VPIETYAfter the turning of the second street, they laid the body down a second time in order in put on their sandals. Rhodis’s feet, too delicate to walk naked, were torn and bleeding.The night was full of brilliancy. The town was full of silence. The iron-coloured shadows lay in square blocks in the middle of the streets, according to the profile of the houses.The little virgins resumed their load.“Where are we going to?” asked the child. “Where are we going to bury it?”“In the cemetery of Hermanubis. It is always deserted, it will be in peace there.”“Poor Chrysis! Could I ever have thought that on her last day, I should bear her body without torches and without funeral car, secretly, like a thing stolen.”Then both began to talk volubly as if they were afraid of the silence, cheek by jowl with the corpse. The last day of Chrysis’s life filled them with astonishment. Where had she got the mirror, the necklace and the comb? She could not have taken the pearls of the goddess herself. The temple was too well guarded for a courtesan to be able to enter it. Then somebody must have acted for her? But who? She was not known to possess any lover amongst the Stolists to whom the guard of the divine statue was entrusted. And then, if someone had acted for her, why had she not denounced him? And, in any case, why these three crimes? Of what had they availed her, except to deliver her over to punishment? A woman does not commit such follies without an object, unless she be in love? Was Chrysis in love? and who could it be?“We shall never know”, concluded the flute-player. “She has taken her secret with her, and even if she had an accomplice he would be the last to enlighten us.”At this point, Rhodis, who had been resting for several instants, sighed:ill-087The little virgins resumed their load“I cannot carry her any longer, Myrto. I shall fall down on my knees, I am broken with fatigue and grief.”Myrtocleia took her by the neck:“Try again, my darling. Wemustcarry her. Her nether life is at stake. If she has no sepulture and no obol in her hand, she will roam eternally on the banks of the river of hell, and when we in our turn, Rhodis, go down to the dead, she will reproach us with our impiety, and we shall not know what to answer her.”But the child, overcome with weakness, burst into tears.“Quickly, quickly!” exclaimed Myrtocleia.“Somebody is coming along the end of the street. Place yourself in front of the body with me. Let us hide it behind our tunics . . . If it is seen, all is lost . . .”She stooped short.“It is Timon. I recognise him. Timon with four women. Ah, gods! what is going to happen? He laughs at everything and will mock us . . . But no, stay here, Rhodis; I will speak to him.”And, inspired by a sudden thought, she ran down the street to meet the little group.“Timon,” she said, and her voice was full of supplication; “Timon, stop. I have grave words to utter to you alone.”“My poor little thing,” said the young man, “how excited you are! Have you lost your shoulder-knot or have you dropped your doll and broken its nose? This would be an irreparable disaster.”The girl threw him a look of anguish; but the four women, Philotis, Seso of Cnidos, Callistion, and Tryphera, were already clamouring round her with impatience.“Get away, little idiot!” said Tryphera, “if you have dried up your nurse’s teats, we cannot help it, we have no milk. It is almost daylight, you ought to be in bed; what business have children to roam about in the moonlight?”“Her nurse?” said Philotis. “She wants to steal away Timon.”“The whip! She deserves the whip!” said Callistion, who put one arm round Myrto’s waist, lifting her off the ground and raising her little blue tunic, But Seso interposed:“You are mad,” she cried. “Myrto has never known a man. If she calls Timon, it is not to sleep with him. Let her alone, and let us have done with it!”“Come,” said Timon, “what do you want with me? Come here. Whisper in my ear. Is it really serious?”“The body of Chrysis is there, in the street,” said the young girl tremblingly. “We are carrying into the cemetary, my little friend and I, but it is heavy, and we ask you if you will help us. It will not take long. Immediately afterwards you can rejoin your women . . .”Timon’s look reassured her.“Poor girls! To think that I laughed! You are better than we are . . . Certainly I will help you. Go and join your friend and wait for me, I am coming.”Turning to the four women . . .“Go to my house,” he said, “by the street of the Potters. I shall be there in a short time. Do not follow me.”Rhodis was still sitting in front of the corpse. When she saw Timon coming, she implored him:“Do not tell! We have stolen it to save her shade. Keep our secret, we will love you, Timon.”“Have no fears,” said the young man.He took the body under the shoulders and Myrto took it under the knees, and they walked on in silence, with Rhodis tottering along behind.Timon said not a word. For the second time in two days, human passion had carried off one of the transitory guests of his bed, and he marvelled at the unreason that drove people out of the enchanted road that leads to perfect happiness.“Impassivity,” he thought, “indifference, quietude, voluptuous serenity! who amongst men will appreciate you? We fight, we struggle, we hope, when one thing only is worth having: namely, to extract from the fleeting moment all the joys it is capable of affording, and to leave one’s bed as little as possible.”They reached the gate of the ruined necropolis.“Where shall we put it?” said Myrto.“Near the god.”“Where is the statue? I have never been in here before. I was afraid of the tombs and the inscriptions. I do not know the Hermanubis. It is probably in the centre of the little garden. Let us look for it. I once came here before when I was a child, in quest of a lost gazelle. Let us follow the alley of white sycamores. We cannot fail to discern it.”Nor did they fail to find it.Dawn mingled its delicate violets with the moonbeams on the monuments. A vague and distant harmony floated in the cypress branches. The regular rustling of the palms, so similar to tiny drops of falling rain, cast an illusion of freshness.Timon opened with difficulty a pink stone imbedded in the earth. The sepulture was excavated beneath the hands of the funerary god, whose attitude was that of the embalmer. It must have contained a body, formerly; but at present nothing was to be found but a handful of brownish dust.ill-881They passed the limp body to Timon.The young man jumped into the grave, as far as his waist, and held out his arms:“Give it to me,” he said to Myrto. “I am going to lay it at the far end, and we will close up the tomb again.”But Rhodis threw herself on the body.“No, do not bury her so quickly! I want to see her again! One last time! One last time! Chrysis! My poor Chrysis! Ah! the horror of it . . . How she has changed! . . .”Myrtocleia had just disarranged the blanket which covered the dead woman, and the sight of the sudden change the face had undergone made the two girls recoil. The cheeks had become square, the eyelids and lips were puffed out like half-a-dozen white pads. Nothing was left of all that superhuman beauty. They drew the thick winding-sheet over her again: but Myrto slipped her hand under the stuff and placed an obol for Charon in her fingers.Then, shaken by interminable sobs, they passed the limp inert body to Timon.And when Chrysis was laid in the bottom of the sandy tomb, Timon opened the winding-sheet again. He fixed the silver obol tightly in the nerveless hand; he propped up the head with a flat stone; he spread the long deep-gold hair over her body from the forehead to the knees.Then he left the tomb, and the musicians, kneeling before the yawning opening, cut off their young hair, bound it together in one sheaf, and buried it with the dead.ΤΟΙΝΔΕ ΠΕΡΑΣ ΕΣΧΕ ΤΟ ΣΥΝΤΑΓΜΑΤΩΝ ΠΕΡΙ ΧΡΥΣΙΔΑ ΚΑΙ ΔΗΜΗΤΡΙΟΝill-089
After the turning of the second street, they laid the body down a second time in order in put on their sandals. Rhodis’s feet, too delicate to walk naked, were torn and bleeding.
The night was full of brilliancy. The town was full of silence. The iron-coloured shadows lay in square blocks in the middle of the streets, according to the profile of the houses.
The little virgins resumed their load.
“Where are we going to?” asked the child. “Where are we going to bury it?”
“In the cemetery of Hermanubis. It is always deserted, it will be in peace there.”
“Poor Chrysis! Could I ever have thought that on her last day, I should bear her body without torches and without funeral car, secretly, like a thing stolen.”
Then both began to talk volubly as if they were afraid of the silence, cheek by jowl with the corpse. The last day of Chrysis’s life filled them with astonishment. Where had she got the mirror, the necklace and the comb? She could not have taken the pearls of the goddess herself. The temple was too well guarded for a courtesan to be able to enter it. Then somebody must have acted for her? But who? She was not known to possess any lover amongst the Stolists to whom the guard of the divine statue was entrusted. And then, if someone had acted for her, why had she not denounced him? And, in any case, why these three crimes? Of what had they availed her, except to deliver her over to punishment? A woman does not commit such follies without an object, unless she be in love? Was Chrysis in love? and who could it be?
“We shall never know”, concluded the flute-player. “She has taken her secret with her, and even if she had an accomplice he would be the last to enlighten us.”
At this point, Rhodis, who had been resting for several instants, sighed:
ill-087
The little virgins resumed their load
“I cannot carry her any longer, Myrto. I shall fall down on my knees, I am broken with fatigue and grief.”
Myrtocleia took her by the neck:
“Try again, my darling. Wemustcarry her. Her nether life is at stake. If she has no sepulture and no obol in her hand, she will roam eternally on the banks of the river of hell, and when we in our turn, Rhodis, go down to the dead, she will reproach us with our impiety, and we shall not know what to answer her.”
But the child, overcome with weakness, burst into tears.
“Quickly, quickly!” exclaimed Myrtocleia.
“Somebody is coming along the end of the street. Place yourself in front of the body with me. Let us hide it behind our tunics . . . If it is seen, all is lost . . .”
She stooped short.
“It is Timon. I recognise him. Timon with four women. Ah, gods! what is going to happen? He laughs at everything and will mock us . . . But no, stay here, Rhodis; I will speak to him.”
And, inspired by a sudden thought, she ran down the street to meet the little group.
“Timon,” she said, and her voice was full of supplication; “Timon, stop. I have grave words to utter to you alone.”
“My poor little thing,” said the young man, “how excited you are! Have you lost your shoulder-knot or have you dropped your doll and broken its nose? This would be an irreparable disaster.”
The girl threw him a look of anguish; but the four women, Philotis, Seso of Cnidos, Callistion, and Tryphera, were already clamouring round her with impatience.
“Get away, little idiot!” said Tryphera, “if you have dried up your nurse’s teats, we cannot help it, we have no milk. It is almost daylight, you ought to be in bed; what business have children to roam about in the moonlight?”
“Her nurse?” said Philotis. “She wants to steal away Timon.”
“The whip! She deserves the whip!” said Callistion, who put one arm round Myrto’s waist, lifting her off the ground and raising her little blue tunic, But Seso interposed:
“You are mad,” she cried. “Myrto has never known a man. If she calls Timon, it is not to sleep with him. Let her alone, and let us have done with it!”
“Come,” said Timon, “what do you want with me? Come here. Whisper in my ear. Is it really serious?”
“The body of Chrysis is there, in the street,” said the young girl tremblingly. “We are carrying into the cemetary, my little friend and I, but it is heavy, and we ask you if you will help us. It will not take long. Immediately afterwards you can rejoin your women . . .”
Timon’s look reassured her.
“Poor girls! To think that I laughed! You are better than we are . . . Certainly I will help you. Go and join your friend and wait for me, I am coming.”
Turning to the four women . . .
“Go to my house,” he said, “by the street of the Potters. I shall be there in a short time. Do not follow me.”
Rhodis was still sitting in front of the corpse. When she saw Timon coming, she implored him:
“Do not tell! We have stolen it to save her shade. Keep our secret, we will love you, Timon.”
“Have no fears,” said the young man.
He took the body under the shoulders and Myrto took it under the knees, and they walked on in silence, with Rhodis tottering along behind.
Timon said not a word. For the second time in two days, human passion had carried off one of the transitory guests of his bed, and he marvelled at the unreason that drove people out of the enchanted road that leads to perfect happiness.
“Impassivity,” he thought, “indifference, quietude, voluptuous serenity! who amongst men will appreciate you? We fight, we struggle, we hope, when one thing only is worth having: namely, to extract from the fleeting moment all the joys it is capable of affording, and to leave one’s bed as little as possible.”
They reached the gate of the ruined necropolis.
“Where shall we put it?” said Myrto.
“Near the god.”
“Where is the statue? I have never been in here before. I was afraid of the tombs and the inscriptions. I do not know the Hermanubis. It is probably in the centre of the little garden. Let us look for it. I once came here before when I was a child, in quest of a lost gazelle. Let us follow the alley of white sycamores. We cannot fail to discern it.”
Nor did they fail to find it.
Dawn mingled its delicate violets with the moonbeams on the monuments. A vague and distant harmony floated in the cypress branches. The regular rustling of the palms, so similar to tiny drops of falling rain, cast an illusion of freshness.
Timon opened with difficulty a pink stone imbedded in the earth. The sepulture was excavated beneath the hands of the funerary god, whose attitude was that of the embalmer. It must have contained a body, formerly; but at present nothing was to be found but a handful of brownish dust.
ill-881
They passed the limp body to Timon.
The young man jumped into the grave, as far as his waist, and held out his arms:
“Give it to me,” he said to Myrto. “I am going to lay it at the far end, and we will close up the tomb again.”
But Rhodis threw herself on the body.
“No, do not bury her so quickly! I want to see her again! One last time! One last time! Chrysis! My poor Chrysis! Ah! the horror of it . . . How she has changed! . . .”
Myrtocleia had just disarranged the blanket which covered the dead woman, and the sight of the sudden change the face had undergone made the two girls recoil. The cheeks had become square, the eyelids and lips were puffed out like half-a-dozen white pads. Nothing was left of all that superhuman beauty. They drew the thick winding-sheet over her again: but Myrto slipped her hand under the stuff and placed an obol for Charon in her fingers.
Then, shaken by interminable sobs, they passed the limp inert body to Timon.
And when Chrysis was laid in the bottom of the sandy tomb, Timon opened the winding-sheet again. He fixed the silver obol tightly in the nerveless hand; he propped up the head with a flat stone; he spread the long deep-gold hair over her body from the forehead to the knees.
Then he left the tomb, and the musicians, kneeling before the yawning opening, cut off their young hair, bound it together in one sheaf, and buried it with the dead.
ΤΟΙΝΔΕ ΠΕΡΑΣ ΕΣΧΕ ΤΟ ΣΥΝΤΑΓΜΑΤΩΝ ΠΕΡΙ ΧΡΥΣΙΔΑ ΚΑΙ ΔΗΜΗΤΡΙΟΝ
ill-089