Chapter V: Toulon, December 15

Oh, what adventures since my last letter which itself announced so many changes in my life! I believe Cydalise is the victim of Aphrodite who has caused her to become infatuated with me.

“Before knowing you,” she tells me, “I did not know what love was?”

I laugh up my sleeve, for Cydalise, though mortal, has always seemed to me an expert in this immortal science, which I have practiced long enough to be considered a good judge. But I say nothing. How retort? My divine irony pauses at my lips, for Cydalise makes me experience such a strange sentiment. It is certain that I cannot do without her, and such a thing never happened to me before. To me she is more beautiful than all other women, fresher than maidens, more melting than perfumed matrons. With her I possess everything and I regret nothing. I soar higher than the gods, to the point where it seems to me that to become more than a god, one must cease being divine at each hour of existence. True divinity is intermittent and reposes deliciously in the vague condition of having been a god. I offer so many things in love that heretofore I had never sought of women; of them I had asked nothing more than to be a pretext, an opportunity for self-display. Now I feel that Cydalise throws as many jewels at my feet as I do: accordingly, not to be outdone in generosity, I obey her. She does what she wishes with me. What a metamorphosis!

I could not bear to be separated from her and the inclemency of the season made our meetings more and more difficult. Then she hit on the idea of bringing me to town:

“For I want to love you among my people,” she said.

I, who recalled the blows of pitchforks and the fangs of dogs, remained silent, gazing at her with terror.

“Are you afraid?”

“How can I follow you with my bareness?”

Cydalise broke into laughter, threw herself into my arms. That day we spoke no more of my departure.

One morning I was sadly meditating, dreaming of flight like a boar bearing in its flank the spear which has wounded it. Despite my love, the intriguing vision of new women began to swim before me; I was hearing their laughter, their disputes and their restless mockery, when Cydalise appeared at the end of the road, carrying a large bundle which she let fall, at the same instant that she herself dropped to the ground. Without uttering a word, she by turns looked at the package and at me. At last, she decided to laugh, as is her wont in embarrassing situations. She rolled on the moss, a prey to such a fit of hysterical gayety that her dress gave way. This changed the tenor of her thoughts and instantly calmed her. As soon as I noticed her troubled and serious face, I drew near and, after kissing her eyes tenderly, opened the package.

Cydalise’s eyes were following my every emotion with curiosity:

“Yes, it’s for you. I’m going to take you to town.”

You have guessed that it contained man’s apparel. I experienced a moment of despair:

“What, put on this!”

But Cydalise looked at me with such solicitude that I murmured, as submissive as an infant:

“I would really like to.”

She clapped her hands and we entered the grotto. There, it was quite cool and this perhaps influenced my mood. I was very much satisfied with myself after I had donned these garments which at first had seemed such wretched instruments of torture.

I felt warm and there emanated from me a certain human elegance of which I was proud. A sailor has since told me that I had the grace of Ho-Papo, the negro king, and he was not joking: a king is always a king, a satyr is always a satyr. With usual feminine good taste, Cydalise began to admire me. She did not tire of flattery, made me turn like a top, and smoothed the wrinkles and pockets of the suit. She only pouted at my blue tie which did not go well with my complexion, she said. “But we will see about that later.” My shoes were of soft, brilliant leather and did not hurt me in the least. A round, broad-brimmed hat completely covered my little, curving horns and my heavy shock of hair. Blushing a little, she put some pieces of gold and silver in my coat pocket. Then:

“Now, dear, you are ready. Let’s leave.”

“Farewell, grotto where I have been happy with the wind; and you, trees, streams, holly-trees, adieu. Nature, adieu....”

Cydalise interrupted my effusions, which seemed ridiculous, besides, to me, now that I had donned this human livery, and we transferred the contents of the grotto into a packet hardly bigger than the one which had contained the elements of my metamorphosis. I would have really liked to sacrifice once more to the sylvan Aphrodite, but Cydalise said that the train would not wait for us. We reached the carriage waiting for us at the edge of the pine forest.

My sensations, in this extraordinary beginning of my new life, were too confused for me to be able to find words to characterize them correctly. I traveled with something of the feeling of the animal I had been until now, but a divine animal in whom all sounds leave an impression. If I applied myself to the task, I might succeed in deciphering my impressions, as I did the phrases in my first reading book, but I fear that the results will give you nothing new, and I am going to delay the co-ordination of my emotions till later, if I should then decide that it is worth the trouble.

“Thus I behold these rapid objects which pass through the country, fleeter than the deer, more clamorous than wolves....”

You know how this sort of thing is done. Or again:

“Now I am installed in one of those palaces seen massed far off in the valleys or on the hills, and from which spreads a confused, continuous roar like the sea.”

Besides, my astonishments have ceased. I live with Cydalise in a room which looks out on the sea and where I suffocate when the window is shut. I hardly see my divine creature more often than in the days when our couch had only pine branches for a curtain. She never returns before two or three o’clock in the morning, and so fatigued that she only thinks of love upon awakening. She continues to recite the verses of the poets before groups of people, and amateurs of poetry demand her talents after the public performances. Despite this, I am not bored. I pay attention to things. So far, I do not see very well. My happiness is concentrated in Cydalise, and I am the joy of her days.

ANTIPHILOS,
_Satyr._

VI

THE CELL