Chapter XI: Monte-Carlo, September 15

How it all came about, my dear friend, is a puzzling matter, but Diogenes led me into an adventure which could not help make me uneasy, though I am confident the protection of the all-powerful gods will never fail me. Everything was proceeding smoothly; the roguish snares of Déidamie, to which I had at last yielded, had freed me of that vague ennui which tormented me.... But I must make you familiar with this, in the episodic manner, before giving you the recital of the dreadful happenings. Picture to yourself this Phrygian girl, born on the Mæander shores, and if this does not move you, at least you will understand my emotion upon discovering, once more, a lass hailing from my native land! But the Phrygians have always been inconstant: Déidamie is the very embodiment of caprice. Charming maid! She was the inamorata of an archon’s wife, herself strikingly lovely, partaking of the beauty that men have given Pallas Athena.

“You love those who resemble you, O Déidamie of the violet eyes!”

Déidamie loved those who were like her and those unlike her. How privileged women are! They bring grace to their loves. Diogenes explained to me that it was thus they disarmed morality, that power dreaded by mankind, and whose aim is to prevent the extraction of too much pleasure from life. Déidamie was taken away from me while I still loved her. That is a good time to lose a woman. Regrets then are transformed into pleasant memories, and one is spared satiety. Diogenes had predicted that this would hardly last and that Déidamie, being accustomed to feminine cajoleries, would soon weary, after the first days of felicitous astonishment, of a being awkward in tender adorations.

“You will not know,” he said, “how to feed the flame sleeping in her soft eyes. Your bellows will extinguish instead of keeping it alive.”

And he continued:

“I know all about you, Satyros. You always excite curiosity and you never fail to disappoint it. Your career consists of abduction, the sudden surprise, the stupefaction.”

I wanted to reply that there was much truth in his judgment of my character, but I remained silent, meditating on my companion’s wisdom and perspicacity. Yet I thought of Cydalise, of whom he was ignorant. I related the story to him and surprised him. After a moment’s reflection, he confessed that to know and classify the types of women was a vain and sorry task; some one would always turn up to contradict and annihilate the most positive theories.

“What you tell me, Satyros, does not go against the grain, since it instructs me. The science of men and women is composed of exceptions, each one of which constitutes a rule. Thus the science is a very long and laborious one. It thus resembles the Chinese language, which aged men begin to master after sixty years of study and when they no longer have either the strength or the inclination to discourse. The eyes grow impaired in observing men, and it is quite other faculties that are used in the company of women, without which, besides, they would be equally spent. But you cannot understand this, you who were kneaded out of an immortal clay, moulded so that you would never experience exhaustion, and who are the image of a youthfulness whose illusions should be realities.”

While saying this, Diogenes looked at me with an air of envy in which was affection, that air carried by the poor in the presence of vases filled with gold, such as I have seen in the street behind iron railings. He continued, as though issuing from a dream:

“Are you truly immortal, Satyros? The great gods, your masters and the masters of men, are dead....”

“Destiny has overlooked me, Diogenes, and besides, I believe that I have brethren in the depths of every forest, in the grottos of every mountain, in every dale. I have never seen, but I divine them. We are the forces of nature and if we died, you would be condemned to death.”

“That is rather what _we_ are. I think you are confusing immortality and perpetuity.”

I did not answer. I find it difficult to enter into subtleties. It seems to me that my horns then begin to shoot out of my head. This time he looked at me with pity:

“Hm! Satyr,” he said. “To return to a more sensible topic, since Cydalise loves you, why do you not go to find her again?”

“And will you come with me, Diogenes?”

“Without a doubt. You spoke of destiny, and since it has placed in my path a son, or even a grand-cousin of the immortal gods, do you suppose that I can abandon him? You do not know friendship, Satyros. It is man’s virtue.”

Thereupon, he delivered a long discourse which enchanted me by the charmingly cadenced arrangement of its periods. I imagined myself transported to the times of my childhood, I drank his eloquence like my mother’s milk. I was stirred, I wept with emotion and I panted, half-drowned under these harmonious waves. I am Greek and sensitive to the felicities of rhetoric. Ah! had he spoken in Greek, I would have offered to share my divinity with him, but I was thankful for his discretion and embraced him. It was the time propitious for swearing eternal friendship. I passed the remainder of the day congratulating myself on the good fortune which had fallen to my lot among mankind. I had a friend, and without understanding the joys that this should bring me, I considered them great and equal to those painted by Diogenes in his flowered discourse.

He came to live with me. He installed himself in an adjoining room which I was happy to be able to offer him, as is fitting in true friendship, and he did not hesitate to share my frugal repasts, with which he was pleased to be contented. Then he spoke once more of Cydalise, whose portrait arose from the depths of his memories. I described her to him and he forthwith knew her. His talk afforded me pleasure. To speak of her was to revive her under my very eyes, almost under my lips. She was nearer to me, each time I pronounced her name aloud, and it seemed to me that the door was about to open and reveal her.

Cydalise had not returned for nearly a month and she had only written me somewhat enigmatic letters which but half reassured me. The last was a note so brief that I read it at a glance, as one drinks with a single draught the water scooped into the palm of the hand. I had been distracted from my uneasiness by Déidamie’s caprice, but now that the little Phrygian had returned to her friend, I thought deeply of Cydalise. It was easy for Diogenes to prevail on me to go and join her, and as he wished to spare me all the inconveniences of the trip, our departure was decided upon, following a new discourse which profoundly stirred me to the depths of my heart and satisfied my last scruples. We made our preparations. I did not forget the treasure with whose care I was entrusted. Diogenes took charge of it.

You will know the consequences.

ANTIPHILOS,
_Satyr._

XII

THE CLUSTER OF GRAPES