Part 11 (1/2)

ARISTOBULUS. Who speaks of a horse?

”I have drunk like a Thracian!” cried Chereas and he rolled under the table.

Callicrates, raising his cup, cried--

”If we drink like desperate men, we die unavenged!”

Old Cotta was asleep, and his bald head nodded slowly above his broad shoulders.

For some time past Dorion had seemed to be greatly excited under his philosophic cloak. He reeled up to the couch of Thais.

”Thais, I love you, although it is unseemly in me to love a woman.”

THAIS. Why did you not love me before?

DORION. Because I had not supped.

THAIS. But I, my poor friend, have drunk nothing but water; therefore you must excuse me if I do not love you.

Dorion did not wait to hear more, but made towards Drosea, who had made a sign to him in order to get him away from her friend. Zenothemis took the place he had left, and gave Thais a kiss on the mouth.

THAIS. I thought you more virtuous.

ZENOTHEMIS. I am perfect, and the perfect are subject to no laws.

THAIS. But are you not afraid of sullying your soul in a woman's arms?

ZENOTHEMIS. The body may yield to l.u.s.t without the soul being concerned.

THAIS. Go away! I wish to be loved with body and soul. All these philosophers are old goats.

The lamps died out one by one. The pale rays of dawn, which entered between the openings of the hangings, shone on the livid faces and swollen eyes of the guests. Aristobulus was sleeping soundly by the side of Chereas, and, in his dreams, devoting all his grooms to the ravens.

Zenothemis pressed in his arms the yielding Philina; Dorion poured on the naked bosom of Drosea drops of wine, which rolled like rubies on the white breast, which was shaking with laughter, and the philosopher tried to catch these drops with his lips, as they rolled on the slippery flesh. Eucrites rose, and placing his arm on the shoulder of Nicias, led him to the end of the hall.

”Friend,” he said, smiling, ”if you can still think at all--of what are you thinking?”

”I think that the love of women is like a garden of Adonis.”

”What do you mean by that?”

”Do you not know, Eucrites, that women make little gardens on the terraces, in which they plant boughs in clay pots in honour of the lover of Venus? These boughs flourish a little time, and then fade.”

”What does that signify, Nicias? That it is foolish to attach importance to that which fades?”

”If beauty is but a shadow, desire is but a lightning flash. What madness it is, then, to desire beauty! Is it not rational, on the contrary, that that which pa.s.ses should go with that which does not endure, and that the lightning should devour the gliding shadow?”

”Nicias, you seem to me like a child playing at knuckle-bones. Take my advice--be free! By liberty only can you become a man.”