"Well, what docs Phrasilas think about it?"

"He is an admirable writer," said the little man.

"In what sense?"

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"In the sense that all writers, Timon, are admirable in something, like all landscapes and all souls. I cannot prefer the spectacle of the sea itself to the most monotonous plain. And so I am unable to cla.s.sify in the order of my sympathies a treatise by Cicero, an ode of Pindar, and a letter written by Chrysis, even if I knew the style of our excellent little friend, when I put down a book, I am content if I carry away in my memory a single line which has given me food for thought. Hitherto, all the books I have opened have contained that line: but no book has ever given me a second. Perhaps each of us has only one thing to say in his life, and those who have attempted to speak at greater length have done so because they were inflated by ambition. How much more do I regret the irreparable silence of the millions of souls who have said nothing."

"I am not of your opinion," said Naukrates, without lifting his eyes.

"The universe was created for the expression of three verities, and to our misfortune, their cert.i.tude was proved five centuries before this evening. Herac.l.i.tos has solved the riddle of the world; Parmenides has unmasked the soul; Pythagoras has measured G.o.d; we have nothing left us but to hold our tongues. I consider the chickpea very rash."

Seso lightly tapped the table with the handle of her fan.

"Timon, my friend," she said.

"What is it?"

"Why do you propound questions without any interest either for me who am ignorant of Latin, or for yourself who want to forget it? Do you fancy you can dazzle Faustina with your foreign erudition? My poor fellow, I am not the woman to be duped by your words. I undressed your great soul last night under my bed-clothes, and I know the chickpea it concerns itself with."

"Do you think so?" said the young man, simply.

But Phrasilas began a second little couplet, with a suave, ironical intonation.

"Seso, when you think fit to give us the pleasure of judging Timon, whether to applaud him, as he deserves, or to blame him, unjustly in my opinion, remember that he is an invisible being and that the nature of his soul is hidden from us. It has no existence in itself, or at least we cannot know it; but it reflects the souls of those that mirror themselves in it, and changes its aspect when it changes its place. Last night it resembled you exactly; I am not astonished you were pleased with it. Just now it took the image of Philodemos; that is why you have just said it belied itself. Now it certainly does not belie itself, because it does not affirm itself. You see my dear, that we ought to beware of rash judgments."

Timon shot a glance of irritation at Phrasilas, but he reserved his reply.

"However that may be," answered Seso, "there are four of us courtesans here, and we intend to direct the conversation, in order that we may not resemble pink children who only open their mouths to drink milk.

Faustina, you arrived the last, please begin."

"Very good," said Naukrates. "Choose for us, Faustina. What shall we talk about?"

The young Italian woman turned her head, raised her eyes, blushed, and with an undulation of her whole body, sighed:

"Love."

"A very pretty subject," said Seso, trying not to laugh.

But no one took it up.

The table was covered with wreaths, flowers, tankards, and jugs. Slaves brought wicker baskets, containing bread as light as snow. On terra-cotta plates were to be seen fat eels sprinkled with seasoning, wax-coloured alphests, and sacred beauty-fish.

There was also a pompilus, a purple fish which was supposed to have sprung from the same foam as Aphrodite, bebradons, a grey mullet served up with calmars, multi-coloured scorpenas Some were brought in their little sauce-pans, in order that they might be eaten foaming hot; fat tunnyfish, hot devil-fish with tender tentacles, slices of lamprey; finally the belly of a white electric eel, round as that of a beautiful woman.

Such was the first course. The guests chose little t.i.t-bits from each fish, and left the rest to the slaves.

"Love," began Phrasilas, "is a word which has no meaning, or rather too much, for it designates in turn two irreconcilable feelings: sensual gratification and pa.s.sion. I do not know in what sense Faustina takes it."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I like to have the sensual gratification."]

"For my part," interrupted Chrysis, "I like to have the sensual gratification, and to leave pa.s.sion to my lovers. We must speak both of one and the other, or my interest will only be partial."

"Love," murmured Philodemos, "is neither pa.s.sion nor sensual gratification. Love is something quite different."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake," exclaimed Timon, "let us have a banquet for once without philosophies. We are aware, Phrasilas, that you can uphold with graceful eloquence and honeyed persuasiveness the superiority of multiple pleasure over exclusive pa.s.sion. We are aware also that after having spoken for a full hour on such a th.o.r.n.y question, you would be ready, during the next hour, with the same graceful eloquence and the same honeyed persuasiveness, to defend the arguments of your adversary.

I do not . . ."

"Allow me . . ." said Phrasilas.

"I do not deny," continued Timon, "the charm of this little sport, or even the wit you bring to bear on it. I have my doubts as to its difficulty, and consequently as to its interest. The _Banquet_ you published some time ago and incorporated in a story of lighter tone, and also the reflexions you placed recently in the mouth of a mythical personage who resembles your ideal, seemed new and rare in the reign of Ptolemy Auletes. But for three years we have been living under the young Queen Berenice, and I know not by what transformation the method of thought you had adopted, that of an ill.u.s.trious exegetical critic, harmonious and smiling, has suddenly grown a century older under your pen, like the fashion of tight sleeves and yellow hair. Excellent master, I deplore it, for if your stories lack fire, if your experience of the female heart is not worth serious consideration, on the other hand you are gifted with the comic spirit, and I am grateful to you for having made me smile."

"Timon!" cried Bacchis in indignation.

Phrasilas motioned to her to be silent.

"Let him alone, my dear. Unlike most men, I retain only the eulogistic portion of the judgments people pa.s.s upon me. Timon has given me his; others will praise me on other points. It would be impossible to live in the midst of unanimous approbation, and I regard the very variety of the sentiments I provoke as a charming flower-bed in which I desire to breathe the scent of the roses without tearing up the spurge."

Chrysis moved her lips in a way which showed clearly how slight was the value she set on this man and his cleverness at terminating disputes.

She turned towards Timon, who shared her bed with her, and put her hand on his neck. "What is the aim of life?" she asked him.

It was the question she usually asked when she was at a loss what to say to a philosopher; but this time she introduced a tender note into her voice, and Timon fancied he detected a declaration of love.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Nevertheless he answered with a certain calm:

"Each one has his own object in life, my Chrysis. There is no object universal and common to all beings. For my part, I am the son of a banker whose clientele is composed of all the great courtesans of Egypt, and, my father having ama.s.sed an enormous fortune by ingenious methods, I restore it honourably to the victims of his favours by sleeping with them as often as the strength the G.o.ds have given me allows me to do so.

I have decided that my energy is only susceptible of performing one duty in life. I have chosen this duty because it combines the exigencies of the rarest virtue with contrary satisfactions that another ideal would support less easily."

During this speech he had slipped his right leg behind those of Chrysis, who was lying on her side, and he tried to part the closed knees of the courtesan as if to give a precise object to existence for that evening.

But Chrysis did not humour him.

There was a silence for several minutes; then Seso began to speak.

"Timon, it is very annoying of you to interrupt at the very beginning the only serious conversation of which the subject is capable of interesting us. At any rate, let Naukretes speak, since you are so spiteful."

"What shall I say about love?" answered the Guest par excellence. "It is the name given to sorrow to console those who suffer. There are only two ways of being unhappy: either we desire what we have not, or we possess what we desired. Love begins with the first, and comes to an end with the second, in the most lamentable state, that is to say, as soon as it succeeds. May the G.o.ds preserve us from love!"

"But to possess unexpectedly," said Philodemos, smiling; "is not that true felicity?"

"What a rarity!"