem to outpour into one another\nsomething like immaterial fluid;--and thy heart fills: it bursts: it is\na suave whirl of eddying passion, an overflowing of intoxication....\"\n\nTHE OLD WOMAN. \"One need not possess joys in order to taste their\nbitterness! Even to view them from afar off begets loathing of them.\nThou must be fatigued by the monotony of the same actions, the length\nof the days, the hideousness of the world, the stupidity of the sun?\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Aye, indeed!--I loathe all that he shines upon.\"\n\nTHE YOUNG WOMAN. \"Hermit! hermit! thou wilt find diamonds among the\nflints, fountains beneath the sand, a delectation in all the hazards\nthou dost despise; and there are even upon earth places of such beauty\nthat the sight of them would make thee desire to press the whole world\nagainst thy heart with love!\"\n\nTHE OLD WOMAN. \"Each evening that thou liest down upon the earth to\nslumber, thou dost hope that it may soon lie upon thee and cover thee.\"\n\nTHE YOUNG WOMAN. \"Yet thou dost believe in the resurrection of the\nflesh--which is but the translation of life into eternity!\"\n\n(_Even as she speaks, the Old Woman becomes still more fleshless; and\nabove her skull, from which the white hair has disappeared, a bat\ncircles in the air._\n\n_The Young Woman has become fatter. Her robe gleams with shifting\ncolours; her nostrils palpitate, her eyes roll softly._)\n\nTHE FORMER (_opening her arms, exclaiming_):\n\n\"Come to me!--I am Consolation, repose, oblivion, eternal calm!\"\n\nTHE OTHER.\n\n\"I am the sleep-giver, life, happiness inexhaustible!\"\n\n(_Anthony turns to fee from them. Each lays a hand on his shoulder._\n\n_The Shroud parts, exposes the Skeleton of Death._\n\n_The robe splits asunder, and leaves the whole body of Lust\nexposed:--her waist is slender; her long and undulating hair flutters\nin the wind._\n\n_Anthony stands motionless between the two, considering them_):\n\nDEATH (_says to him_):\n\n\"What matters it, whether now or at another time! Thou art mine,--like\nsuns, nations, cities, kings, mountain-snows, and the grasses of the\nfields. I fly higher than the hawks of heaven. I run more swiftly than\nthe gazelle; I overtake even Hope; I vanquished the Son of God!\"\n\nLUST. \"Resist not! I am the Omnipotent! The forests re-echo with my\nsighs; the waters tremble with my agitations. Virtue, courage, piety,\ndissolve in the perfume of my mouth. Man I accompany in every step\nthat he makes; and even from the threshold of the tomb he turns to me!\"\n\nDEATH. \"I will find for thee that which thou hast vainly sought for,\nby the gleam of torches, upon the faces of the dead,--or among those\nawful sands that are formed of human remains, where thou wast wont to\nwander beyond the Pyramids. From time to time, the fragment of a skull\nrolled under thy sandal. Thou didst take up the dust: thou didst let it\ntrickle through thy fingers; and thy thought, blending with it, sank\ninto nothingness.\"\n\nLUST. \"My gulf is deeper! Marbles have inspired loves. Men rush to\nconjunctures that terrify. Fetters are riveted that the fettered curse.\nWhence the bewitchment of courtesans, the extravagance of dreams, the\nimmensity of my sadness?\"\n\nDEATH. \"Mine irony depasseth all others! There are convulsions of\ndelight at the funerals of kings, at the extermination of a whole\npeople; and war is made with music, with plumes, with harness of\ngold,--with vast display of ceremony that my due of homage may be\ngreater!\"\n\n[Illustration: Death: Mine irony depasseth all others!]\n\nLUST. \"My rage equals thine! I also yell; I bite! I, too, have sweats\nof agony, and aspects cadaverous!\"\n\nDEATH. \"It is I that make thee awful! Let us intertwine!\"\n\n[Illustration: Death: It is I that make thee awful! Let us\nintertwine!]\n\n(_Death laughs mockingly; Lust roars. They clasp each other about the\nwaist, and chant alternately_):\n\n\"I hasten the dissolution of matter!\"\n\n\"I facilitate the dispersion of germs!\"\n\n\"Thou dost destroy for my renovations!\"\n\n\"Thou dost engender for my destructions!\"\n\n\"Ever-active my power!\"\n\n\"Fecund, my putrefaction!\"\n\n(_And their voices, whose rolling echoes fill the horizon, deepen and\nbecome so mighty that Anthony falls backward as if thunder-stricken. A\nshock from time to time causes him to reopen his eyes; and he perceives\nin the midst of the darkness a manner of monster before him._\n\n_It is a skull, crowned with roses, dominating the torso of a woman\nnacreously white. Below, a shroud starred with specks of gold forms\nsomething like a tail; and the whole body undulates, after the fashion\nof a gigantic worm erect on end._\n\n_The vision attenuates,--disappears._)\n\nANTHONY (_rising to his feet_):\n\n\"The Devil yet again, and under his two-fold aspect: the spirit of\nfornication, and the spirit of destruction.\n\n\"Neither affrights me! I repel happiness; and I know myself to be\neternal.\n\n\"Thus death is only an illusion, a veil-masking betimes the continuity\nof life.\n\n\"But Substance being unique, wherefore should forms be varied?\n\n\"Somewhere there must be primordial figures, whose bodily forms are\nonly symbols. Could I but see them, I would know the link between\nmatter and thought; I would know in what Being consists.\n\n[Illustration: Anthony: Somewhere there must be primordial\nfigures, whose bodily forms are only symbols.]\n\n\"Such were the figures painted at Babylon upon the walls of the\ntemple of Belus; and others like them covered a mosaic in the port of\nCarthage. I myself have sometime beheld in the sky, as it were, forms\nof spirits. Those who cross the desert meet with animals surpassing all\nconception....\"\n\n[Illustration: I myself have sometime beheld in the sky, as it\nwere, forms of spirits.]\n\n(_And opposite, upon the further side of the Nile, suddenly appears\nthe Sphinx.[1] He stretches his paws, shakes the bandelets upon his\nforehead, and crouches upon his belly._\n\n_Leaping, flying, spitting fire through her nostrils, lashing her\nwinged sides with her dragon-tail, the green-eyed Chimera circles,\nbarks._\n\n_The thick curls of her head tossed back upon one side mingle with\nthe hair of her loins; on the other side they hang down to the sand,\nquivering with the swinging of her body, to and fro._)\n\nTHE SPHINX (_remaining motionless, and gazing at the Chimera_):\n\n\"Hither, Chimera! rest awhile!\"\n\nTHE CHIMERA. \"No! never!\"\n\nTHE SPHINX. \"Do not run so fast, do not fly so high, do not bark so\nloudly!\"\n\nTHE CHIMERA. \"DO not call me!--call me no more; since thou must remain\nforever dumb.\"\n\nTHE SPHINX. \"Cease casting thy flames in my face, and uttering thy\nyells in my ear: thou canst not melt my granite.\"\n\nTHE CHIMERA. \"Thou shalt not seize me, terrible sphinx!\"\n\nTHE SPHINX. \"Thou art too mad to dwell with me!\"\n\nTHE CHIMERA. \"Thou art too heavy to follow me!\"\n\nTHE SPHINX. \"Yet whither goest thou, that thou shouldst run so fast?\"\n\nTHE CHIMERA. \"I gallop in the corridors of the Labyrinth--I hover above\nthe mountains--I graze the waves in my flight--I yelp at the bottom of\nprecipices--I suspend myself with my mouth from the skirts of clouds--I\nsweep the shores with my dragging tail; and the curves of the hills\nhave taken their form from the shape of my shoulders! But thee I find\nperpetually immobile, or perhaps making strange designs with thy claws\nupon the sand.\"\n\nTHE SPHINX. \"It is because I keep my secret;--I dream and calculate.\n\n\"The sea returns to its bed; the wheat bends back and forth in the\nwind; the caravans pass by; the dust flies; cities crumble; and yet\nmy gaze, which naught can deviate, remains fixed, gazing through all\nintervening things, upon a horizon that none may reach.\"\n\n[Illustration: The Sphinx: ... and yet my gaze, which naught\ncan deviate, remains fixed, gazing through all intervening\nthings, upon a horizon that none may reach. The Chimera: I am\nlight and joyous!]\n\nTHE CHIMERA. \"I am light and joyous! I offer to the eyes of men\ndazzling perspectives with Paradise in the clouds above, and\nunspeakable felicity afar off. Into their souls I pour the eternal\nmadnesses; projects of happiness, plans for the future, dreams of glory\nand vows of love, and all virtuous resolutions.\n\n\"I urge men to perilous voyages and great enterprises. I have chiselled\nwith my claws the wonders of architecture. It was I who suspended the\nlittle bells above the tomb of Porsenna, and surrounded the quays of\nAtlantis with a wall of orichalcum.\n\n\"I seek for new perfumes, for vaster flowers, for pleasures never felt\nbefore. If I perceive in any place a man whose mind reposes in wisdom,\nI fall upon him, and strangle him.\"\n\nTHE SPHINX. \"All those tormented by the desire of God, I have devoured.\n\n\"In order to climb up to my royal brow, the strongest ascend upon the\nflutings of my bandelets as upon the steps of a stairway. Then a great\nlassitude comes upon them, and they fall backward.\"\n\n(_Anthony begins to tremble._\n\n_He is no longer before his cabin, but in the desert itself, with those\ntwo monsters beside him, whose breath is hot upon his shoulders._)\n\nTHE SPHINX. \"O thou Fantasy, bear me away upon thy wings that my\nsadness may be lightened!\"\n\nTHE CHIMERA. \"O thou Unknown, I am enamoured of thine eyes! Like a\nhyena in heat I turn about thee, soliciting those fecundations whereof\nthe desires devour me!\n\n\"Ope thy mouth, lift thy feet--mount upon my back!\"\n\nTHE SPHINX. \"My feet, since they have been outstretched, can move no\nmore. The lichen, like an eruption, has formed upon my jaws. By dint of\nlong dreaming I have no longer aught to say.\"\n\nTHE CHIMERA. \"Thou liest, hypocrite Sphinx! Wherefore dost thou always\ncall me and always disown me!\"\n\nTHE SPHINX. \"It is thou, indomitable caprice, that dost forever pass\nand repass, whirling in thy course!\"\n\nTHE CHIMERA. \"Is the fault mine? What? Let me be!\"\n\n(_She barks._)\n\nTHE SPHINX. \"Thou movest away! thou dost escape me!\"\n\n(_He growls._)\n\nTHE CHIMERA. \"Essay!--Thou crushest me!\"\n\nTHE SPHINX. \"Nay!--impossible!\"\n\n(_And gradually sinking down he disappears in the sand; while the\nChimera, ramping with tongue protruding, departs, describing circles on\nher way._\n\n_The breath of her mouth has produced a fog._\n\n_Through this mist Anthony perceives wreathings of clouds, undecided\ncurves._\n\n_At last he can distinguish something like the appearance of human\nbodies._\n\n_And first_:--\n\nTHE ASTOMI--_approach, like bubbles of air traversed by sunlight. They\ncry_):\n\n\"Do not breathe too hard! The drops of rain bruise us, false notes\nexcoriate us, darknesses blind us! Composed wholly of breezes and of\nperfumes, we float along, we roll along:--a little more than Dreams,\nyet not quite beings....\"\n\nTHE NISNAS\n\n(_have only one eye, one cheek, one hand, one leg, half a body, half a\nheart. They say_):\n\n\"We live quite in our halves of houses, with our halves of wives and\nour halves of children!\"\n\nTHE BLEMMYES\n\n(_who have no head at all_):\n\n\"Our shoulders are all the broader;--and there is no ox, rhinoceros, or\nelephant able to carry what we carry.\n\n\"Something dimly resembling features--as it were a vague\nface--imprinted upon our breasts: that is all! We think digestions; we\nsubtleize secretions. God, in our belief, floats peacefully within the\ninterior chyles.\n\n\"We go straight upon our way, through all mires, crossing all morasses,\nskirting the edges of all abysses: and we are the most laborious, the\nmost happy, the most virtuous of all peoples!\"\n\nTHE PYGMIES:\n\n\"We, good little men, swarm upon the world like vermin upon the hump of\na dromedary.\n\n\"We are burned, drowned, crushed; and we always reappear, more\nvivacious and countless than before--terrible by reason of our numbers!\"\n\nTHE SCIAPODS:\n\n\"Fettered to the earth by our hair, long as lianas, we vegetate beneath\nthe shelter of our feet, broad as parasols; and the light comes to us\nthrough the thickness of our heels. No annoyances for us, no work! The\nhead as low as possible--That is the secret of happiness.\"\n\n[Illustration: The Sciapods: The head as low as possible\u0097That is\nthe secret of happiness.]\n\n(_Their lifted thighs,--resembling the trunks of trees,--multiply._\n\n_And a forest appears. Great apes clamber through it on all\nfours:--these are men with the heads of dogs._)\n\nTHE CYNOCEPHALI:\n\n\"We leap from branch to branch in search of eggs to suck; and we pluck\nthe little fledglings alive; then we put their nests upon our heads in\nlieu of caps.\n\n\"We tear off the teats of cows; and we put out the eyes of lynxes:\nwe let fall our dung from the heights of the trees--we parade our\nturpitude in the full light of the sun.\n\n\"Lacerating the flowers, crushing the fruits, befouling the springs,\nviolating women, we are the masters of all,--by the strength of our\narms, and the ferocity of our hearts.\n\n\"Ho! companions!--gnash with your jaws!\"\n\n(_Blood and milk pour down their chops. The rain streams over their\nhairy backs._\n\n_Anthony inhales the freshness of the green leaves._\n\n_There is a movement among them, a clashing of branches; and all of\na sudden appears a huge black stag, with the head of a bull, having\nbetween his ears a thicket of white horns._)\n\nTHE SADHUZAG:\n\n\"My seventy-four antlers are hollow like flutes.\n\n\"When I turn me toward the wind of the South, there issue from them\nsounds that draw all the ravished animals around me. The serpents twine\nabout my legs; the wasps cluster in my nostrils; and the parrots, the\ndoves, the ibises, alight upon the branches of my horns.\n\n\"Listen!\"\n\n(_He throws back his horns, whence issues a music of sweetness\nineffable._\n\n_Anthony presses both hands upon his heart. It seems to him as though\nhis soul were being borne away by the melody._)\n\nTHE SADHUZAG:\n\n\"But when I turn me toward the wind of the North, my antlers, more\nthickly bristling than a battalion of lances, give forth a sound of\nhowlings: the forests are startled with fear; the rivers remount toward\ntheir sources; the husks of fruits burst open; and the bending grasses\nstand erect on end, like the hair of a coward.\n\n\"Listen!\"\n\n(_He bends his branching antlers forward: hideous and discordant cries\nproceed from them. Anthony feels as though his heart were torn asunder._\n\n_And his horror augments upon beholding_)--\n\nTHE MARTICHORAS\n\n(_A gigantic red lion, with human face, and three rows of teeth_):\n\n\"The gleam of my scarlet hair mingles with the reflection of the great\nsands. I breathe through my nostrils the terror of solitudes. I spit\nforth plague. I devour armies when they venture into the desert.\n\n\"My claws are twisted like screws, my teeth shaped like saws; and my\ncurving tail bristles with darts which I cast to right and left, before\nand behind!\n\n\"See! see!\"\n\n(_The Martichoras shoots forth the keen bristles of his tail, which\nirradiate in all directions like a volley of arrows. Drops of blood\nrain down, spattering upon the foliage._)\n\nTHE CATOBLEPAS\n\n(_A black buffalo with a pig's head, falling to the ground, and\nattached to his shoulders by a neck long, thin, and flaccid as an empty\ngut._\n\n_He wallows flat upon the ground, and his feet entirely disappear\nbeneath the enormous mane of coarse hair which covers his face_):\n\n\"Fat, melancholy, fierce--thus I continually remain, feeling against\nmy belly the warmth of the mud. So heavy is my skull that it is\nimpossible for me to lift it. I roll it slowly all around me,\nopen-mouthed; and with my tongue I tear up the venemous plants bedewed\nwith my breath. Once, I even devoured my own feet without knowing it!\n\n\"No one, Anthony, has ever beheld mine eyes,--or at least, those who\nhave beheld them are dead. Were I to lift my eyelids--my pink and\nswollen eyelids, thou wouldst forthwith die!\"\n\nANTHONY. \"Oh, that one! Ugh! As though I could desire it?--Yet his\nstupidity fascinates me! No, no! I will not!\"\n\n(_He gazes fixedly upon the ground._\n\n_But the weeds take fire; and amidst the contorsions of the flames,\narises_)--\n\nTHE BASILISK\n\n(_A great violet serpent, with trilobate crest, and two fangs, one\nabove, one below_):\n\n\"Beware, lest thou fall into my jaws! I drink fire. I am fire!--and I\ninhale it from all things: from clouds, from flints, from dead trees,\nthe fur of animals, the surface of marshes. My temperature maintains\nthe volcanoes: I lend glitter to jewels: I give colours to metals!\"\n\nTHE GRIFFIN\n\n(_A lion with a vulture's beak, and white wings, red paws and blue\nneck_):\n\n\"I am the master of deep splendours. I know the secrets of the tombs\nwherein the Kings of old do slumber.\n\n\"A chain, issuing from the wall, maintains their heads upright. Near\nthem, in basins of porphyry, the women they loved float upon the\nsurfaces of black liquids. Their treasures are all arrayed in halls, in\nlozenge-shaped designs, in little heaps, in pyramids;--and down below,\nfar below the tombs, and to be reached only after long travelling\nthrough stifling darkness, there are rivers of gold bordered by forests\nof diamonds, there are fields of carbuncles and lakes of mercury.\n\n\"Addossed against the subterranean gate I remain with claws uplifted;\nand my flaming eyes spy out those who seek to approach. The vast and\nnaked plain that stretches away to the end of the horizon is whitened\nwith the bones of travellers. But for thee the gates of bronze shall\nopen; and thou shalt inhale the vapour of the mines, thou shalt descend\ninto the caverns.... Quick! quick!\"\n\n(_He burrows into the earth with his paws, and crows like a cock._\n\n_A thousand voices answer him. The forest trembles._\n\n_And all manner of frightful creatures arise:--The Tragelaphus, half\ndeer, half ox; the Myrmecoles, lion before-and ant behind, whose\ngenitals are set reversely; the python Askar, sixty cubits long, that\nterrified Moses; the huge weasel Pastinaca, that kills the trees with\nher odour; the Presteros, that makes those who touch it imbecile;\nthe Mirag, a horned hare, that dwells in the islands of the sea. The\nleopard Phalmant bursts his belly by roaring; the triple-headed bear\nSenad tears her young by licking them with her tongue; the dog Cepus\npours out the blue milk of her teats upon the rocks. Mosquitoes begin\nto hum, toads commence to leap; serpents hiss. Lightnings flicker. Hail\nfalls._\n\n_Then come gusts, bearing with them marvellous anatomies:--Heads of\nalligators with hoofs of deer; owls with serpent tails; swine with\ntiger-muzzles; goats with the crupper of an ass; frogs hairy as bears;\nchameleons huge as hippopotami; calves with two heads, one bellowing,\nthe other weeping; winged bellies flitting hither and thither like\ngnats._\n\n_They rain from the sky, they rise from the earth, they pour from the\nrocks; everywhere eyes flame, mouths roar, breasts bulge, claws are\nextended, teeth gnash, flesh clacks against flesh. Some crouch; some\ndevour each other at a mouthful._\n\n_Suffocating under their own numbers, multiplying by their own contact,\nthey climb over one another; and move about Anthony with a surging\nmotion as though the ground were the deck of a ship. He feels the trail\nof snails upon the calves of his legs, the chilliness of vipers upon\nhis hands:--and spiders spinning about him enclose him within their\nnetwork._\n\n_But the monstrous circle breaks, parts; the sky suddenly becomes blue;\nand_)--\n\nTHE UNICORN (_appears_):\n\n\"Gallop! Gallop!\n\n\"I have hoofs of ivory, teeth of steel; my head is the colour of\npurple, my body the colour of snow; and the horn of my forehead is\nbestreaked with the tints of the rainbow.\n\n\"I travel from Chaldea to the Tartar desert,--upon the shores of the\nGanges and in Mesopotamia. I overtake the ostriches. I run so swiftly\nthat I draw the wind after me. I rub my back against the palm-trees. I\nroll among the bamboos. I leap rivers with a single bound. Doves fly\nabove me. Only a virgin can bridle me.\n\n\"Gallop! Gallop!\"\n\n(_Anthony watches him depart._\n\n_And as he gazes he beholds all the birds that nourish themselves\nwith wind: the Gouith, the Ahuti, the Alphalim, the Iukneth, of the\nmountains of Kaf, the homai of the Arabs--which are the souls of\nmurdered men. He hears the parrots that utter human speech; and the\ngreat Pelasgian palmipeds that sob like children or chuckle like old\nwomen._\n\n_A saline air strikes his nostrils. Now a vast beach stretches before\nhim._\n\n_In the distance jets of water arise, spouted by whales; and from the\nvery end of the horizon come_)--\n\nTHE BEASTS OF THE SEA\n\n(_round as wineskins, flat as blades, denticulated like saws, dragging\nthemselves over the sand as they approach_):\n\n[Illustration: The beasts of the sea round as wineskins ...]\n\n\"Thou wilt accompany us to our immensities, whither as yet no one has\ndescended.\n\n\"Divers peoples inhabit the countries of the Ocean. Some dwell in the\nsojourn of tempests; others swim freely amid the transparency of chill\nwaves;--or, like oxen, graze upon the coral plains, or suck in through\ntheir trunks the reflux of the tides,--or bear upon their shoulders the\nvast weight of the sources of the sea.\"\n\n[Illustration: Divers peoples inhabit the countries of the Ocean.]\n\n(_Phosphorences gleam in the moustaches of the seals, shift in the\nscales of fish. Echini whirl like wheels; ammonites uncoil like cables;\noysters make their shell hinges squeak; polypi unfold their tentacles;\nmedus\u00e6 quiver like balls of crystal suspended; sponges float hither and\nthither, anemones ejaculate water; wrack and sea-mosses have grown all\nabout._\n\n_And all sorts of plants extend themselves into branches, twist\nthemselves into screws, lengthen into points, round themselves out like\nfans. Gourds take the appearance of breasts; lianas interlace like\nserpents._\n\n_The Dedaims of Babylon, which are trees, bear human heads for fruit;\nMandragoras sing;--the root Baaras runs through the grass._\n\n_And now the vegetables are no longer distinguishable from the animals.\nPolyparies that seem like trees, have arms upon their branches. Anthony\nthinks he sees a caterpillar between two leaves: it is a butterfly that\ntakes flight. He is about to step on a pebble: a grey locust leaps\naway. One shrub is bedecked with insects that look like petals of\nroses; fragments of ephemerides form a snowy layer upon the soil._\n\n_And then the plants become confounded with the stones._\n\n_Flints assume the likeness of brains; stalactites of breasts; the\nflower of iron resembles a figured tapestry._[2]\n\n_He sees efflorescences in fragments of ice, imprints of shrubs and\nshells--yet so that one cannot detect whether they be imprints only, or\nthe things themselves. Diamonds gleam like eyes; metals palpitate._\n\n_And all fear has departed from him! He throws himself down upon the\nground, and leaning upon his elbows, watches breathlessly._\n\n_Insects that have no stomachs persistently eat; withered ferns bloom\nagain and reflower; absent members grow again._\n\n_At last he perceives tiny globular masses, no larger than pinheads,\nwith cilia all round them. They are agitated with a vibratile motion_):\n\nANTHONY (_deliriously_):\n\n\"O joy! O bliss! I have beheld the birth of life! I have seen the\nbeginning of motion! My pulses throb even to the point of bursting!\nI long to fly, to swim, to bark, to bellow, to howl! Would that I\nhad wings, a carapace, a shell,--that I could breathe out smoke,\nwield a trunk,--make my body writhe,--divide myself everywhere,--be\nin everything,--emanate with odours,--develop myself like the\nplants,--flow like water,--vibrate like sound--shine like light,\nsquatting upon all forms--penetrate each atom--descend to the very\nbottom of matter,--be matter itself!\"\n\n(_Day at last appears;--and, like tabernacle curtains uplifted, clouds\nof gold uprolling in broad volutes unveil the sky._\n\n_Even in the midst thereof, and in the very disk of the sun, beams the\nface of Jesus Christ._\n\n[Illustration: Day at last appears ... in the midst thereof and\nin the very disk of the sun, beams the face of Jesus Christ.]\n\n_Anthony makes the sign of the cross, and resumes his devotions._)\n\n\nFINIS\n\n\n[1] Winkelmann claims to have been the first to discover that the\nEgyptian sphinxes were bisexual--females before--males otherwise. (See\nBook II, chap. I, \u00a7 25.) Flaubert speaks of the Sphinx in the masculine\nlike Philemon. (See also Signor Carlo Fea's note upon the paragraph in\nWinkelmann, old French edition. An II, R. F.)--Trans.\n\n[2] Fleurs de fer, \"flowers of iron.\" In mineralogy _flos ferri_, a\nform of Aragonite.--Trans.\n\n\n\n\n[NOTE\n\nThose who compare this translation with the original will observe the\nomission of some few paragraphs on pages 77, 96 and 211. They are\nspeeches put in the mouths of certain Heresiarchs, or complaints of\ncertain of the minor Roman household gods. The translator relegated\nthese to an addenda, which the publishers have omitted as being\nunnecessary. Those who are familiar with the original will be able to\nsupply them, and will realize that while they might be offensive to\nsome persons, they are in no respect an integral or important part of\nthe great drama.]\n\n\n\n\nADDENDA (added by transcribers)\n\n\nA. Observation of Manes, pages 82-3, original text; page 89 of\ntranslation.\n\n\nMANES\n\n_Ou plut\u00f4t, faites si bien qu'elle ne soit pas f\u00e9condes. Mieux vaut\npour l'ame tomber sur la terre que de languir dans des entraves\ncharnelles._\n\nProbably a calumny against Manes; for the Eastern philosophy,\nespecially that of Zoroaster, which is said to have inspired the tenets\nof Manich\u00e6ism, advocated no such abominations.\n\n\nB. Page 105 of original; page 108 translation. The realistic\nphraseology of the original passage is rather brutal. The French text\nreads: \"_Il souffrait de la maladie Bellerephontienne; et sa m\u00e8re, la\nparfumeuse, s'est livr\u00e9e \u00e0 Pantherus, un soldat Romain, sur des gerbes\nde mais, un soir de moisson._\" C. Descriptive text, page 237 original,\npartly suppressed on page 223 translation: \"_Et il lui montre dans un\nbosquet d'aliziers Une Femme toute nue, \u00e0 quatre pattes comme une b\u00eate,\net saillie par un homme noir, tenant dans chaque main un flambeau._\"\n\nD. Curious text of Crepitus, on page 228, pages 241-3 of original:\n\nCREPITUS\n\n(----se fait entendre):\n\n_Moi aussi l'on m'honora jadis. On me faisait des libations. Je fus un\nDieu!_\n\n_L'Ath\u00e9nien me saluait comme un presage de fortune, tandis que le\nRomain d\u00e9vot me maudissait les poings lev\u00e9s et que le pontife d'Egypte,\ns'abstinant des f\u00e8ves, tremblait \u00e0 ma voix et p\u00e2lissait \u00e0 mon odeur._\n\n_Quand le vinaigre militaire coulait sur les barbes non ras\u00e9es, qu'on\nse r\u00e9galait de glands, de pois, et d'oignons crus, et que le bouc en\nmorceau cuissait dans le beurre rance des pasteurs, sans souci du\nvoisin, personne alors ne se g\u00eanait. Les nourritures solides faisaient\ndigestions retentissantes. Au soleil de la campagne les hommes se\nsoulageaient avec lenteur._\n\n_Ainsi, je passais sans scandale, comme les autres besoins de la vie,\ncomme Mena, tourment des vierges, et la douce Rumina qui prot\u00e8ge le\nsein de la nourrice, gonfl\u00e9, des veines bleu\u00e2tres. J'\u00e9tais joyeux. Je\nfaisais rire. Et se dilatant d'aise \u00e0 cause de moi, le convive exhalait\ntoute sa gaiet\u00e9 par les ouvertures de son corps._\n\n_J'ai eu mes jours d'orgeuil. Le bon Aristophane me promena sur la\nsc\u00e8ne, et l'empereur Claudius Drusus[1] me fit asseoir \u00e0 sa table. Dans\nles laticlaves des patriciens j'ai circul\u00e9 majestueusement! Les vases\nd'or, comme des tympanons, resonnaient sous moi; et, quand plein de\nmur\u00e8nes, de truffles, et de p\u00e2t\u00e9s, l'intestin du ma\u00eetre se d\u00e9gageait\navec fracas, l'univers attentif apprenait que C\u00e9sar avait din\u00e9!_\n\n_Mais \u00e0 pr\u00e9sent, je suis confin\u00e9 dans la populace_[2] _et l'on se\nr\u00e9crie, m\u00eame \u00e0 mon nom!_\n\n_Et Crepitus s'\u00e9loigne, en poussant un g\u00e9missement...._\n\nE. For descriptions of the Martichoras and other monsters, appearing\npage 287 in the original and 263 in the translation, see also Rabelais'\nPantagruel, Book V, Chap. XXX.\n\n\n\n[1] Needless to refer to the comedies of Aristophanes, with which\nEnglish readers have been familiarized through the Bohn translations.\nThe reference to Claudius ius Drusus seems based upon the following\nlines in Suetonius: \"_Dicitur etiam meditatus edictum, quo veniam daret\nflatum crepitumque ventris in convivio emittendi: cum periclitatum\nquemdam prae pudore ex continentia reperisset._\" (_Suetonius-Tiberius\nClaudius Drusus_: 32.)\n\n[2] The so-called divinities, _Deus Crepitus, Dea Pertunda, Deus\nStercutius, Dea Rumina_ (or _Rumilia_), _Dea Mena_, concerning whose\ncurious attributes the reader may consult English or French classical\nencyclopedists, were doubtless regarded by the intelligent classes\nof antiquity much as certain religious superstitions are regarded by\neducated moderns. It is true that they furnished grotesque themes\nto artists; but many existing superstitions regarding elves and\ngoblins have inspired modern sculptors, painters and designers.\nCertainly, seriously worshipped as deities, Priapus might seem equally\ncontemptible as a divinity; but his worship, degenerate as it became\nin later years, was primitively symbolical. The obscene image merely\ntypified the procreative Spirit of Nature. The eccentric gods and\ngoddesses above referred to had no such excuse for being. As previously\nobserved, however, Flaubert artistically represents these divinities\nnot as they were really considered in the antique world, but rather as\nthey would have appeared to the eyes of zealous Christians in the third\ncentury--infamous and loathsome.--Translator.\n\n\n\n\n      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\nThis translation of the \"Tentation\" by Lafcadio Hearn, still regarded\nby many as the best up until now in English, still misses some small\nfragments (of a couple of words) not deemed fit for the Anglo-Saxon\ntemperament of that time. There is a contemporary version (2002) of\nthis translation available, with introduction by Michel Foucault and\nthe inclusion of some missing expressions. The original French by\nGustave Flaubert is also available at Project Gutenberg--see\nhttps://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10982","title":"The Temptation of St. Anthony","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":50952}