At the entrance of the wood, on a kind of pile, is a strange sight--a man coated over with cows" dung, completely naked, more dried-up than a mummy. His joints form knots at the extremities of his bones, which are like sticks. He has cl.u.s.ters of sh.e.l.ls in his ears, his face is very long, and his nose is like a vulture"s beak. His left arm is held erect in the air, crooked, and stiff as a stake; and he has remained there so long that birds have made a nest in his hair.
At the four corners of his pile four fires are blazing. The sun is right in his face. He gazes at it with great open eyes, and without looking at Antony.
"Brahmin of the banks of the Nile, what sayest thou?"
Flames start out on every side through the partings of the beams; and the gymnosophist resumes:
"Like a rhinoceros, I am plunged in solitude. I dwelt in the tree that was behind me."
In fact, the large fig-tree presents in its flutings a natural excavation of the shape of a man.
"And I fed myself on flowers and fruits with such an observance of precepts that not even a dog has seen me eat.
"As existence proceeds from corruption, corruption from desire, desire from sensation, and sensation from contact, I have avoided every kind of action, every kind of contact, and--without stirring any more than the pillar of a tombstone--exhaling my breath through my two nostrils, fixing my glances upon my nose; and, observing the ether in my spirit, the world in my limbs, the moon in my heart, I pondered on the essence of the great soul, whence continually escape, like sparks of fire, the principles of life. I have, at last, grasped the supreme soul in all beings, all beings in the supreme soul; and I have succeeded in making my soul penetrate the place into which my senses used to penetrate.
"I receive knowledge directly from Heaven, like the bird Tchataka, who quenches his thirst only in the droppings of the rain. From the very fact of my having knowledge of things, things no longer exist. For me now there is no hope and no anguish, no goodness, no virtue, neither day nor night, neither thou nor I--absolutely nothing.
"My frightful austerities have made me superior to the Powers. A contraction of my brain can kill a hundred kings" sons, dethrone G.o.ds, overrun the world."
He utters all this in a monotonous voice. The leaves all around him are withered. The rats fly over the ground.
He slowly lowers his eyes towards the flames, which are rising, then adds:
"I have become disgusted with form, disgusted with perception, disgusted even with knowledge itself--for thought does not outlive the transitory fact that gives rise to it; and the spirit, like the rest, is but an illusion.
"Everything that is born will perish; everything that is dead will come to life again. The beings that have actually disappeared will sojourn in wombs not yet formed, and will come back to earth to serve with sorrow other creatures. But, as I have resolved through an infinite number of existences, under the guise of G.o.ds, men, and animals, I give up travelling, and no longer wish for this fatigue. I abandon the dirty inn of my body, walled in with flesh, reddened with blood, covered with hideous skin, full of uncleanness; and, for my reward, I shall, finally, sleep in the very depths of the absolute, in annihilation."
The flames rise to his breast, then envelop him. His head stretches across as if through the hole of a wall. His eyes are perpetually fixed in a vacant stare.
Antony gets up again. The torch on the ground has set fire to the splinters of wood, and the flames have singed his beard. Bursting into an exclamation, Antony tramples on the fire; and, when only a heap of cinders is left:
"Where, then, is Hilarion? He was here just now. I saw him! Ah! no; it is impossible! I am mistaken! How is this? My cell, those stones, the sand, have not, perhaps, any more reality. I must be going mad. Stay!
where was I? What was happening here?
"Ah! the gymnosophist! This death is common amongst the Indian sages.
Kalanos burned himself before Alexander; another did the same in the time of Augustus. What hatred of life they must have had!--unless, indeed, pride drove them to it. No matter, it is the intrepidity of martyrs! As to the others, I now believe all that has been told me of the excesses they have occasioned.
"And before this? Yes, I recollect! the crowd of heresiarchs ... What shrieks! what eyes! But why so many outbreaks of the flesh and wanderings of the spirit?
"It is towards G.o.d they pretend to direct their thoughts in all these different ways. What right have I to curse them, I who stumble in my own path? When they have disappeared, I shall, perhaps, learn more. This one rushed away too quickly; I had not time to reply to him. Just now it is as if I had in my intellect more s.p.a.ce and more light. I am tranquil. I feel myself capable ... But what is this now? I thought I had extinguished the fire."
A flame flutters between the rocks; and, speedily, a jerky voice makes itself heard from the mountains in the distance.
"Are those the barkings of a hyena, or the lamentations of some lost traveller?"
Antony listens. The flame draws nearer.
And he sees approaching a woman who is weeping, resting on the shoulder of a man with a white beard. She is covered with a purple garment all in rags. He, like her, is bare-headed, with a tunic of the same colour, and carries a bronze vase, whence arises a small blue flame.
Antony is filled with fear,--and yet he would fain know who this woman is.
_The stranger_ (_Simon_)--"This is a young girl, a poor child, whom I take everywhere with me."
He raises the bronze vase. Antony inspects her by the light of this flickering flame. She has on her face marks of bites, and traces of blows along her arms. Her scattered hair is entangled in the rents of her rags; her eyes appear insensible to the light.
_Simon_--"Sometimes she remains thus a long time without speaking or eating, and utters marvellous things."
_Antony_--"Really?"
_Simon_--"Eunoia! Eunoia! relate what you have to say!"
She turns around her eyeb.a.l.l.s, as if awakening from a dream, pa.s.ses her fingers slowly across her two lids, and in a mournful voice:
_Helena_ (_Eunoia_)--"I have a recollection of a distant region, of the colour of emerald. There is only a single tree there."
Antony gives a start.
"At each step of its huge branches a pair of spirits stand. The branches around them cross each other, like the veins of a body, and they watch the eternal life circulating from the roots, where it is lost in shadow up to the summit, which reaches beyond the sun. I, on the second branch, illumined with my face the summer nights."
_Antony_, touching his forehead--"Ah! ah! I understand! the head!"
_Simon_, with his finger on his lips--"Hush! Hush!"
_Helena_--"The vessel remained convex: her keel clave the foam. He said to me, "What does it matter if I disturb my country, if I lose my kingdom! You will be mine, in my own house!"
"How pleasant was the upper chamber of his palace! He would lie down upon the ivory bed, and, smoothing my hair, would sing in an amorous strain. At the end of the day, I could see the two camps and the lanterns which they were lighting; Ulysses at the edge of his tent; Achilles, armed from head to foot, driving a chariot along the seash.o.r.e."
_Antony_--"Why, she is quite mad! Wherefore? ..."
_Simon_--"Hush! Hush!"
_Helena_--"They rubbed me with unguents, and sold me to the people to amuse them. One evening, standing with the sistrum in my hand, I was coaxing Greek sailors to dance. The rain, like a cataract, fell upon the tavern, and the cups of hot wine were smoking. A man entered without the door having been opened."
_Simon_--"It was I! I found you. Here she is, Antony; she who is called Sigeh, Eunoia, Barbelo, Prounikos! The Spirits who govern the world were jealous of her, and they bound her in the body of a woman. She was the Helen of the Trojans, whose memory the poet Stesichorus had rendered infamous. She has been Lucretia, the patrician lady violated by the kings. She was Delilah, who cut off the hair of Samson. She was that daughter of Israel who surrendered herself to he-goats. She has loved adultery, idolatry, lying and folly. She was prost.i.tuted by every nation. She has sung in all the cross-ways. She has kissed every face.
At Tyre, she, the Syrian, was the mistress of thieves. She drank with them during the nights, and she concealed a.s.sa.s.sins amid the vermin of her tepid bed."
_Antony_--"Ah! what is coming over me?"
_Simon_, with a furious air--
"I have redeemed her, I tell you, and re-established her in all her splendour, such as Caius Caesar Agricola became enamoured of when he desired to sleep with the Moon!"
_Antony_---"Well! well!"
_Simon_--"But she really is the Moon! Has not Pope Clement written that she was imprisoned in a tower? Three hundred persons came to surround the tower; and on each of the murderers, at the same time, the moon was seen to appear,--though there are not many moons in the world, or many Eunoias!"
_Antony_--"Yes! ... I think I recollect ..."