VTHE INVITATIONTowards the middle of the night, Chrysis was awakened by three knocks at the door.She had slept all day between the two Ephesians, and, but for the disorder of their bed, they might have been taken for three sisters together. The Galilæan’s thigh, bathed in perspiration, rested heavily upon Rhodis nestling up against her hostess. Myrtocleia was asleep upon her breast, with her face in her arm and her back uncovered.A sound of voices was heard in the entrance.Chrysis disengaged herself with great care, stepping over her companions, and getting down from the couch, held the door ajar.“Who is it, Djala? Who is it?” she asked.“It is Naukrates who wants to see you. I have told him you are not at liberty.”“What nonsense! Certainly I am at liberty! Enter, Naukrates, I am in my room.”And she went back to bed.ill-034Naukrates remained for some time on the threshold, as if fearing to commit an indiscretion. The two music-girls opened their sleep-laden eyes and made efforts to tear themselves away from their dreams.“Sit down,” said Chrysis. “There is no need for coquetry between us. I know that you do not come for me. What do you want of me?”Naukrates was a philosopher of repute, who had been Bacchis’s lover for more than twenty years, and did not deceive her, more from indolence than fidelity. His grey hair was cut short, his beard pointed à la Demosthenes, and his moustache cropped so as not to hide his lips. He wore a large white garment made of simple wool with a plain stripe.“I am the bearer of an invitation,” he said. “Bacchis is giving a dinner to-morrow, to be followed by a fête. We shall be seven, with you. Don’t fail to come.”“A fête? A propos of what?”“She is to liberate her most beautiful slave, Aphrodisia. There will be dancing-girls and flute-girls. I think that your two friends are engaged to be there, and, as a matter of fact, they ought not to be here now. The rehearsal is going on at Bacchis’s at this very moment.”“Oh! it is true,” cried Rhodis, “we had forgotten about it. Get up, Myrto, we are very late.”But Chrysis protested.“No, not yet! how disagreeable of you to steal away my women. If I had suspected that, I would not have let you in. Why, they are actually ready!”“Our robes are not complicated,” said the child. “And we are not beautiful enough to spend much time in dressing.”“I shall see you at the temple, of course?”“Yes, to-morrow morning, we are going to offer doves. I am taking a drachma out of your purse, Chrysis, otherwise we should have nothing to buy them with. Good-bye till to-morrow.”They ran out. Naucrates considered for a short time the door that had just closed upon them; then he folded his arms and, turning round to Chrysis, said in a low voice:“Good. Your behaviour is charming.”“What do you mean?”“One woman is not enough for you. You must have two, now. You even pick them up in the street. It is a noble example you are setting. But kindly tell me what is to become of us men? You have all got littleamies, and after quitting their insatiable arms, you have just as much passion to offer as they are willing to leave you. Do you think this can go on indefinitely? If things continue like this, we shall be forced to apply to Bathyllos . . .”“Ah! no!” cried Chrysis. “You will never get me to admit that! I know well that people make the comparison, but it is entirely absurd; and I am astonished that you, who pretend to be a thinker, do not understand how ridiculous it is.”“And what difference do you see?”“It is not a question of difference. There is no connection between the one and the other: that’s clear!”“I do not say you are wrong. I want to know your reasons.”“Oh! I can tell them you in two words: listen carefully. From the point of view of love, woman is a perfect instrument. From head to foot she is constructed, solely, marvellously, for love.She alone knows how to love. She alone knows how to be loved.Consequently, if a couple of lovers is composed of two women, it is perfect; if there is only one woman, it is only half as good; if there is no woman at all, it is purely idiotic. That is all I have to say.”“You are hard on Plato, my girl.”“Great men are not, any more than the gods, great under all circumstances. Pallas understands nothing about painting; Plato did not know how to love. Philosophers, poets, or rhetoricians, all who follow him, are as worthless as their master, and however admirable they may be in their art, in love they are devoid of knowledge. Believe me, Naukrates, I feel that I am right.”The philosopher made a gesture.ill-035“I can tell Bacchis that she may count on you?” he said.“You are somewhat wanting in reverence,” he said; “but I do not by any means think you are wrong. My indignation was not real. There is something charming in the union of two young women, on condition that they both consent to remain feminine, keep their hair long, uncover their breasts, and refrain from arming themselves with adventitious instruments, as if they were illogically envious of the gross sex for which they profess such a pretty contempt. Yes, their liaison is remarkable because their caresses are entirely superficial, and the quality of their sensual satisfaction is all the more refined. They do not clasp one another in a violent embrace, they touch one another lightly in order to taste of the supreme joy. Their wedding-night is not defiled with blood. They are virgins, Chrysis. They are ignorant of the brutal action; this constitutes their superiority over Bathyllos, who maintains that he offers the equivalent, forgetting that you also, even in this sorry respect, could enter into competition with him. Human love is to be distinguished from the rut of animals only by two divine functions: the caress and the kiss. Now these are the only two functions known to the women in question. They have even brought them to perfection.”“Excellent,” said Chrysis in astonishment. “But then what have you to reproach me with?”“My grievance is that there are a hundred thousand of you. Already a great number of women only derive perfect pleasure from their own sex. Soon you will refuse to receive us altogether, even as a makeshift. It is from jealousy that I blame you.”At this point Naukrates considered that the conversation had lasted long enough, and he rose to his feet, simply.“I can tell Bacchis that she may count on you?” he said.“I will go,” answered Chrysis.The philosopher kissed her knees and slowly went out.Then she joined her hands together and spoke aloud though she was alone.“Bacchis . . . Bacchis . . . he comes from her house and he does not know! The mirror is still there, then! . . . Demetrios has forgotten me . . . If he has hesitated the first day, I am lost, he will do nothing. But is it possible that all is finished? Bacchis has other mirrors which she uses more often. Doubtless she does not know yet. Gods! Gods! no means of having news, and perhaps . . . Ah! Djala! Djala!”The slave-woman entered.“Give me my knuckle-bones,” said Chrysis. “I want to tell my own fortune.”She tossed the four little bones into the air.“Oh . . . Oh . . . Djala, look! the Aphrodite throw!”This was the name given to a very rare throw whereby all the knuckle-bones presented a different face. The odds against this combination were exactly thirty-five to one. It was the best throw in the game.Djala remarked coldly:“What did you ask for?”“It is true,” said Chrysis, disappointed. “I forgot to wish. I certainly had something in my mind, but I said nothing. Does that count all the same?”“I think not; you must begin again.”Chrysis cast the bones again.ill-036“The Midas throw, this time. What do you think of that?”“One cannot tell. Good or bad. It is a throw which is interpreted by the next one. Now start with a single bone.”Chrysis consulted the game a third time; but as soon as the bone fell, she stammered:“The . . . the Chian ace!”And she burst into sobs.Djala too was uneasy, and said nothing. Chrysis wept upon the bed, with her hair lying in confusion about her head. At last she turned round angrily.“Why did you make me begin again? I am sure the first throw counted.”“If you wished, yes. If not, no. You alone know,” said Djala.“Besides, the bones prove nothing. It is a Greek game. I don’t believe in it. I shall try something else.”She dried her tears and crossed the room. She took a box of white counters from a shelf, counted out twenty-two, then with the point of a pearl clasp, engraved in succession the twenty-two letters of the Hebrew alphabet. They were the arcana of the Cabbala she had learnt in Galilee.“I have confidence in this. This does not deceive”, she said. “Lift up the skirt of your robe; I will use it as a bag.”She cast the twenty-two counters into the slave’s tunic, repeating mentally:“Shall I wear Aphrodite’s necklace? Shall I wear Aphrodite’s necklace? Shall I wear Aphrodite’s necklace?”And she drew the tenth arcanam, and this signified plainly:“Yes.”ill-037An old white-bearded priest preceded the youthful band.
Towards the middle of the night, Chrysis was awakened by three knocks at the door.
She had slept all day between the two Ephesians, and, but for the disorder of their bed, they might have been taken for three sisters together. The Galilæan’s thigh, bathed in perspiration, rested heavily upon Rhodis nestling up against her hostess. Myrtocleia was asleep upon her breast, with her face in her arm and her back uncovered.
A sound of voices was heard in the entrance.
Chrysis disengaged herself with great care, stepping over her companions, and getting down from the couch, held the door ajar.
“Who is it, Djala? Who is it?” she asked.
“It is Naukrates who wants to see you. I have told him you are not at liberty.”
“What nonsense! Certainly I am at liberty! Enter, Naukrates, I am in my room.”
And she went back to bed.
ill-034
Naukrates remained for some time on the threshold, as if fearing to commit an indiscretion. The two music-girls opened their sleep-laden eyes and made efforts to tear themselves away from their dreams.
“Sit down,” said Chrysis. “There is no need for coquetry between us. I know that you do not come for me. What do you want of me?”
Naukrates was a philosopher of repute, who had been Bacchis’s lover for more than twenty years, and did not deceive her, more from indolence than fidelity. His grey hair was cut short, his beard pointed à la Demosthenes, and his moustache cropped so as not to hide his lips. He wore a large white garment made of simple wool with a plain stripe.
“I am the bearer of an invitation,” he said. “Bacchis is giving a dinner to-morrow, to be followed by a fête. We shall be seven, with you. Don’t fail to come.”
“A fête? A propos of what?”
“She is to liberate her most beautiful slave, Aphrodisia. There will be dancing-girls and flute-girls. I think that your two friends are engaged to be there, and, as a matter of fact, they ought not to be here now. The rehearsal is going on at Bacchis’s at this very moment.”
“Oh! it is true,” cried Rhodis, “we had forgotten about it. Get up, Myrto, we are very late.”
But Chrysis protested.
“No, not yet! how disagreeable of you to steal away my women. If I had suspected that, I would not have let you in. Why, they are actually ready!”
“Our robes are not complicated,” said the child. “And we are not beautiful enough to spend much time in dressing.”
“I shall see you at the temple, of course?”
“Yes, to-morrow morning, we are going to offer doves. I am taking a drachma out of your purse, Chrysis, otherwise we should have nothing to buy them with. Good-bye till to-morrow.”
They ran out. Naucrates considered for a short time the door that had just closed upon them; then he folded his arms and, turning round to Chrysis, said in a low voice:
“Good. Your behaviour is charming.”
“What do you mean?”
“One woman is not enough for you. You must have two, now. You even pick them up in the street. It is a noble example you are setting. But kindly tell me what is to become of us men? You have all got littleamies, and after quitting their insatiable arms, you have just as much passion to offer as they are willing to leave you. Do you think this can go on indefinitely? If things continue like this, we shall be forced to apply to Bathyllos . . .”
“Ah! no!” cried Chrysis. “You will never get me to admit that! I know well that people make the comparison, but it is entirely absurd; and I am astonished that you, who pretend to be a thinker, do not understand how ridiculous it is.”
“And what difference do you see?”
“It is not a question of difference. There is no connection between the one and the other: that’s clear!”
“I do not say you are wrong. I want to know your reasons.”
“Oh! I can tell them you in two words: listen carefully. From the point of view of love, woman is a perfect instrument. From head to foot she is constructed, solely, marvellously, for love.She alone knows how to love. She alone knows how to be loved.Consequently, if a couple of lovers is composed of two women, it is perfect; if there is only one woman, it is only half as good; if there is no woman at all, it is purely idiotic. That is all I have to say.”
“You are hard on Plato, my girl.”
“Great men are not, any more than the gods, great under all circumstances. Pallas understands nothing about painting; Plato did not know how to love. Philosophers, poets, or rhetoricians, all who follow him, are as worthless as their master, and however admirable they may be in their art, in love they are devoid of knowledge. Believe me, Naukrates, I feel that I am right.”
The philosopher made a gesture.
ill-035
“I can tell Bacchis that she may count on you?” he said.
“You are somewhat wanting in reverence,” he said; “but I do not by any means think you are wrong. My indignation was not real. There is something charming in the union of two young women, on condition that they both consent to remain feminine, keep their hair long, uncover their breasts, and refrain from arming themselves with adventitious instruments, as if they were illogically envious of the gross sex for which they profess such a pretty contempt. Yes, their liaison is remarkable because their caresses are entirely superficial, and the quality of their sensual satisfaction is all the more refined. They do not clasp one another in a violent embrace, they touch one another lightly in order to taste of the supreme joy. Their wedding-night is not defiled with blood. They are virgins, Chrysis. They are ignorant of the brutal action; this constitutes their superiority over Bathyllos, who maintains that he offers the equivalent, forgetting that you also, even in this sorry respect, could enter into competition with him. Human love is to be distinguished from the rut of animals only by two divine functions: the caress and the kiss. Now these are the only two functions known to the women in question. They have even brought them to perfection.”
“Excellent,” said Chrysis in astonishment. “But then what have you to reproach me with?”
“My grievance is that there are a hundred thousand of you. Already a great number of women only derive perfect pleasure from their own sex. Soon you will refuse to receive us altogether, even as a makeshift. It is from jealousy that I blame you.”
At this point Naukrates considered that the conversation had lasted long enough, and he rose to his feet, simply.
“I can tell Bacchis that she may count on you?” he said.
“I will go,” answered Chrysis.
The philosopher kissed her knees and slowly went out.
Then she joined her hands together and spoke aloud though she was alone.
“Bacchis . . . Bacchis . . . he comes from her house and he does not know! The mirror is still there, then! . . . Demetrios has forgotten me . . . If he has hesitated the first day, I am lost, he will do nothing. But is it possible that all is finished? Bacchis has other mirrors which she uses more often. Doubtless she does not know yet. Gods! Gods! no means of having news, and perhaps . . . Ah! Djala! Djala!”
The slave-woman entered.
“Give me my knuckle-bones,” said Chrysis. “I want to tell my own fortune.”
She tossed the four little bones into the air.
“Oh . . . Oh . . . Djala, look! the Aphrodite throw!”
This was the name given to a very rare throw whereby all the knuckle-bones presented a different face. The odds against this combination were exactly thirty-five to one. It was the best throw in the game.
Djala remarked coldly:
“What did you ask for?”
“It is true,” said Chrysis, disappointed. “I forgot to wish. I certainly had something in my mind, but I said nothing. Does that count all the same?”
“I think not; you must begin again.”
Chrysis cast the bones again.
ill-036
“The Midas throw, this time. What do you think of that?”
“One cannot tell. Good or bad. It is a throw which is interpreted by the next one. Now start with a single bone.”
Chrysis consulted the game a third time; but as soon as the bone fell, she stammered:
“The . . . the Chian ace!”
And she burst into sobs.
Djala too was uneasy, and said nothing. Chrysis wept upon the bed, with her hair lying in confusion about her head. At last she turned round angrily.
“Why did you make me begin again? I am sure the first throw counted.”
“If you wished, yes. If not, no. You alone know,” said Djala.
“Besides, the bones prove nothing. It is a Greek game. I don’t believe in it. I shall try something else.”
She dried her tears and crossed the room. She took a box of white counters from a shelf, counted out twenty-two, then with the point of a pearl clasp, engraved in succession the twenty-two letters of the Hebrew alphabet. They were the arcana of the Cabbala she had learnt in Galilee.
“I have confidence in this. This does not deceive”, she said. “Lift up the skirt of your robe; I will use it as a bag.”
She cast the twenty-two counters into the slave’s tunic, repeating mentally:
“Shall I wear Aphrodite’s necklace? Shall I wear Aphrodite’s necklace? Shall I wear Aphrodite’s necklace?”
And she drew the tenth arcanam, and this signified plainly:
“Yes.”
ill-037
An old white-bearded priest preceded the youthful band.