Читать книгу Ancient Manners; Also Known As Aphrodite - Pierre Louys - Страница 9

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She had a special beauty of her own. Her hair seemed two masses of gold, but it was too abundant, and it padded her low forehead with two heavy waves charged with amber, which swallowed up the ears and twisted themselves into a seven-fold coil upon the nape of the neck. The nose was delicate, with expressive nostrils which palpitated sometimes, surmounting a thick and painted mouth, with rounded mobile corners. The supple line of the body undulated at every stop, receiving animation from the harmonious motion of her unfettered breasts, or from the swing of the beautiful hips that supported her lissom waist.

When she was within ten paces of the young man, she turned her eyes upon him. Demetrios was seized with trembling. They were extraordinary eyes; blue, but deep and brilliant at the same time, humid, weary, bathed in tears and flashing fire, almost closed under the weight of the eyelids and eyelashes. The glance of these eyes was like the siren’s song. Whosoever crossed their path was inevitably a captive. She knew it well, and cunningly she used their virtue; but she counted still more upon affected indifference as a weapon of attack against the man whom so much sincere love had been incapable of touching deeply.

The navigators who have sailed over the purple seas, beyond the Ganges, relate that they have seen, beneath the water, rocks of magnetic stone. When ships pass near them, the nails and iron fittings are wrenched down to the submarine cliff and remain fixed to it for ever. And what was once a swift craft, a habitation, a living being, becomes nought but a flotsam of planks, scattered by the winds, tossed by the waves. Thus did Demetrios, in the presence of the spell of two great eyes, lose his very self, and all his strength ebbed away.

She lowered her eyes and passed by close to him. He could have shouted with impatience. He clenched his fists. He was afraid of not being able to recover a calm attitude, for speak to her he must. Nevertheless he approached her with the formula of convention.

“I salute you,” said he.

“I salute you,” said he. “I salute you also,” answered the woman

“I salute you also,” answered the woman.

Demetrios continued:

“Where are you going to in so leisurely a fashion?”

“I am going home.”

“Alone?”

“Alone.”

And she made a movement as if to resume her walk.

Then Demetrios thought that perhaps he had made a mistake in taking her for a courtesan. For some time past, the wives of the magistrates and functionaries had taken to dressing and painting themselves like the women of pleasure. She was probably a woman of honourable reputation, and it was not without irony that he finished his question thus:

“To your husband?”

She put her two hands to her sides and began to laugh.

“I haven’t one this evening.”

Demetrios bit his lip and suggested, almost timidly:

“Don’t look for one. You have set to work too late. There is no one about now.”

“Who told you that I was looking for one? I am taking a walk by myself, and am looking for nothing.”

“Where have you come from then? You certainly have not put on all those jewels for your own pleasure, and that silken veil. . .”

“Would you have me go out naked, or dressed in wool like a slave-woman? I dress for my own benefit. I like to know that I am beautiful, and I look at my fingers as I walk in order to recognise all my rings. . . . .”

“You ought to have a mirror in your hand and look at nothing but your eyes. Those eyes did not see the light at Alexandria. You are a Jewess. I recognise it by your voice, which is softer than ours.”

“No, I am not a Jewess. I am a Galilæn.”

“What is your name, Miriam or Noëmi?”

“My Syriac name you shall not know. It is a royal name which is not home here. My friends call me Chrysis, and it is a compliment that you might have paid me.”

He put his hand on her arm.

“Oh! no, no,” she said mockingly. “It is much too late for this kind of trifling. Let me go home quickly. I have been up for nearly three hours. I am dying of hunger.”

Bending down, she took her foot in her hand:

Bending down, she took her foot in her hand.

“See how my little thongs hurt me. They are too tightly strapped. If I do not loose them in a moment, I shall have a mark on my foot, and that will be a pretty object to kiss. Leave me quickly. Ah! what an ado! If I had known, I would not have stopped. My yellow veil is all crumpled at the waist, look.”

Demetrios passed his hand over his forehead; then, with the careless air of a man who condescends to make his choice, he murmured:

“Show me the way.”

“I shall do nothing of the kind,” said Chrysis with a stupefied air. “You do not even ask me whether it is my pleasure.

“Show me the way! Listen to him! Do you take me for a porneion-girl, who puts herself on her back for three obols without looking to see who is possessing her? Do you even know whether I am free? Do you know what appointments I may have? Have you followed me in the street? Have you noted the doors that open for me? Have you counted the men who think they are loved by Chrysis? Show me the way! I shall not show it you, if you please. Stay here or go away, but you shall not go home with me!”

“You do not know who I am.”

“You? Of course I do! You are Demetrios of Saïs; you made the statue of my goddess; you are the lover of my queen and the lord of my town. But for me you are nothing but a handsome slave, because you have seen me and you love me.”

She came a little nearer to him, and went on in a caressing voice:

“Yes, you love me. Oh! don’t interrupt me. I know what you are going to say: you love no one, you are loved. You are the Well-beloved, the Darling, the Idol. You refused Glycera, who had refused Antiochus. Demonassa the Lesbian, who had sworn to die a virgin, entered your bed during your sleep, and would have taken you by force if your two Lybian slaves had not put her naked into the street. Callistion, the well-named, despairing of approaching you, has bought the house opposite yours, and shows herself at the open window in the morning, as scantily dressed as Artemis in the bath. You think that I do not know all that? But we courtesans hear of everything. I heard of you the night of your arrival at Alexandria; and since then not a single day has passed without your name being mentioned. I even know things you have forgotten. I even know things that you do not yet know yourself. Poor little Phyllis hanged herself the day before yesterday on your door-post, did she not? well, the fashion is catching. Lyde has done like Phyllis: I saw her this evening as I passed, she was quite blue, but the tears were not yet dry upon her cheeks. You don’t know who Lyde is? a child, a little fifteen-year-old courtesan whom her mother sold last month to a Samian shipwright who was passing the night at Alexandria before going up the river to Thebes. She came to see me. I gave her some advice; she knew absolutely nothing, not even how to play at dice. I often took her in my bed, because, when she had no lover, she did not know where to sleep. And she loved you! If you had seen her hug me to her and call me by your name. She wanted to write to you. Do you understand? I told her it was not worth while . . .”

Demetrios gazed at her without understanding.

“Yes, all that is a pure matter of indifference to you, is it not?” continued Chrysis. “You did not love her. It is I that you love. You have not even listened to what I have just told you. I am sure you could not repeat a single word. You are absorbed in wondering how my eyelids are made up, speculating on the sweetness of my mouth, on the softness of my hair. Ah! how many others know all this! All who have desired me have had their pleasure upon me: men, young men, old men, children, women, young girls. I have refused nobody, do you understand? For seven years, Demetrios, I have only slept alone three nights. Count how many lovers that makes. Two thousand five hundred and more. I do not include those that came in the daytime. Last year I danced naked before twenty thousand persons, and I know that you were not one of them. Do you think that I hide myself? Ah! for what, pray? All the women have seen me in the bath. All the men have seen me in bed. You alone, you shall never see me. I refuse you. I refuse you. You shall never know anything of what I am, of what I feel, of my beauty, of my love! You are an abominable man, fatuous, cruel, insensible, cowardly! I don’t know why one of us has not had enough hatred to kill you both in one another’s arms, first you, and afterwards the queen.”

Demetrios quietly took her by the two arms, and, without answering a word, bent her backwards with violence.

She had a moment’s anguish; but suddenly she stiffened her knees, stiffened her elbows, backed a little, and said in a low voice:

“Ah! I am not afraid of that, Demetrios! you shall never take me by force, were I as feeble as an amorous virgin and you as strong as a son of Atlas. You desire not only the satisfaction of your own senses, but chiefly of mine. Moreover, you want to see me from head to foot, because you believe that I am beautiful, and I am beautiful indeed. Now the moon gives less light than my twelve waxen torches. It is almost dark here. And then it is not customary to undress upon the quay. I could not dress myself again without the help of my slave. Let me free, you hurt my arms.”

They were silent for a few minutes; then Demetrios answered:

“We must have done with this, Chrysis. You know well that I shall not force you. But let me follow you. However proud you are, you would pay dearly for the glory of refusing Demetrios.”

Chrysis still kept silence. He continued more gently:

“What are you afraid of?”

“You are accustomed to the love of others. Do you know what ought to be given to a courtesan who does not love?”

He became impatient.

“I do not ask you to love me. I am tired of being loved. I do not want to be loved. I ask you to abandon yourself. For that, I will give you all the gold in the world. I have it in Egypt.”

“I have it in my hair. I am tired of gold. I don’t want gold. I want but three things. Will you give them to me?”

Demetrios felt that she was going to ask for the impossible. He looked at her anxiously. But she began to smile, and said in slow tones:

“I want a silver mirror to gaze at my eyes within my eyes.”

“You shall have it. What else do you want? Quickly.”

“I want a carved ivory comb to plunge into my hair like a net into water that sparkles in the sun.”

“And then?”

“You will give me my comb?”

“Yes, yes. Go on.”

“I want a pearl necklace to hang on my breast, when I dance you the nuptial dances of my country in my chamber.”

He raised his eyebrows;

“Is that all?”

“You will give me my necklace?”

“Any you please.”

Her voice became very tender.

“Any I please? Ah! that is exactly what I wanted to ask you. Will you let me choose my presents?”

“Of course.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

“What oath will you swear?”

“Dictate it to me.”

“By the Aphrodite you carved.”

“I swear by the Aphrodite. But why these precautions?”

“Ah! . . . I was uneasy; but now I am reassured”.

She raised her head.

“I have chosen my presents.”

Demetrios suddenly became anxious and asked:

“Already?”

“Yes. Do you think I shall accept any sort of silver mirror, bought of a merchant of Smyrna, or some stray courtesan. I want the mirror of my friend Bacchis, who stole a lover from me last week and jeered at me spitefully in a little orgie she had with Tryphera, Mousarion, and some young fools who repeated everything to me. It is a mirror she prizes greatly because it belonged to Ithodopis, who was fellow-slave with æsop and was redeemed by Sappho’s brother. You know that she is a very celebrated courtesan. Her mirror is magnificent. It is said that Sappho used it, and it is for this reason that Bacchis lays store on it. She has nothing more precious in the world; but I know where you will find it. She told me one night, when she was intoxicated. It is under the third stone of the altar. She puts it there every evening when she leaves her house at sunset. Go to-morrow to her house at that hour and fear nothing: she takes her slaves with her.”

“This is pure madness,” cried Demetrios. “Do you expect me to steal?”

“Do you not love me? I thought that you loved me. And then, have you not sworn? I thought you had sworn. If I am mistaken, let us say no more about it.”

He understood that she was ruining him, but he yielded without a struggle, almost willingly.

“I will do what you say,” he answered.

“Oh! I know well that you will. But you hesitate at first. I understand that. It is not an ordinary present. I would not ask it of a philosopher. I ask you for it. I know well that you will give it me.”

She toyed a moment with the peacock feathers of her round fan, and suddenly:

“Ah! . . . Neither do I wish for a common ivory comb bought at a tradesman’s in the town. You told me I might choose, did you not? Well, I want . . . I want the carved ivory comb in the hair of the wife of the high priest. It is much more valuable than the mirror of Rhodopis. It came from a queen of Egypt who lived a long time ago, and whose name is so difficult that I cannot pronounce it. Consequently the ivory is very old, and as yellow as if it were gilded. It has a carved figure of a young girl walking in a lotus-marsh. The lotus is higher than she is, and she is stepping on tiptoe in order not to get wet. . . . . It is really a beautiful comb. I am glad you are going to give it to me. I have also some little grievances against its present possessor. I had offered a blue veil to Aphrodite last month; I saw it on this woman’s head next day. It was a little hasty, and I bore her a grudge for it. Her comb will avenge me for my veil.”

“And how am I to get it?” asked Demetrios.

“Ah! that will be a little more difficult. She is an Egyptian, you know, and she makes up her two hundred plaits only once a year, like the other women of her race. But I want my comb to-morrow, and you must kill her to get it. You have sworn an oath.”

She pouted at Demetrios, who was looking on the ground. Then she concluded very quickly:

“I have chosen my necklace also. I want the seven-stringed pearl necklace on the neck of Aphrodite.”

Demetrios started violently.

“Ah! this time, it is too much! You shall not have the laugh of me to the end! Nothing, do you understand? neither the mirror, nor the comb, nor the collar.”

But she closed his mouth with her hand and resumed her caressing tone:

But she closed his mouth with her hand.

“Don’t say that. You know well that you will give me this too. I am sure of it. I shall have the three gifts. You will come to see me to-morrow evening, and the day after to-morrow if you like, and every evening. I shall be at home at any hour, in the costume you prefer, painted according to your taste, with my hair dressed after your pleasure, ready for your most extravagant caprices. If you desire but tender love, I will cherish you like a child. If you thirst after rare sensations, I will not refuse you the most agonising. If you wish for silence, I will hold my peace, when you want me to sing, ah! you will see, Well-Beloved! I know songs of all countries. I know some that are soft as the murmur of springs, others that are terrible as the coming of thunder. I know some so simple and fresh that a young girl might sing them to her mother; and I know some that could not be sung at Lampsacos. I know some that Elephantis would have blushed to hear, and that I dare not sing above a whisper. The nights you want me to dance, I will dance till morning. I will dance fully dressed, with my trailing tunic, or in a transparent veil, or in open drawers and a corselet with two openings to allow the breasts to peep through. But have I promised you to dance naked? I will dance naked if you prefer. Naked and with flowers on my head, or naked with my hair loose, painted like a divine image. I can balance my hands, circle my arms, vibrate my breast, heave my belly, contort my croup, you will see! I dance on the tips of my toes or lying down in the carpets. I know all the dances of Aphrodite, that are danced before Ourania, and those that are danced before Astarte. I even know some they dare not dance. I will dance you all the loves. When this is finished we shall be only at the beginning. You will see! The queen is richer than I am, but there is not in all the palace a chamber as amorous as mine. I don’t tell you what you will find there. There are things too beautiful for me to be able to give you an idea of them, and others so strange that I do not know the words to describe them. And then, do you know what you will see, something which transcends all the rest? You will see Chrysis whom you love, and whom you do not yet know. Yes, you have only seen my face, you do not know how beautiful I am. Ah! Ah! . . . Ah! Ah! You will have surprises. Ah! how you will play with my nipples, how you will bend my little waist as it lies upon your arm, how you will tremble in the grasp of my knees, how you will faint away on my moving body! And how excellent my mouth! Ah! my kisses!”

Demetrios looked at her with a frenzied eye.

She continued tenderly:

“What! You will not give me a poor old silver mirror when you may have all my hair like a golden forest in your hands?”

Demetrios tried to touch it . . . She recoiled and said:

“To-morrow!”

“You shall have it,” he murmured.

“And you will not take for me a little ivory comb which pleases me, when you can have my two arms like two branches of ivory around your neck?”

He tried to stroke them. She drew them behind her back and repeated: “To-morrow!”

“I will bring it,” he said very low. “Ah! I knew it!” cried the courtesan; “and you will also give me the seven-stringed necklace of pearls on the neck of Aphrodite, and for that I will sell you all my body, which is like a half-opened shell of mother-of-pearl, and more kisses in your mouth than there are pearls in the sea!”

Demetrios held out his head, supplicatingly.

She shot him a brilliant glance and gave him her sensual lips . . .

When he opened his eyes she was already afar off. A little pale shadow danced before her floating veil.

He returned vaguely towards the town, with his forehead bent under the weight of an inexpressible shame.