Chapter XIII: Cannes, December 1

Good friend, I have not told you what happened to us at Monte-Carlo and it is with difficulty that I now recall it. At first it seemed important and stirring, but I readily see that events have hardly any interest outside of their novelty: this should teach us to view them philosophically at the very moment when they appear most grievous. It really seems to me that the adventure which befell Diogenes, and which affected us both, might have turned out badly for both of us, at least this is what he told me, but my insouciance did not linger on the matter overlong and life soon put me to rights.

“Fortunate Antiphilos!” said Diogenes, gazing at me with an admiration in which anger was mingled, “we are lost and he is as calm as a god! Are you at least capable of giving me some advice? Divine animal, be oracular, be Dodonian, pronounce a number!”

It is probable that I obeyed, for Diogenes manifested a sudden contentment and disappeared, leaving me slightly bewildered by his eccentricities, on one of the garden seats, in the dim shadow of the palm trees. I was not long in finding tranquility, since the place was propitious to peace. Young women passed by accompanied by aged men and the same thoughts certainly did not inhabit their heads, for their glances were unlike. The expressions on the men’s faces were dull, the women looked stupid, and though some among them were quite pretty, they did not inspire me with any desire.

Besides, I do not dispute a woman with any male. Only the rams, goats and bulls intertwine their horns and battle for the conquest of females. I, whose ways are peaceful, only attack unescorted women; it is surer. Unless it be night, I even wait to see, in their eyes, near the dwellings, the provocative little flame which my presence rarely fails to light in their eyes. I do not put myself to any trouble, unless I am sure of pleasing. Diogenes has told me that men are not so constituted and that what often excites them in a woman is her coldness, no less than the obstacles which shield her. On this subject they use in their speech all sorts of images of warfare which make veritable treaties of strategy of their books on love. It is a question of siege, stratagems, skirmishes, attack, defeat, resistance, victory, conquest. I do not understand all these things. Love is naught when it is not the leaping of a twin desire. Yet I would not be worthy of my name of Satyros did I not admit assault and abduction, the surprise which satisfies desire lulled to sleep before it has had time to awake. It is not perhaps the most beautiful side of my nature, but it is such as the gods have made it and besides, neither women nor girls have ever taken offense at it. I must confess that I have completely leashed these habits since living, in the towns, a life similar to that of other men. If I have not yet been able to understand that one lays siege to woman, as Alexander laid siege to the city of Tyre, it is perhaps due to the fact that I still rely more on the candor of her desires than on a possession which, in the strategic system, one generally owes to the weariness of the besieged, to the poliorcetic science of the besieger.

“Satyros,” Diogenes suddenly cried out, “Satyros! You are the true God or at least a true god!”

And, plunging a hand in his pocket, he drew it forth filled with gold pieces.

“But let us be circumspect,” he continued. “One must no longer question destiny. It has answered in no uncertain terms. Let us flee this town. Take my arm on the side where I carry the gold and let us leave without turning our heads.”

“You are wrong, monsieur,” a voice behind us answered. “One does not thus break his lucky streak....”

The voice belonged to an extremely pretty woman who lacked neither elegance nor distinction. Diogenes apostrophized her strongly:

“Are you the guardian dragon of these portals, recovering from mortals the gold which destiny conceded them? Are you....”

“I am not even a dragon of virtue,” answered the young woman, smiling pleasantly. “You are right. It is time to go and breakfast. I will show you the way.”

I had the look of a schoolboy rescued from the perils of an adventure by his elder brother and I found that Diogenes really protected my virtue a little too carefully, for this woman decidedly pleased me. I am ashamed to avow it, but I struggled an instant longer against my desire, I was on the point of obeying Diogenes, my arm relaxed its hold, I felt myself the docile son of the dreariest civilization, which sits down at the roadside and watches its dream pass, without daring to arrest them. But she turned her fair head, her clear eyes toward me, our glances penetrated each other and I suddenly felt myself become again the faun of the forests, the jovial, whinnying faun who can overcome pitchfork blows, but not reasonings.

With a harsh burst of laughter, I scoffed at my hesitations. My companion trembled and grasped my arm tighter. She led me away and I imagined that I was carrying her off, for already I felt her limbs tremble under my strength.

When Diogenes rejoined us in the rooms, to which he had the key, she was already arranging her hair in front of the mirror, while glancing at my reflection in one of its corners. She was murmuring:

“What a man! Amazing!”

He had the rudeness to come and behold us, then he shrugged his shoulders and said:

“It might as well be this one as another. Besides, she is pretty, even though she has blond hair. Satyros could not remain good very long. And one must enliven the journey. We are going far, madam, and the caprices of the gods are short-lived. I leave you, unless you are going to invite me to the repast.”

The nymph was still dressing her hair. I reflected on the fortunate state of women in being able to arrange their hair in delicate situations. I myself did not know what to say, I did not know what to do.

“What repast?” asked the lady. “It is finished,” she added with a happy laugh. “At least, I believe so.”

“And are you ready?” questioned Diogenes.

“Who are you anyway?” she rejoined, almost angry. “Why do you come to interfere?...”

“Madam, I am Satyros’ secretary, and as I fear that he does not know the customs very well....”

“I understand. You imagine me venal? I am life’s slave, that is all. I know how to enjoy, making allowances for my chain and its length, the enchantments of the present moment, and I accept the disappointing after-taste that follows. Leave me with my friend an hour, so that I may gather, under my eyelids, tears for the moment he will quit me.... I have often seen love bud in eyes that followed me, but I have not known how to make the bud thrive, how to keep it fresh, at least, like a rose in a glass of water. When friends abandon me, they tear the rose to bits and sneer, they throw it to the ground and trample it. Are you, too, ashamed of your pleasures?”

“How well she speaks!” exclaimed Diogenes, who loves eloquence. “How I love this flute player! And you say nothing, Satyros?”

But I spoke and she remained.

ANTIPHILOS,
_Satyr._

XIV

FLIGHT