Aphrodite: Book One: Chapter Five. The Mirror, the Comb and the Necklace

SHE had a special beauty. Her hair seemed two masses of gold but it was too abundant and weighted her forehead with two deep shadow-laden waves which swallowed up the ears and wound seven-fold upon the nape of the neck. The nose was delicate with slender nostrils which sometimes palpitated above the rounded, mobile corners of the full and tinted mouth. The pliant line of the body undulated with each step, animated by the balancing of the beautiful hips under the rounded, swaying waist.

When she was no more than ten steps from the young man she turned her gaze toward him. Demetrios trembled. They were extraordinary eyes, blue, but deep and brilliant at the same time, moist, weary, in tears and in fire, almost closed under the weight of the lashes and the lids. They looked, these eyes, as the sirens sing. He who passed into their light was inevitably taken. She knew it well and used them skilfully; but she counted more on indifference affected toward the man whom so much unfeigned love had not been able to touch sincerely.

The navigators who have sailed over the purple seas beyond the Ganges tell that they have seen, under the waters, rocks which are of lodestone. When vessels pass near them, the nails and the ironwork

Demetrios continued, "Whither goest thou, so little hurried?"

"I return."

"All alone?"

"All alone."

And she made a movement to resume her promenade.

Then Demetrios thought that perhaps he was deceived in judging her a courtesan. For some time past the wives of the magistrates and of the functionaries had dressed and tinted themselves like the daughters of pleasure. This one might be a person very honorably known and it was without irony that he finished his questions thus: "To thy husband?"

Resting her hands on the parapet behind her, she began to laugh.

Demetrios bit his lip and hazarded, almost timidly, "Seek him not. Thou hast begun too late. There is no longer any one here."

"Wouldst thou have me go out naked or dressed in wool like a-slave? I dress myself only for my pleasure; I love to know that I am beautiful and, while walking, I look at my fingers to see all my rings."

"Thou shouldst have a mirror in thine hand and look at nothing but thine eyes. They were not born at Alexandria, those eyes. Thou art a Jewess, I hear it in thy voice which is softer than ours."

"No, I am not a Jewess. I am a Galilæan."

"How dost thou call thyself—Miriam or Noemi?"

"My Syrian name . . . thou shalt not know it. It is a royal name which no one bears here. My friends call me Chrysis, which is a compliment thou mightest have paid me."

He put his hand on her arm.

"Oh! no, no," she said mockingly, "it is much too late for those pleasantries. Let me return quickly. It is almost three hours since I arose; I am dying of fatigue."

Leaning over she took her foot in her hand.

"See how my little thongs hurt me. They were pulled much too tight. If I do not loosen them in an instant I will have a mark on my foot and that will be pretty indeed when someone embraces me! Let me go quickly. Ah! what a nuisance! 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 disengaged

"Thou dost not even ask if it is my pleasure. 'Show me the way!'.

How he says that! Dost thou take me for a girl of the porneion? Dost thou know if I am free? Hast thou followed me in the streets? Hast thou noticed the doors where I am welcome? Hast thou counted the men who believe themselves loved of Chrysis? 'Show me the way!' I will not show it to thee, so please thee! Remain here or go, but elsewhere than with me!"

"Thou dost not know who I am. . . ."

"Thou? Come, come! Thou art Demetrios of Sais; thou hast made the statue of my goddess; thou art the lover of my queen and the master of my city. But for me thou art but a handsome slave because thou hast seen me and because thou lovest me."

She drew nearer and pursued with a coaxing voice, "Yes—thou lovest me. Oh! do not speak—I know what thou wilt tell me; thou lovest no one, thou art loved. Thou art the Well-Beloved, the Cherished, the Idol. Thou hast refused Glykera who had refused Antiochos. Demonassa who had sworn to die virgin would have entrapped thee if thy two Lybian slaves had not thrust her from the door. Callistion the well-named, despairing of approaching thee, bought the house which is opposite thine and in the morning shows herself in the opening of the window. Thou thinkest I do not know all that? But everything is told, among women. The night of thine arrival at Alexandria they spoke to me of thee; and since then not a single day has passed on which thy name has not been pronounced before me. I know even the things thou hast forgotten. Poor little Phyllis hanged herself day

"Yes, it is all the same to thee, is it not?" continued Chrysis. "Thou didst not love her. It is I whom thou lovest. Thou hast not even heard what I have just told thee. I am sure thou couldst not repeat a word of it. Thou art well occupied wondering how my eyelids are made, how good my mouth must be, how soft my hair. Ah! how many others know that! All, all have desired my beauty: men, young men, old men, children, women, young girls. Last year I danced before twenty thousand persons and I know thou wert not one of them. Dost thou believe that I hide myself? Ah! why that! All women have seen me at the bath.

All men have seen me. Thou alone thou shalt never again see me. I refuse thee—I refuse thee! Of what I am, of what I feel, of my beauty, of my love, thou shalt know nothing, ever—ever! Thou art an abominable man, a coxcomb, cruel, insensitive and cowardly! I do not know why one of us has not had hate

She had a moment of anguish; but suddenly straightened her back and said in a low voice, "Ah! I do not fear that, Demetrios! Let me rise, thou art hurting my arms."

They were silent for a few moments; then Demetrios continued, "This must stop, Chrysis. Thou knowest well I will not injure thee. But let me follow thee. So proud as thou art, it is a glory which will cost thee dear—to refuse Demetrios."

Chrysis remained silent.

He continued more gently, "What dost thou fear?"

"Thou art accustomed to the love of others. Dost thou know what one should give to a woman who does not love?" He grew impatient.

"I will give thee the gold of the world. I have it here in Egypt."

"I have it in my hair. I am tired of gold. I do not want gold. I wish for but three things. Wilt thou give them to nee?"

Demetrios felt that she was going to demand the impossible. He looked at her anxiously. But she began to smile and said in a slow voice, "I wish for a silver mirror to reflect my eyes in my eyes.

"Thou shalt have it. What more wishest thou? Say quickly."

"I wish a comb of carved ivory to plunge into my hair like a net into the sunlit water."

"Then?"

"Thou wilt give me my comb?"

"Surely. Finish."

"That is all?"

"Thou wilt give me my necklace?"

"The one which shall please thee."

Her voice became very tender. "The one which shall please me? Ah! that is exactly what I wished to ask thee. Wilt thou let me choose my presents?"

"Of course."

"Thou swearest it?"

"I swear it."

"What oath dost thou make?"

"Name it."

"By the Aphrodite which thou hast sculptured."

"I swear by the Aphrodite. But why this precaution?"

"Well . . . I was not quite sure. Now I am."

She raised her head. "I have chosen my gifts."

Demetrios became restless once more and asked, "So soon?"

"Yes . . . Dost thou think that I would accept any silver mirror bought from a merchant of Smyrna or from some unknown courtesan? I wish that of my friend Bacchis who cheated me last week and who derided me evilly at a little party which she had with Tryphera, Mousarion and some other young fools who brought the whole thing to me. It is a mirror of which she is very fond because it once belonged to Rhodopis—she who was a slave with Æsop and was brought back by the brother of Sappho. Thou knowest that she is a very celebrated courtesan. Her mirror is magnificent. They say that Sappho has gazed in it and because

"Dost thou not love me? I thought that thou didst love me. And then, hast thou not sworn? I thought that thou hadst sworn. If I am mistaken, let us speak no more of it."

He understood that she would ruin him but let himself be drawn away without a struggle, almost voluntarily. "I will do what thou sayest," he replied.

"Oh! I know very well thou wilt do it. But thou didst hesitate at first. I can understand that. It is not an ordinary gift; I would not demand it from a philosopher. I demand it from thee. I know well thou wilt give it to me."

She played an instant with the peacock plumes of her round fan, then, suddenly:

"Ah! . . . Neither do I wish a comb of common ivory bought from a vender of the town. Thou didst tell me I might choose, didst thou not? Very well, I wish  I wish the comb of carved ivory which is in the hair of the High Priest's wife. It is much more precious still than the mirror of Rhodopis. It comes from a queen of Egypt who lived a long, long time ago and whose name is so difficult I cannot pronounce it. So the ivory is very old and yellow as though it were gilded. They have graved upon it a young girl who passes through a marsh of lotos taller than she, where she walks upon the tips of her toes to avoid getting wet

"Ah; that will be a little more difficult. She is an Egyptian, thou knowest, and she dresses her two hundred plaits but once a year like the other women of her race. But I wish my comb tomorrow and thou wilt kill her to get it. Thou hast sworn an oath."

She made a little grimace at Demetrios, who was looking at the ground. Then she finished thus, very quickly, "I have chosen my necklace also. I wish the seven row necklace of pearls which is about the neck of the Aphrodite."

Demetrios started. "Ah! this time, it is too much! Thou shalt not laugh at me to the end! Nothing, dost thou hear—nothing! neither the mirror nor the comb nor the necklace shalt thou have . . ."

But she closed his mouth with her hand and resumed her coaxing tone: "Do not say that. Thou knowest well thou wilt give me this also. I am very certain of it. I shall have the three gifts. Thou wilt come to me tomorrow evening and the day after tomorrow if thou wishest and every evening. At thine hour I will be there, in the costume thou preferrest, tinted as thy taste pleases, my hair dressed to thy fancy, ready for thy caprices. If thou wish-est but tenderness, I will cherish thee as a child. If thou wishest silence I will be silent . . . When thou wouldst have me sing—Ah! thou wilt see, Well-Beloved! I know the songs of all countries.

"And thou wilt not take for me a little ivory comb which pleases me when thou wilt have my two arms like two branches of ivory around thy neck?"

He attempted to caress them . . . She drew them back and repeated, "Tomorrow.

"I will bring it to thee," he said, very low.

"Ah! I knew it well!" cried the courtesan. "And thou wilt give me also the necklace of pearls which is about the neck of the Aphrodite and for which I will give thee more kisses in thy mouth than there are pearls in the sea!"

Demetrios, supplicating, advanced his head . . . Her vivid gaze overwhelmed his as she lent her luxurious lips . . .

When he opened his eyes she was already far away. A little shadow, more dim, darted behind her floating veil.

He walked vaguely toward the town, his head bent under an inexpressible shame.