CHAPTER II

MYLITTA AND MELITTA

“Purify yourself, stranger.”

“I shall enter pure,” Demetrios said. With the end of her hair dipped in the holy water the young guardian of the gate moistened first his eyes, then his lips and then his fingers, so that his look, the kiss from his mouth and the caress of his hands were all sanctified.

Then he advanced into the wood of Aphrodite.

Through the darkening branches he saw the sun set a dark purple which did not dazzle the eyes. It was the evening of the day when his meeting with Chrysis had disturbed his life. That day he had seen a beautiful woman upon the jetty, and addressed himself to her. She had declined his advances though he was Demetrios the famous sculptor, a young, wealthy and handsome man and the accredited lover of Queen Berenice. To obtain her favour Chrysis, the courtesan, had imposed upon him three almost impossible conditions. She required him to present to her the silver mirror of Bacchis the famous courtesan, her friend, the ivory comb worn by Touni the wife of the High Priest, and last of all the necklace of pearls from the neck of the statue of the Goddess Aphrodite within the Holy Temple. The first two of her demands could be carried out possibly even without the shedding of blood, but her third behest would mean the committal of an act of sacrilege punishable by death, before which the boldest would hesitate. The feminine soul is so transparent, that men cannot believe it to be so. Where there is only a straight line they obstinately seek the complexity of an intricate path. This was why the soul of Chrysis, in reality as clear as that of a little child, appeared to Demetrios more mysterious than a problem in metaphysics. When he left her on the jetty, he returned home in a dream unable to reply to the questions which assailed him. What would she do with the three gifts she had ordered him to procure her? It was impossible for her to wear or sell a famous stolen mirror, the comb of a woman who had perhaps been murdered in its acquirement, or the necklace of pearls belonging to the Goddess. By retaining possession of them she exposed herself every day to a discovery which would be fatal to her. Then why did she ask for them? Was it to destroy them? He knew that women did not rejoice in secrets and that good luck only pleased them when it was well known to every one. Then, too, by what divination or clairvoyance had she judged him to be capable of accomplishing three such extraordinary deeds?

Surely if he had wished, Chrysis might have been carried off, placed in his power and become his mistress, his wife or his slave, as he pleased. He had too the chance of destroying her. Revolutions in the past had accustomed the citizens to deaths by violence, and no one was disturbed by the disappearance of a courtesan. Chrysis must know him, and yet she dared....

The more he thought of her the more her strange commands seemed to please him. How many women were her equal! how many had presented themselves to him in an unfavourable manner! What did she demand? Neither love, gold, nor jewels, but three impossible crimes! She interested him keenly. He had offered her all the treasures of Egypt: he realized now that if she had accepted them she would not have received two obols, and he would have wearied of her even before he had known her. Three crimes, assuredly, were an uncommon salary; but she was worthy to receive it since she was the woman to demand it, and he promised himself to go on with the adventure.

To give himself no time to repent of his resolutions that very day he went to the house of Bacchis, found it empty, took the silver mirror and fled into the gardens. Must he at once go to the second victim of Chrysis? Demetrios did not think so. The wife of the High Priest Touni, who possessed the famous ivory comb, was so charming and so weak that he feared to approach her without preliminary precautions. So he turned back and walked along the great Terrace.

The courtesans were outside their dwellings like a display of flowers. There was no less diversity in their attitudes and costumes than in their ages, types and nationalities. The most beautiful, according to the tradition of Phryne, only leaving the oval of their faces uncovered, were clad from their hair to their heels in great robes of fine wool. Others had adopted the fashion of transparent robes, through which their beauty could be distinguished in a mysterious way, as through limpid water one can see the patches of green weeds at the bottom of the river. Those whose only charm was their youth remained naked to the waist, and displayed the firmness of their breasts. But the older women, knowing how much more quickly a woman’s face grows old than does the skin of the body, sat quite naked, holding their breasts.

Demetrios passed very slowly in front of them without allowing himself to admire them.

He could never view a woman’s nakedness without intense emotion. He could not realize any feeling of disgust in the presence of the dead, or of insensibility with very young girls. That evening every woman could have charmed him. Provided she kept silence and did not display any more ardour than the minimum demanded by politeness her beauty did not matter. He preferred, also, that she should have a “coarse” body, for the more his thoughts were fixed upon perfect shapes the further away from them did his desire depart. The trouble, which the impression of living beauty gave to him, was of an exclusively cerebral sensuality which reduced to naught other excitation. He recollected with agony that he had remained for an hour like an old man by the side of the most admirable woman he had ever held in his arms. Since that night he had learned to select less pure mistresses.

“Friend,” a voice said, “do you not know me?”

He turned, shook his head and went on his way, for he never visited the same girl twice. That was the only principle he carried out in his visits to the gardens.

“Clonarion!”

“Gnathene!”

“Plango!”

“Mnaïs!”

“Crobyle!”

“Iœsa!”

They called out their names as he passed, and some added, as a further inducement, a phrase upon their own ardent nature. Demetrios continued his walk; he was inclined, as his usual custom was, to pick out one of them haphazard, when a little girl dressed in blue spoke to him softly.

“Open the door for me,” he said. “I wish to speak to you.”

The little girl jumped gaily to her feet and knocked twice with the knocker. An old slave opened the door.

“Gorgo,” the girl said, “bring some wine and cakes.”

She led the way into her chamber, which was very plain, like that of all very young courtesans. Two large beds, a little tapestry and a few chairs comprised the furniture, but through a large open bay could be seen the gardens, the sea, and the roadstead of Alexandria. Demetrios remained standing looking at the distant city.

The sun sinking behind the harbour, that incomparable glory of a coast town, the calm sky, the purple waters, were they not enough to bring silence to any soul bursting with joy or sorrow! What footsteps would they not stay, what pleasure suspend and what voice they not hush? Demetrios watched: a swell of torrent-like flame seemed to leap out from the sun which had half sunk into the sea and to flow straight to the curved edge of the wood of Aphrodite. From one to another of the two horizons the rich purple tone overran the Mediterranean in zones of shades without transition from golden red to pale purple. Between the moving splendour and the green mirror of the Mareotis lake the white mass of the city was clothed in reddish violet reflections. The different aspects of its twenty thousand flat houses marvellously speckled it with twenty thousand patches of colour perpetually changing with the decreasing phasis of the rays in the west. Now it was rapid and fiery; then the sun was engulfed with almost startling suddenness and the first approach of the night caused a tremor throughout the earth and a hidden breeze.

“Here are figs, sweets, honey and wine. You must eat the figs before it is dark.”

The girl came in with a laugh. She made the young man sit down and took up her position upon his knees, refastening, as she did so, a rose in her hair which was in danger of falling out.

Demetrios uttered an exclamation of surprise, she looked so young and childish that he felt full of pity for her.

“But you are not a woman!” he cried.

“I am not a woman! By the two Goddesses what am I then? a Thracian, a porter or an old philosopher?”

“How old are you?”

“Ten years and a half. Eleven years. You can say eleven. I was born in the gardens. My mother is a Milesian, her name is Pythias, nicknamed the ’Goat.’ Shall I send for her if you think I am too young? She has a soft skin and is very beautiful.”

“You have been to the Didascalion?”

“I am still there in the sixth class. I shall finish there next year; it will not be any too soon.”

“What don’t you like then?”

“Ah! if you only knew how hard to please the mistresses are. They make you begin the same lesson twenty-five times, and it is all about useless things which the men never desire. Then one tires oneself for nothing, and I do not like that. Come, have a fig; not that one, it is not ripe. I will show you a new way to eat them--look.”

“I know it. It takes longer, but it is not a better way. I believe you are a good pupil.”

“Oh! what I know I have learned by myself. The mistresses try to make out they are stronger than we are. They are more experienced, but they have not invented anything.”

“Have you many lovers?”

“They are all too old; it is inevitable. The young are so foolish! They only care for women of forty. I sometimes see one pass as good-looking as Eros, and you ought to see the woman he picks out--a hateful hippopotamus! It makes one turn pale. I hope I shall not live to be the age of those women; I should be ashamed to undress. That is why I am so glad that I am young. But let me kiss you. I like you very much.”

Here the conversation took a turn, and Demetrios soon saw that his scruples were unnecessary in the case of such a well-informed young woman.

“What is your name?” he asked her presently.

“Melitta. Did you not see the name over the door?”

“I did not look at it.”

“You could see it in the room. It has been written on the walls. I shall soon have to have them repainted.”

Demetrios raised his head. The four walls of the room were covered with inscriptions.

“Well, that is very curious,” he said. “May I read them?”

“Yes, if you like. I have no secrets.”

He read them. The name of Melitta was there several times, coupled with various men’s names and strange designs. There were tender and comic phrases. Lovers detailed the charms of the little courtesan, or made jokes upon her. All that was not very interesting; but when he was near the end of his reading he gave a start of surprise.

“What is this? What is it? Tell me.”

“What? Where? What is the matter?”

“Here. This name. Who wrote that?” His finger was pointing to the name of Chrysis.

“Ah,” she replied, “I wrote that.”

“But who is Chrysis?”

“She is my great friend.”

“I don’t doubt that. That is not what I am asking you. Which Chrysis is it? There are so many.”

“Mine is the most beautiful Chrysis of Galilee.”

“You know her, then! Tell me about her! Where was her home? Where does she live? Who is her lover? Tell me all about her.”

He sat down upon the bed and took the girl upon his knees.

“Are you in love with her?” she said.

“What does it matter? Tell me what you know about her; I am anxious to hear.”

“Oh! I know nothing at all about her--very little indeed. She has been twice to see me, and you can imagine that I did not ask her questions about her relations. I was too pleased to see her to waste time in idle conversation.”

“What is she like?”

“She is like a pretty girl; what do you want me to say? Must I name all the parts of her body and say that they are all beautiful? Ah! she is a real woman.”

“You know nothing about her, then?” Demetrios asked.

“I know she comes from Galilee; that she is nearly twenty, and lives in the Jews’ quarter, on the east of the city, near the gardens. That is all.”

“Can you tell me nothing of her life or tastes?”

“The first night she came here she came with her lover. Then she came by herself, and she has promised to come and see me again.”

“Do you know any other friend of hers in the gardens?”

“Yes; a woman from her country----Chimairis, a poor woman.”

“Where does she live? I want to see her.”

“She sleeps in the wood. She has done so for a year. She sold her house. But I know where her nest is, and I can take you there if you wish. Put on my sandals for me, please.”

Demetrios rapidly fastened the leather thongs of the sandals upon Melitta’s little feet, and they went out together.

They walked for some distance. The park was immense. Here and there a girl beneath a tree called out her name as they passed. Melitta knew a few, whom she embraced without stopping. As she passed a worn altar she gathered three large flowers from the grass and placed them on the stone.

It was not yet quite dark. The intense light of the summer days has something durable about it which vaguely lingers in the dusk. The sprinkling of small stars, hardly brighter than the sky itself, twinkled gently, and the shadows of the branches remained vague and indefinite.

“Ah!” said Melitta, “here is mother.”

A woman clad in blue-striped muslin was coming slowly towards them. As soon as she saw the child she ran to her, picked her up in her arms, and kissed her fondly on the cheeks.

“My little girl! my little love, where are you going?”

“I am taking some one to see Chimairis. Are you taking a walk too?”

“Corinna has been confined. Have been to her, and I dined at her bedside.”

“Is it a boy?”

“Twins, my dear; as rosy as wax dolls. You can go and see her to-night; she will show them to you.”

“Oh, how nice! Two little courtesans. What are they to be called?”

“Pannychis--both of them, because they were born on the eve of the festival of Aphrodite. It is a divine omen. They will be beautiful!”

She put down the child, and, turning to Demetrios, said--

“What do you think of my daughter? Have I not good cause to be proud of her?”

“You can be satisfied with one another,” he calmly replied.

“Kiss mother,” Melitta said.

He did so, and Pythias kissed him on the mouth as they separated.

Demetrios went a little further still beneath the trees, while the courtesan turned her head to watch them. At last they reached the spot they sought, and Melitta said--

“Here it is.”

Chimairis was squatting on her left heel in a little turfy glade between two trees and a bush. She had beneath her a red rag, which was her sole remaining garment in the daytime, and on which she lay when the men passed. Demetrios looked at her with growing interest. She had the feverish look of some thin, dark women whose tawny bodies seem to be consumed by ever-present ardour. Her great lips, her eager gaze, her livid eyes, gave her a double expression--that of covetous sensuality and exhaustion. As Chimairis had sold everything--even her toilet instruments--her hair was in indescribable disorder, while the down upon her body gave her something of the appearance of a shameless and hairy savage.

Near her was a great stag, fastened to a tree by a gold chain which had once adorned her mistress’s breast.

“Chimairis,” Melitta said, “get up. Some one wants to speak to you.”

The Jewess looked, but did not move. Demetrios approached.

“Do you know Chrysis?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you see her often?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me about her?”

“No.”

“Why not? Can’t you do so?”

“No.”

Melitta was surprised.

“Speak to him,” she said. “Have confidence in him. He loves her and wishes her well.”

“I can clearly see that he loves her,” Chimairis replied. “If he loves her he wishes her ill. If he loves her I will not speak.”

Demetrios trembled with anger, but did not speak.

“Give me your hand,” the Jewess said to him. “I will see whether I am mistaken.”

She took the young man’s left hand and turned towards the moonlight. Melitta leant over to watch, although she did not know how to read the mysterious lines; but their fatality attracted her.

“What do you see?” Demetrios asked.

“I see--may I tell you what I see? Shall you be pleased? Will you believe me? First of all I see happiness, but that is in the past. I see love, too, but that is lost in blood.”

“Mine?”

“The blood of a woman. Then the blood of another woman; and then, a little later, your own.”

Demetrios shrugged his shoulders.

Melitta uttered a cry.

“She is frightened,” Chimairis went on. “But this concerns neither her nor me. Events must come to pass, since we cannot prevent them. From before your birth your destiny was certain. Go away. I shall say no more.”

She let his hand drop.