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Title: Prometheus Illbound

Author: André Gide

Translator: viscountess Mary Lilian Share Harmsworth Rothermere

Release date: December 13, 2019 [eBook #60914]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Tim Lindell, David E. Brown, and the Online
        Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
        book was produced from images made available by the
        HathiTrust Digital Library.)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PROMETHEUS ILLBOUND ***




Produced by Tim Lindell, David E. Brown, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from images made available by the
HathiTrust Digital Library.)









  PROMETHEUS
  ILLBOUND

  BY ANDRÉ GIDE


  LITERAL TRANSLATION FROM THE
  FRENCH BY
  LILIAN ROTHERMERE


  LONDON
  CHATTO AND WINDUS
  1919




PREFACE


The work of art is the exaggeration of an idea, says Gide in the
epilogue of the “Prometheus Illbound.” This is really the explanation
of the whole book and of many other books of Gide.

His world is a world of abstract ideas, under the action of which most
of his characters move as marionettes. “Time and space are the boards,
which, with the help of our minds, have been set up by the innumerable
truths of the universe as a stage for their own performances. And there
we play our parts like determined, convinced, devoted and voluptuous
marionettes.”

That is the reason why there is a determinist atmosphere in his books
and that even the disinterested act appears as the reaction of the
mind on its own concept. Zeus, the banker, poses this disinterested act
because his thought refuses or hesitates to admit it; the same thing
happens with Lafcadio in the “Caves du Vatican” when he is on the point
of murdering Amédée Fleurissoire.

The tyranny of ideas is the dominating force of his characters. Even
his first writings--where one finds some of his best pages, which
appear to be purely lyrical explosion--such as “Les Nourritures
Terrestres” and “Le Voyage d’Urien,” are really the songs of a
mind which leads its life by the _concept_ of eternal desire and
detachment--a mind very near that of Nietzsche.

It is because of that tyranny of ideas that Gide is attracted by
religious psychology. After all, Alissa of “La Porte Étroite”
sacrifices her life and her happiness to her ideas. It is because
of that also that one of the most daring books of the time,
“L’Immoraliste,” is written in the most moral way: the feelings are
only described by their reaction on the brain. And this applies to
nearly the whole work of Gide.

Even his concept of heroism is ruled by it. His heroes are monomaniacs
of a thought which they believe or create ideal. His “Roi Candaule” is
a man stupefied by the _idea_ of his possessions.

That which does not nourish his brain is a reason for depression, and
as love or passion absorbs the brain without nourishing it, he resents
it. Every attempt of a purely amorous adventure is a failure, as well
in “L’Immoraliste” as in the “Tentative Amoureuse.”

On the contrary, when it becomes by struggle a problem for the brain
it excites him. Alissa was really his only love, and he could not
love Isabelle when she had lost her power of attraction through the
revelation of the unknown she represented to his mind.

The exaltation of Gide is a Nietzschean exaltation--it is an exaltation
caused by the power of mind.

The definition of genius he gives in “Prétextes” is very characteristic
from that point of view. He calls it: “Le sentiment de la ressource.”

His sensitiveness is the sensitiveness of the brain, which is so acute
that it vibrates through his whole personality. From there comes the
clear, logical form of his tales.

The book, “Prometheus Illbound,” which we present to the English public
to-day is one of the most characteristic books of Gide: a work of pure
intellectual fantasy, where the subtle brain of the author has full
play. It is the expression of the humorous side of a mind which must be
ranked among the greatest of the world’s literature.

                                                      LILIAN ROTHERMERE.




  PROMETHEUS
  ILLBOUND

        Eagle, vulture or dove.
                        VICTOR HUGO.




In the month of May 189..., at two o’clock in the afternoon, this
occurred which might appear strange:

On the boulevard leading from the Madeleine to the Opéra, a stout
gentleman of middle age, with nothing remarkable about him but uncommon
corpulence, was approached by a thin gentleman, who smilingly, thinking
no harm, we believe, gave him back a handkerchief that he had just
dropped. The corpulent gentleman thanked him briefly and was going his
way when he suddenly leant towards the thin man and must have asked
for information, which must have been given, for he produced from his
pocket a portable inkpot and pens, which without more ado he handed to
the thin gentleman, and also an envelope which up to this minute he had
been holding in his hand. And those who passed could see the thin man
writing an address upon it.--But here begins the strange part of the
story, which no newspaper, however, reported: the thin gentleman, after
having given back the pen and the envelope, had not even the time to
smile adieu when the fat gentleman, in form of thanks, abruptly struck
him on the face, then jumped in a cab and disappeared, before any of
the spectators, stupefied with surprise (I was there), thought of
stopping him.

I have been told since that it was Zeus, the banker.

The thin gentleman, visibly upset by the attentions of the crowd,
insisted that he had hardly felt the blow, notwithstanding that the
blood poured out of his nose and his cut-open lip. He begged them to
be kind enough to leave him alone, and the crowd, on his insistence,
slowly dispersed. Thus the reader will allow us to leave at present
some one he will hear of sufficiently later on.




A CHRONICLE OF PRIVATE MORALITY


I


I will not speak of public morals, for there are none, but this reminds
me of an anecdote:

       *       *       *       *       *

When, on the heights of the Caucasus, Prometheus found that chains,
clamps, strait-waistcoats, parapets, and other scruples, had on the
whole a numbing effect on him, for a change he turned to the left,
stretched his right arm and, between the fourth and fifth hours of
an autumn afternoon, walked down the boulevard which leads from
the Madeleine to the Opéra. Different Parisian celebrities passed
continually before his eyes. Where are they going? Prometheus asked
himself, and settling himself in a café with a book he asked: “Waiter,
where are they going?”


THE HISTORY OF THE WAITER AND THE MIGLIONAIRE

--If his lordship could see them coming and going every day as I do,
said the waiter, he would also ask where do they come from? It must be
the same place, as they pass every day. I say to myself: Since they
always return they cannot have found what they want. I now wait for his
lordship to ask me: What are they looking for? and his lordship will
see what I shall reply.

Then Prometheus asked: What are they looking for?

The waiter replied: Since they do not remain where they go, it cannot
be happiness. His lordship may believe me or not, and, coming nearer,
he said in a low voice: They are looking for their personalities;--His
lordship does not live here?...

--No, said Prometheus.

--One can easily see that, said the waiter; Yes: personality; we call
it here idiosyncrasy: Like me (for example), from what you see, you
think I am just a waiter in a restaurant! Well! your lordship, no!
It is by choice; you may believe me or not: I have an inner life: I
observe. Personalities are the only interesting things; and then the
relations between personalities. It is very well arranged in this
restaurant; tables for three; I will explain the management later on.
You will dine soon, will you not? We will introduce you....

Prometheus was a little tired. The waiter continued: Yes, tables for
three, that is what I found the easiest: three gentlemen arrive; they
are introduced; they are introduced (if they wish it, of course), for
in my restaurant before dining you must give your name; then say what
you do; so much the worse if you deceive each other. Then you sit down
(not I); you talk (not I, of course)--but I put you in sympathy; I
listen; I scrutinize; I direct the conversation. At the end of dinner I
know three inner men, three personalities! They, no. I, you understand,
I listen, I bring into relation; they submit to the relationship....
You will ask me: What do you gain by this? Oh, nothing at all! It
pleases me to create relationships.... Oh! not for me!... It is what
one could call an absolutely gratuitous act.

Prometheus appeared a little tired. The waiter continued: A gratuitous
act! Does this convey nothing to you?--To me it seems extraordinary. I
thought for a long time that this was the one thing that distinguished
man from the animals--a gratuitous act. I called man an animal capable
of a gratuitous act;--and then afterwards I thought the contrary; that
man is the only being incapable of acting gratuitously;--gratuitously!
just think; without reason--yes, I hear--shall we say without motive;
incapable! then this idea began to fidget me. I said to myself:
why does he do this? why does he do that? ... and yet I am not a
determinist ... but that reminds me of an anecdote:

--I have a friend, my lord, you will hardly believe me, who he is a
miglionaire. He is also intelligent. He said to himself: A gratuitous
act? how to do it? And understand this does not only mean an act
that brings no return.... No, but gratuitous: an act that has no
motive. Do you understand? no interest, no passion, nothing. The act
disinterested; born of itself; the act without aim, thus without
master; the free act; the act Autochthon!

--Hey? said Prometheus.

--Listen well, said the waiter. My friend went out one morning, taking
with him a bank-note of £20 in an envelope and a blow prepared in his
hand.

The point was to find somebody without choosing him. So he drops his
handkerchief in the street, and, to the man who picks it up (evidently
kindly since he picked it up), the miglionaire:

--Pardon, sir, do you not know some one?

The other:--Yes, several.

The miglionaire: Then, sir, will you have the kindness to write his
name on this envelope; here is a table, pens, and a pencil....

The other, good-naturedly, writes, then:--Now, sir, will you explain
yourself...?

The miglionaire replies: It is on principle; then (I forgot to tell you
he is very strong) he strikes him with the blow he had in his hand;
then calls a cab and disappears.

Do you understand?--two gratuitous acts in one go! The bank-note of £20
sent to an address which he had not selected, and the blow given to a
person who selected himself to pick up the handkerchief. No! but is
it gratuitous enough? And the relation? I bet you have not seriously
scrutinized the relationship; for, as the act is gratuitous, it is what
we call here reversible: One receives £20 for a blow, and the other a
blow for £20 ... then.... No one knows ... one is lost--think of it! A
gratuitous act! There is nothing more demoralizing.--But my lord is
beginning to be hungry; I beg his lordship’s pardon; I forget myself, I
talk too much.... Will his lordship kindly give me his name,--so that I
can introduce him....

--Prometheus, said Prometheus simply.

--Prometheus! I was right, his lordship is a stranger here ... and his
lordship’s occupation is...?

--I do nothing, said Prometheus.

--Oh! no. No, said the waiter with an ingratiating smile.--Only to see
his lordship, one knows at once that he is a man with an occupation.

--It is so long ago, stammered Prometheus.

--Never mind, never mind, continued the waiter. Anyway, his lordship
need not be uneasy; in introducing I only say the name, if you like;
but the occupation never. Come, tell me: his lordship’s occupation
is...?

--Making matches, murmured Prometheus, blushing.

There followed a painful silence, the waiter understanding that he
should not have insisted, Prometheus feeling that he should not have
answered.

In a consoling tone: Well! after all his lordship does not make them
any more ... said the waiter. But then, what? I must write down
something, I cannot write simply: Prometheus. His lordship has perhaps
an avocation, a speciality.... After all, what can his lordship do?

--Nothing, again said Prometheus.

--Then let us say: Journalist.--Now, if his lordship will come into the
restaurant; I cannot serve dinner outside. And he cried:--A table for
three! one!...

By two doors two gentlemen entered; they could be seen giving their
names to the waiter; but the introductions not having been asked for,
without more ado the two men both sat down.

And when they had sat down:


II

--Gentlemen, said one of them,--if I have come to this restaurant,
where the food is bad, it is only to talk. I have a horror of solitary
meals, and this system of tables for three pleases me, as with two one
might wrangle.... But you look taciturn?

--It is quite unintentional, said Prometheus.

--Shall I continue?

--Yes, please do.

--It seems to me quite possible that during lunch three people have
time to become very well known to each other,--not losing too much time
eating,--not talking too much; and avoiding trite topics; I mean to say
mentioning only strictly individual experiences. I do not pretend that
one is obliged to talk, but why come to this restaurant, where the
food is bad, if conversation does not suit you?

Prometheus was very tired: the waiter leant over and whispered: That is
Cocles. The one who is going to speak is Damocles.

Damocles said:


THE HISTORY OF DAMOCLES

Sir, if you had said that to me a month ago, I should have had nothing
to say; but after what happened to me last month, all my ideas have
changed. I will not speak of my old thoughts except to make you
understand in what way I have changed.--Now, gentlemen, since thirty
days I feel that I am an original, unique being, with a very singular
destiny.--So, gentlemen, you can deduct that before I felt the
contrary, I lived a perfectly ordinary life and made it my business
to be as commonplace as possible. Now, however, I must admit that a
commonplace man does not exist, and I affirm that it is a vain ambition
to try to resemble everybody, for everybody is composed of each one,
and each one does not resemble anybody. But never mind, I took the
greatest pains to put things right; I drew up statistics; I calculated
the happy medium--without understanding that extremes meet, that he
who goes to bed very late comes across him who gets up very early,
and that he who chooses the happy medium risks to fall between two
stools.--Every night I went to bed at ten. I slept eight hours and a
half. I was most careful in all my actions to copy the majority, and in
all my thoughts the most approved opinions. Useless to insist.

But one day a personal adventure happened to me, the importance of
which in the life of a well-ordered man as I was can only be understood
later on. It is a precedent; it is terrible. And I received it.


III

Just imagine, one morning I received a letter. Gentlemen, I see by
your lack of astonishment that I am telling my story very badly. I
should have told you first that I did not expect any letters. I receive
exactly two a year: one from my landlord to ask for the rent, and one
from my bankers to inform me that I can pay it; but on the first of
January I received a third letter.... I cannot tell you where from.
The address was in an unknown hand. The complete lack of character
shown in the writing, which was revealed to me by graphologists, whom
I consulted, gave me no clue. The only indication the writing gave
was one of great kindness; and here again certain of them inferred
weakness. They could make nothing of it. The writing ... I speak, you
understand, of the writing on the envelope; for in the envelope there
was none; none--not a word, not a line. In the envelope there was
nothing but a bank-note of £20.

I was just going to drink my chocolate; but I was so astonished that
I let it get cold. I searched my mind ... nobody owes me money. I
have a fixed revenue, gentlemen, and with little economies each year,
notwithstanding the continual fall in the value of stock, I manage
to live within my income. I expected nothing, as I have said. I have
never asked for anything. My usual regular life prevents me from even
wishing for anything. I gave much thought to the question after the
best methods: _Cur, unde, quo, qua?_--From where, for where, by where,
why? And this note was not an answer, for this was the first time in my
life I questioned anything. I thought: it must be a mistake; perhaps
I can repair it. This sum was intended no doubt for some one of the
same name. So I looked in the Post Office Directory for a homonym, who
was perhaps expecting the letter. But my name cannot be common, as
in looking through that enormous book I was the only one of that name
indicated.

I hoped to come to a better result by the writing on the envelope, and
find out who sent the letter, if not to whom it was sent. It was then
that I consulted the graphologists. But nothing--no nothing--they could
tell me nothing; which only increased my distress. These £20 troubled
me more and more every day; I would like to get rid of them, but I
do not know what to do. For anyhow ... or if some one had given them
to me, at least they deserve to be thanked. I should like to show my
gratitude,--but to whom?

Always in the hope of something turning up, I carry the note with
me. It does not leave me day or night. I am at its disposal. Before,
I was banal but free. Now I belong to that note. This adventure has
decided me; I was nothing, now I am somebody. Since this adventure I
am restless; I search for people to talk to, and if I come here for
my meals it is because of this system of tables for three; among the
people I meet here I hope one day to find the one who will know the
writing on the envelope, here it is....

With these words Damocles drew from his breast a sigh and from his
frock-coat a dirty yellow envelope. His full name was written there in
a very ordinary handwriting.

Then a strange thing happened: Cocles, who up to that time had been
silent, kept silent,--but suddenly raised his hand and made a violent
effort to strike Damocles, the waiter catching his hand just in time.
Cocles recovered himself and sadly made this speech, which can be only
understood later on: After all, it is better so, for if I had succeeded
in returning you the blow you would have believed it your duty to give
me back the note and ... it does not belong to me.--Then, seeing that
Damocles was waiting for a further explanation:--It was I, he added,
pointing to the envelope, who wrote your address.

--But how did you know my name, cried Damocles, rather annoyed by the
incident.

--By chance--quietly said Cocles;--in any case that is of little
importance in this story. My story is even more curious than yours; let
me tell you in a few words:


THE HISTORY OF COCLES

I have very few friends in the world; and before this happened I did
not know of one. I do not know who was my father and I never knew my
mother; for a long time I wondered why I lived.

I went out into the streets, searching for a determining influence from
outside. I thought, the first thing that happens to me will decide my
destiny; for I did not make myself as I am, too naturally kind for
that. The first act, I knew, would give a motive to my life. Naturally
kind, as I have said, my first act was to pick up a handkerchief. The
one who dropped it had only gone three steps. Running after him I
returned it to him. He took it without appearing surprised; no--the
surprise was mine when he handed me an envelope--the same one that you
see here.--Will you have the kindness, he said smilingly, to write here
an address.--What address? I asked.--That, he replied, of any one you
know.--So saying he placed near me all the materials to write with.
Wishing to let myself go to exterior influence I submitted. But, as I
told you, I have few friends in the world. I wrote the first name that
came into my head at the moment, a name quite unknown to me. Having
written the name I bowed--would have walked on--when I received a
tremendous blow on my face.

In my astonishment I lost sight of my adversary. When I came to myself,
I was surrounded by a crowd. All spoke at once. They would not let me
alone. I could only rid myself of their attentions by assuring them
that I was not hurt at all, even though my jaw caused me terrible pain
and my nose was bleeding furiously.

The tumefaction of my face confined me to my room for a week. I passed
my time thinking:

Why did he strike me?

It must have been a mistake. What could he have against me? I have
never hurt anybody; nobody could wish me ill.--There must be a reason
for ill-will.

And if it was not a mistake?--for the first time I was thinking. If
that blow was intended for me! In any case, what does it matter! by
mistake or not, I received it and ... shall I return it? I have told
you, I am naturally good-hearted. And then there is another thing which
worries me: the man who struck me was much stronger than I.

When my face was well and I could again go out, I looked everywhere for
my adversary; yes, but it was to avoid him. Anyway, I never saw him
again, and if I avoided him it was without knowing it.

But--and in saying this he leant towards Prometheus, you see to-day how
everything joins up, it is becoming more complicated instead of less
so: I understand that, thanks to my blow, this gentleman has received
£20.

--Ah, but allow me! said Damocles.

--I am Cocles, sir, said he, bowing to Damocles;--Cocles! and I tell
you my name, Damocles, for you must certainly be pleased to know to
whom you owe your windfall....

--But....

--Yes--I know: we will not say to whom; we will say: from the suffering
of whom.... For understand and do not forget that your gain came from
my misfortune....

--But....

--Do not cavil, I beg you. Between your gain and my trouble there is a
relation; I do not quite know which, but there is a relation....

--But, sir....

--Do not call me sir.

--But, my dear Cocles.

--Say simply Cocles.

--But once again, my best Cocles....

--No, sir,--no, Damocles,--and it is no use your talking, for I still
wear the mark of the blow on my cheek ... it is a wound that I will
show you at once.

The conversation becoming disagreeably personal, the waiter at this
moment showed his tact.


IV

By a clever movement,--simply upsetting a full plate over
Prometheus,--he suddenly diverted the attention of the other two.
Prometheus could not restrain an exclamation, and his voice after the
others seemed so profound that one realized that up to this minute he
had not spoken.

The irritation of Damocles and Cocles joined forces.

--But you say nothing--they cried.


PROMETHEUS SPEAKS

--Oh, gentlemen, anything that I can say has so little importance....
I do not really see how ... and then the more I think.... No, truly
I have nothing to say. You have each of you a history; I have none.
Excuse me. Believe me it is with the greatest interest that I have
heard you each relate an adventure which I wish ... I could.... But
I cannot even express myself easily. No, truly you must excuse me,
gentlemen. I have been in Paris less than two hours; nothing has as yet
happened to me, except my delightful meeting with you, which gives me
such a good idea of what a conversation can be between two Parisians,
when they are both men of talent....

--But before you came here, said Cocles.

--You must have been somewhere, added Damocles.

--Yes, I admit it, said Prometheus.... But again, once more, it has
absolutely no connexion....

--Never mind, said Cocles, we came here to talk. We have both of us,
Damocles and I, already given our share; you alone bring nothing; you
listen; it is not fair. It is time to speak Mr....?

The waiter, feeling instinctively that the moment had come for the
introduction, quietly slipped in the name to complete the sentence:

--Prometheus--he said simply.

--Prometheus, repeated Damocles.--Excuse me, sir, but it seems to me
that that name already....

--Oh! interrupted Prometheus quickly, that is not of the slightest
importance.

--But if there is nothing of importance, impatiently cried the other
two, why have you come here, dear Mr.... Mr....?

--Prometheus, replied Prometheus simply.

--Dear Mr. Prometheus--as I remarked a while ago, continued Cocles,
this restaurant invites conversation, and nothing will convince me that
your strange name is the only thing that distinguishes you; if you
have done nothing, you are surely going to do something. What are you
capable of doing? What is the most distinguishing thing about you?
What have you that nobody else possesses? Why do you call yourself
Prometheus?

Drowned beneath this flow of questions Prometheus bent his head and
slowly and in a serious voice stammered...:

--What have I, gentlemen?--What have I?--Oh, I have an eagle.

--A what?

--Eagle--Vulture perhaps--opinions differ.

--An eagle! That’s funny!--an eagle ... where is he?

--You insist on seeing it, said Prometheus.

--Yes, they cried, if it is not too indiscreet.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then Prometheus, quite forgetting where he was, suddenly started up
and gave a great cry, a call to his eagle. And this stupefying thing
happened:


HISTORY OF THE EAGLE

A bird which from afar looked enormous, but which seen close to was
not so very big after all, darkened for a moment the sky above the
boulevard and sped like a whirlwind towards the café; bursting through
the window, it put out Cocles’ eye with one stroke of its wing and
then, chirruping as it did so, tenderly indeed but imperiously, fell
with a swoop upon Prometheus’ right side.

And Prometheus forthwith undid his waistcoat and offered his liver to
the bird.


V

There was a great disturbance. Voices now mingled confusedly, for some
other people had come into the restaurant.

--But for goodness’ sake, take care! cried Cocles.

His remark was unheard beneath the loud cries of:

--That! an eagle! I don’t think!! Look at that poor gaunt bird! That
... an eagle!--Not much!! at the most, a conscience.

The fact is that the great eagle was pitiful to see--thin and mangy,
and with drooping wings as it greedily devoured its miserable pittance,
the poor bird seemed as if it had not eaten for three days.

Others, nevertheless, made a fuss and whispered insinuatingly to
Prometheus: But, sir, I hope you do not think that this eagle
distinguishes you in any way. An eagle, shall I tell you?--an eagle, we
all have one.

--But ... said another.

--But we do not bring them to Paris, continued another.--In Paris it
is not the fashion. Eagles are a nuisance. You see what it has already
done. If it amuses you to let it eat your liver you are at liberty to
do so; but I must tell you that it is a painful sight. When you do it
you should hide yourself.

Prometheus, confused, murmured: Excuse me, gentlemen,--Oh! I am really
sorry. What can I do?

--You ought to get rid of it before you come in, sir.

And some said: Smother it.

And others: Sell it. The newspaper offices are there for nothing else,
sir.

And in the tumult which followed no one noticed Damocles, who suddenly
asked the waiter for the bill.

The waiter gave him the following:

  _3 lunches (with conversation)_          Fr. 30.00
  _Shop window_                               450.00
  _A glass eye for Cocles_                      3.50

... and keep the rest for yourself, said Damocles, handing the
bank-note to the waiter. Then he quickly made off, beaming with joy.

       *       *       *       *       *

The end of this chapter is much less interesting. Little by little
the restaurant became empty. In vain Prometheus and Cocles insisted
on paying their share of the bill--Damocles had already paid it.
Prometheus said good-bye to the waiter and Cocles, and going back
slowly to the Caucasus he thought: Sell it?--Smother it?... Tame it
perhaps?...




THE IMPRISONMENT OF PROMETHEUS


I

It was a few days after this that Prometheus, denounced by the
over-zealous waiter, found himself in prison for making matches without
a licence.

The prison was isolated from the rest of the world, and its only
outlook was on to the sky. From the outside it had the appearance of a
tower. In the inside Prometheus was consumed by boredom.

       *       *       *       *       *

The waiter paid him a visit.

--Oh! said Prometheus smiling, I am so happy to see you! I was bored
to death. Tell me, you who come from outside; the wall of this dungeon
separates me from everything and I know nothing about other people.
What is happening?--And you, first tell me what you are doing.

--Since your scandal, replied the waiter nothing much; hardly anybody
has been to the restaurant. We have lost a great deal of time in
repairing the window.

--I am greatly distressed, said Prometheus;--but Damocles? Have you
seen Damocles? He left the restaurant so quickly the other day; I was
not able to say good-bye. I am so sorry. He seemed a very quiet person,
well-mannered, and full of scruples; I was touched when he told me so
naturally of his trouble.--I hope when he left the table he was happier?

--That did not last, said the waiter. I saw him the next day more
uneasy than ever. In talking to me he cried. His greatest anxiety was
the health of Cocles.

--Is he unwell? asked Prometheus.

--Cocles?--Oh no, replied the waiter. I will say more: He sees better
since he sees with only one eye. He shows every one his glass eye, and
is delighted when he is condoled with. When you see him, tell him that
his new eye looks well, and that he wears it gracefully; but add how
he must have suffered....

--He suffers then?

--Yes, perhaps, when people do not sympathize with him.

--But then, if Cocles is well and does not suffer, why is Damocles
anxious?

--Because of that which Cocles should have suffered.

--You advise me then strongly....

--To say it, yes, but Damocles thinks it, and that’s what kills him.

--What else does he do?

--Nothing. This unique occupation wears him out. Between us, he is
a man obsessed.--He says that without those £20 Cocles would not be
miserable.

--And Cocles?

--He says the same.... But he has become rich.

--Really ... how?

--Oh! I do not know exactly;--but he has been talked about in the
papers; and a subscription has been opened in his favour.

--And what does he do with it?

--He is an artful fellow. With the money collected he thinks of
founding a hospital.

--A hospital?

--Yes, a small hospital for the one eyed. He has made himself director
of it.

--Ah bah! cried Prometheus; you interest me enormously.

--I hoped you would be interested, said the waiter.

--And tell me ... the Miglionaire?

--Oh! he, he is a wonderful chap!--If you imagine that all that upsets
him! He is like me: he observes.... If it would amuse you, I will
introduce you to him--when you come out of this....

--Well, by the way, why am I here? Prometheus said at last. What am I
accused of? Do you know, waiter, you seem to know everything?

--My goodness no, pretended the waiter. All that I know is that it is
only preliminary detention. After they have condemned you, you will
know.

--Well, so much the better! said Prometheus. I always prefer to know.

--Good-bye, said the waiter; it is late. With you it is astonishing how
the time flies.... But tell me: your eagle? What has become of him?

--Bless me! I have thought no more of him, said Prometheus. But when
the waiter had gone Prometheus began to think of his eagle.


HE MUST INCREASE BUT I MUST DECREASE

And as Prometheus was bored in the evening, he called his eagle.--The
eagle came.

--I have waited a long time for thee, said Prometheus.

Why didst thou not call me before? replied the eagle.

For the first time Prometheus looked at his eagle, casually perched
upon the twisted bars of the dungeon. In the golden light of the sunset
he appeared more spiritless than ever; he was grey, ugly, stunted,
surly, resigned, and miserable; he seemed too feeble to fly, seeing
which Prometheus cried with pity.

--Faithful bird, he said to him, dost thou suffer?--tell me: what is
the matter?

--I am hungry, said the eagle.

--Eat, said Prometheus, uncovering his liver.

The bird ate.

--I suffer, said Prometheus.

But the eagle said nothing more that day.


II

The next day at sunrise Prometheus longed for his eagle; he called
it from the depth of the reddening dawn, and as the sun rose the
eagle appeared. He had three more feathers and Prometheus sobbed with
tenderness.

--How late thou comest, he said, caressing his feathers.

--It is because I cannot yet fly very fast, said the bird. I skim the
ground....

--Why?

--I am so weak!

--What dost thou want to make thee fly faster?

--Thy liver.

--Very well, eat.

The next day the eagle had eight more feathers and a few days after he
arrived before the dawn. Prometheus himself became very thin.

--Tell me of the world, he said to the eagle. What has happened to all
the others?

--Oh! now I fly very high, replied the eagle; I see nothing but the sky
and thee.

His wings had grown slowly bigger.

--Lovely bird, what hast thou to tell me this morning?

--I have carried my hunger through the air.

--Eagle, wilt thou never be less cruel?

--No! But I may become very beautiful.

Prometheus, enamoured of the future beauty of his eagle, gave him each
day more to eat.

One evening the eagle did not leave him.

The next day it was the same.

He fascinated the prisoner by his gnawings; and, the prisoner, who
fascinated him by his caresses, languished and pined away for love, all
day caressing his feathers, sleeping at night beneath his wings, and
feeding him as he desired.--The eagle did not stir night or day.

--Sweet eagle, who would have believed it?

--Believed what?

--That our love could be so charming.

--Ah! Prometheus....

--Tell me, my sweet bird! Why am I shut up here?

--What does that matter to thee? Am I not with thee?

--Yes; it matters little! but art thou pleased with me, beautiful eagle?

--Yes, if thou thinkest I am beautiful.


III

It was spring-time; around the bars of the tower the fragrant wisteria
was in flower.

--One day we will go away, said the eagle.

--Really? cried Prometheus.

--Because I am now very strong and thou art thinner. I can carry thee.

--Eagle, my eagle!... Take me away.

And the eagle carried him away.


A CHAPTER WHILE WAITING THE NEXT ONE

That evening Cocles and Damocles met each other. They chatted together;
but with a certain embarrassment.

--What can you expect? said Cocles, our points of view are so opposed.

--Do you think so? replied Damocles. My only desire is that we
understand each other.

--You say that, but you only understand yourself.

--And you, you do not even listen to what I say.

--I know all that you would say.

--Say it then if you know it.

--You pretend to know it better than I do.

--Alas! Cocles, you get cross;--but for the love of God tell me what
ought I to do?

--Ah! nothing more for me, I beg you; you have already given me a glass
eye....

--Glass, in lack of a better, my Cocles.

--Yes--after having half blinded me.

--But it was not I, dear Cocles.

--It was more or less; and in any case you can pay for the eye--thanks
to my blow.

--Cocles! forget the past!...

--No doubt it pleases you to forget.

--That’s not what I mean to say to you.

--But what do you mean to say then? Go on, speak!

--You do not listen to me.

--Because I know all that you would say!...

The discussion, for want of something new began to take a dangerous
turn, when both men were suddenly arrested by an advertisement which
ran as follows:

  THIS EVENING AT 8 O’CLOCK
  IN THE
  HALL OF THE NEW MOONS
  PROMETHEUS DELIVERED
  WILL SPEAK OF
  HIS
  EAGLE

  _At 8.30 the Eagle will be presented and will perform some tricks.
  At 9 o’clock a collection will be made by the waiter on behalf of
  Cocles’ hospital._

--I must see that, said Cocles.

--I will go with you, said Damocles.


IV

In the Hall of the New Moons, at eight o’clock precisely, the crowd
gathered.

Cocles sat on the left; Damocles on the right; and the rest of the
public in the middle.

A thunder of applause greeted the entry of Prometheus; he mounted the
steps of the platform, placed his eagle at the side of him, and pulled
himself together.

In the hall there was a palpitating silence....


THE PETITIO PRINCIPII

--Gentlemen, began Prometheus, I do not pretend, alas! to interest you
by what I am about to say, so I was careful to bring this eagle with
me. After each tiresome part of my lecture he will play some tricks.
I have also with me some indecent photographs and some fireworks,
with which when I reach the most serious moments of my lecture I will
try to distract the attention of the public. Thus, I dare to hope,
gentlemen, for some attention. At each new head of my discourse I shall
have the honour, gentlemen, to ask you to watch the eagle eating his
dinner,--for, gentlemen, my discourse has three heads; I did not think
it proper to reject this form, which is agreeable to my classical
mind.--This being the exordium, I will tell you at once and without
more ado, the first two heads of the discourse:

First head: One must have an eagle.

Second head: In any case, we all have one.

Fearing that you will accuse me of prejudice, gentlemen; fearing also
to interfere with my liberty of thought, I have prepared my lecture
only up to that point; the third head will naturally unfold from the
other two. I will let inspiration have all its own way.--As conclusion,
the eagle, gentlemen, will make the collection.

--Bravo! Bravo! cried Cocles.

Prometheus drank a little water. The eagle pirouetted three times round
Prometheus and then bowed. Prometheus looked round the hall, smiled at
Damocles and at Cocles, and as no sign of restlessness was as yet shown
he kept the fireworks for later on, and continued:


V

--However clever a rhetorician I may be gentlemen, in the presence of
such perspicacious minds as yours I cannot juggle away the inevitable
_petitio principii_ which awaits me at the beginning of this lecture.

Gentlemen, try as we may, we cannot escape the _petitio principii_.
Now; what is a petition of principles? Gentlemen, I dare to say it:
Every _petitio principii_ is an affirmation of temperament; for where
principles are missing, there the temperament is affirmed.

When I declare: You must have an eagle you may all exclaim: Why?--Now,
what answer can I make in reply that will not bring us back to that
formula, which is the affirmation of my temperament: I do not love men:
I love that which devours them. Temperament, gentlemen, is that which
must affirm itself. A fresh _petitio principii_, you will say. But I
have demonstrated that every _petitio principii_ is an affirmation of
temperament; and as I say one must affirm one’s temperament (for it
is important), I repeat: I do not love men: I love that which devours
them.--Now what devours man?--His eagle. Therefore, gentlemen, one must
have an eagle. I think I have fully demonstrated this.

... Alas! I see, gentlemen, that I bore you; some of you are yawning. I
could, it is true, here make a few jokes; but you would feel them out
of place; I have an irredeemably serious mind.

I prefer to circulate among you some indecent photographs; they will
keep those quiet who are feeling bored, which will enable me to go on.

Prometheus drank a drop of water. The eagle pirouetted three times
round Prometheus and bowed. Prometheus went on:


CONTINUATION OF PROMETHEUS’ LECTURE

--Gentlemen, I have not always known my eagle. That is what makes me
deduce, by a process of reasoning which the logic books I never studied
till a week ago, call by some particular name I have forgotten--that is
what makes me deduce, I say, that, even though the only eagle here is
mine, you all, gentlemen, have an eagle.

I have said nothing, up to the present, of my own history; firstly
because, up to the present, I have not understood it. And if I decide
to speak of it now it is because, thanks to my eagle, it now appears to
me marvellous.


VI

--Gentlemen, as I have already said, my eagle was not always with
me. Before his time I was unconscious and beautiful, happy and naked
and unaware. Oh! Charming days! On the many-fountained sides of the
Caucasus, lascivious Asia, naked too and unaware, held me in her arms.

Together we sported, tumbling in the valleys; the air sang, the water
laughed, the simplest flowers were fragrant for our delight. And often
we lay beneath spreading branches, among flowers which were the haunt
of murmuring bees.

Asia wedded me, all laughter and then the murmuring swarms and the
rustling leaves, with which was mingled the music of the streams,
gently lulled us to the sweetest of slumbers. Around us all
consented--all protected our inhuman solitude.--Suddenly one day Asia
said to me: You should interest yourself in men.

I first had to find them.

I was willing enough to interest myself in them--but it was to pity
them.

They lived in such darkness; I invented for them certain kinds of fire,
and from that moment my eagle began. And it is since that day that I
have become aware that I am naked.

At these words, applause arose from various parts of the hall. All of a
sudden Prometheus broke into sobs.

The eagle flapped his wings and cooed.

With an agonizing gesture Prometheus opened his waistcoat and offered
his tortured liver to the bird.

The applause redoubled.

Then the eagle pirouetted three times round Prometheus, who drank a few
drops of water, and continued his lecture in these words:


VII

--Gentlemen, my modesty overcame me. Excuse me, it is the first
time I speak in public. But now it is my sincerity which overcomes
me. Gentlemen, I have been more interested in men than I have ever
admitted. Gentlemen, I have done a great deal for men. Gentlemen, I
have passionately, wildly, and deplorably loved men--and I have done so
much for them--one can almost say that I have made them; for before,
what were they? They existed, but had no consciousness of existence;
I made this consciousness like a fire to enlighten them, gentlemen; I
made it with all the love I bore them.--The first consciousness they
had was that of their beauty. It is this which caused the propagation
of the race. Men were prolonged in their posterity. The beauty of
the first was repeated, equally, indifferently, uneventfully. It
could have lasted a long time.--Then I grew anxious, for I carried
in me already, without knowing it, my eagle’s egg and I wanted more
or better. This propagation, this piecemeal prolongation, seemed to
me to indicate in them an expectancy--when in reality only my eagle
was waiting. I did not know; that expectancy I thought was in man;
that expectancy I put in man. Besides, having made man in my image,
I now understood that in every man there was something hatching; in
each one was the eagle’s egg.... And then, I do not know; I cannot
explain this.--All that I know is that, not satisfied with giving them
consciousness of existence, I also wished to give them a reason for
existence. So I gave them Fire, flame and all the arts which a flame
nourishes. By warming their minds, I brought forth the devouring faith
in progress. And I was strangely happy when their health was consumed
in producing it. No more belief in good, but the morbid hope for
better. The belief in progress, gentlemen, that was their eagle. Our
eagle is our reason for existence, gentlemen.

Man’s happiness grew less and less--but that was nothing to me: the
eagle was born, gentlemen! I loved men no more, I loved what fed on
them. I had had enough of a humanity without history.... The history of
man is the history of their eagles, gentlemen.


VIII

Applause broke out here and there. Prometheus, abashed, excused himself:

--Gentlemen, I was lying: pardon me: it did not happen quite so
quickly: No, I have not always loved eagles: For a long time I
preferred men; their injured happiness was dear to me, because once
having interfered I believed myself responsible, and in the evening
every time I thought of it, my eagle, sad as remorse, came to eat.

He was at this time gaunt and grey, careworn and morose, and he was
as ugly as a vulture.--Gentlemen, look at him now and understand why
I tell you this; why I asked you to come here; why I entreat you to
listen to me. It is because I have discovered this: the eagle can
become very beautiful. Now, every one of us has an eagle; as I have
just most earnestly asserted. An eagle?--Alas, a vulture perhaps! no,
no, not a vulture, gentlemen!--Gentlemen, you must have an eagle....

       *       *       *       *       *

And now I touch the most serious question:--Why an eagle?... Ah!
Why?--let him say why. Here is mine, gentlemen; I bring him to you....
Eagle! Will you reply now? Anxiously Prometheus turned towards his
eagle. The eagle was motionless and remained silent.... Prometheus
continued in a distressed voice:

--Gentlemen, gentlemen, I have vainly questioned my eagle.... Eagle!
speak now: every one listens to you.... Who sends you? Why have you
chosen me? Where do you come from? Where do you go to? Speak: What is
your nature? (The eagle remained silent.) No, nothing! Not a word!
Not a cry!--I hoped he would speak to you at any rate; that is why I
brought him with me.... Must I speak alone here?--All is silence!--All
is silence!

What does it mean?... I have questioned in vain. Then turning towards
the audience:

Oh! I hoped, gentlemen, that you would love my eagle, that your love
would affirm his beauty.--That is why I gave myself up to him, that is
why I filled him with the blood of my soul.... But I see I am alone
in admiring him. Is it not enough for you that he is beautiful? Or do
you not admit his beauty? Look at him at least. I have lived only for
him--and now I bring him to you: There he is! As for me I live for
him--but he ... but he, why does he live?

Eagle that I have nourished with the blood of my soul, whom with
all my love I have caressed ... (here Prometheus was interrupted by
sobs)--must I then leave the earth without knowing why I loved you, nor
what you will do, nor what you will be, after me on the earth ... on
the earth? I have ... asked in vain ... in vain....

The words choked in his throat--his voice could not be heard through
his tears.--Pardon me, gentlemen,--he continued a little calmer; pardon
me for saying such serious things, but if I knew more serious ones I
would say them....

Perspiring, Prometheus wiped his face, drank some water, and added:


THE END OF PROMETHEUS’ LECTURE

--I have only prepared my lecture up to this point....

... At these words there was a rustling among the audience; several,
feeling bored, wished to go out.

--Gentlemen, cried Prometheus, I beseech you to stay, it will not be
very long now; but the most important thing of all remains to be said,
if I have not already persuaded you.... Gentlemen!--for goodness’
sake.... Here! quickly: a few fireworks; I will keep the best for the
end.... Gentlemen!--sit down again, I pray you; look: do not think I
want to economize: I light six at a time.--But first, waiter, shut the
doors.

The fireworks were more or less effective. Nearly every one sat down
again.

--But where was I? cried Prometheus. I counted upon getting under
weigh; disturbance has checked me.

--So much the better, cried some one.

--Ah! I know ... continued Prometheus. I wished to tell you again....

--Enough! enough!! cried voices from all parts of the hall.

... That you must love your eagle.

Several cried “Why?” ironically.

--I hear, gentlemen, some one asks me “Why?” I reply: Because then he
will become beautiful.

--But if we become ugly?

--Gentlemen, I do not speak here words of self-interest....

--One can see that.

--They are words of self-devotion. Gentlemen, one must devote oneself
to one’s eagle.... (Agitation--many get up.) Gentlemen, do not
move: I will be personal. It is not necessary to remind you of the
history of Cocles and Damocles.--All here know it. Well--Well! I
will tell them to their faces: the secret of their lives is in their
self-devotion to their debt: You, Cocles, to your blow; you, Damocles,
to your bank-note. Cocles, your duty was to make your scar deeper
and your empty orbit emptier, oh! Cocles! yours, Damocles, to keep
your bank-note, to continue owing it, owing it without shame, owing
even more, owing it with joy. There is your eagle; there are other
and more glorious ones. But I tell you this: the eagle will devour us
anyway--vice or virtue--duty or passion,--cease to be commonplace and
you cannot escape it. But....

(Here the voice of Prometheus was barely heard in the tumult)--but if
you do not feed your eagle lovingly he will remain grey and miserable,
invisible to all and sly; then you will call him conscience, not worthy
of the torments he causes; without beauty.--Gentlemen, you must love
your eagle, love him to make him beautiful; for it is for his future
beauty that you must love your eagle....

Now I have finished, gentlemen, my eagle will make the collection.
Gentlemen, you must love my eagle.--In the meantime I will let off some
fireworks....

       *       *       *       *       *

Thanks to the pyrotechnic diversion, the assembly dispersed without too
much trouble; but Damocles took cold on coming out of the hall.




THE ILLNESS OF DAMOCLES


I

--You know that he is not at all well, said the waiter, seeing
Prometheus a few days later.

--Who?

--Damocles--Oh! very bad:--it was coming out after your lecture that he
was taken ill....

--But what is the matter?

--The doctors hesitate;--it is a very unusual illness ... a shrinkage
of the spine....

--The spine?

--Yes, the spine.--At least, unless a miracle happens he must get
worse. He is very low, I assure you, and you should go and see him.

--You go very often yourself?

--I? Yes, every day.--He is very anxious about Cocles; I bring him news
every day.

--Why doesn’t Cocles go to see him himself?

--Cocles?--He is too busy. Don’t you remember your lecture? It has
made an extraordinary effect upon him. He talks of nothing but
self-devotion, and passes all his time looking in the streets for
another blow, which may benefit some unknown Damocles. In vain he
offers his other cheek.

--Why not tell the Miglionaire?

--I give him news every day. That is really the reason why I visit
Damocles every day.

--Why does he not go and see Damocles himself?

--That is what I tell him, but he refuses. He does not wish to be
known. And yet Damocles would certainly get well immediately if he knew
his benefactor. I tell him all this, but he insists upon keeping his
incognito--and I understand now that it is not Damocles but his illness
which interests him.

--You spoke of introducing me?...

--Yes, at once, if you like.

They went off immediately.


II

Not knowing him ourselves, we have decided not to say very much about
the waiter’s friend, Zeus, but just to report these few remarks.


INTERVIEW OF THE MIGLIONAIRE

The waiter:--Is it not true that you are very rich?

The Miglionaire, half turning towards Prometheus:--I am richer than
you can ever imagine. You belong to me; he belongs to me; everything
belongs to me.--You think I am a banker; I am really something quite
different. My effect on Paris is hidden, but it is none the less
important. It is hidden because it is not continuous. Yes, I have
above all the spirit of initiative. I launch; then, once the affair is
set going, I leave it; I have nothing more to do with it.

The waiter:--Isn’t it true that your actions are gratuitous?

The Miglionaire:--It is only I, only a person whose fortune is
infinite, who can act with absolute disinterestedness; for man it is
impossible. From that comes my love of gambling; I do not gamble for
gain, you understand--I gamble for the pleasure of gambling. What could
I gain that I do not possess already? Even time.... Do you know my age?

Prometheus and the waiter:--You appear still young, sir.

The Miglionaire:--Well, do not interrupt me, Prometheus.--Yes, I have a
passion for gambling. My game is to lend to men. I lend, but it is not
for pleasure. I lend, but it is sinking the capital. I lend, but with
an air of giving.--I do not wish it known that I lend. I play, but I
hide my game. I experiment; I play, as a Dutchman sows his seed; as he
plants a secret bulb; that which I lend to men, that which I plant in
man, I amuse myself by watching it grow; without that, man would be so
empty!--Let me tell you my most recent experience. You will help me to
analyse it. Just listen, you will understand later.

I went down into the street with the idea of making some one suffer for
a gift I would make to another; to make one happy by the suffering of
the other. A blow and a note of £20 was all that was necessary. To one
the blow, and to the other the note. Is it clear? What is less clear is
the way of giving them.

--I know it already, interrupted Prometheus.

--Oh, really, you know of it, said Zeus.

--I have met both Damocles and Cocles; it is precisely about them that
I have come to speak to you:--Damocles looks and calls for you, he is
very anxious; he is ill;--for goodness’ sake go and see him.

--Sir, stop--said Zeus--I have no need of advice from anybody.

--What did I tell you? said the waiter.

Prometheus was going away, but suddenly turned again: Sir, pardon me.
Excuse an indiscreet question. Oh! show it to me, I beg you! I should
love so much to see it....

--What?

--Your eagle.

--But I have no eagle, sir.

--No eagle? He has no eagle! But....

--Not so much of one as I can hold in the hollow of my hand. Eagles
(and he laughed), eagles! It is I who give them.

Prometheus was stupefied.

--Do you know what people say? the waiter asked the banker.

--What do they say?

--That you are God.

--I let them say so, said he.


III

Prometheus went to see Damocles; and then he went very often. He did
not talk to him every time; but in any case the waiter gave him the
news. One day he brought Cocles with him.

The waiter received them.

--Well, how is he? asked Prometheus.

--Bad. Very bad, replied the waiter. For three days the miserable man
has not been able to take any food. His bank-note torments him; he
looks for it everywhere; he thinks he may have eaten it;--he takes a
purgative and thinks to find it in his stool. When his reason returns
and he remembers his adventure, he is again in despair. He has a grudge
against you, Cocles, because he thinks you have so complicated his debt
that he no longer knows where he is. Most of the time he is delirious.
At night there are three of us to watch him, but he keeps leaping upon
his bed, which prevents us sleeping.

--Can we see him? said Cocles.

--Yes, but you will find him changed. He is devoured by anxiety. He has
become thin, thin, thin. Will you recognize him?--And will he recognize
you?

They entered on the tips of their toes.


THE LAST DAYS OF DAMOCLES

Damocles’ bedroom smelt horribly of medicines. Low and very narrow, it
was lighted gloomily by two night-lights. In an alcove, covered with
innumerable blankets, one could see Damocles tossing about. He spoke
all the time, although there was no one near him. His voice was hoarse
and thick. Full of horror Prometheus and Cocles looked at each other;
he did not hear them approach and continued his moaning as if he were
alone.

--And from that day, he was saying, it seemed to me, both that my life
began to have another meaning and that I could no longer live! That
hated bank-note I believed I owed it to every one and I dared not give
it to any one--without depriving all the others. I only dreamed of
getting rid of it--but how?--The Savings Bank! but this increased my
trouble; my debt was augmented by the interest on the money; and, on
the other hand, the idea of letting it stagnate was intolerable to me;
so I thought it best to circulate the sum; I carried it always upon
me; regularly every week I changed the note into silver, and then the
silver into another note. Nothing is lost or gained in this exchange.
It is circular insanity.--And to this was added another torture: that
it was through a blow given to another that I received this note!

One day, you know well, I met you in a restaurant....

--He is speaking of you, said the waiter.

--The eagle of Prometheus broke the window of the restaurant
and put out Cocles’ eye.... Saved!!--Gratuitously, fortuitously,
providentially! I will slip my bank-note into the interstices of these
events. No more debt! Saved! Ah! gentlemen! what an error.... It was
from that day that I became a dying man. How can I explain this to you?
Will you ever understand my anguish? I am still in debt for this note,
and now it is no longer in my possession! I tried like a coward to get
rid of my debt, but I have not acquitted it. In my nightmares I awake
covered with perspiration. Kneeling down, I cry aloud: Lord! Lord! to
whom do I owe this? I know nothing of it, but I owe--owing is like
duty. Duty, gentlemen, is a horrible thing; look at me, I am dying of
it.

And now I am more tormented than ever because I have passed this debt
on to you, Cocles.... Cocles! it does not belong to you that eye, as
the money it was bought with did not belong to me. And what hast thou
that thou didst not receive? says the Bible ... received from whom?
whom?? Whom??... My distress is intolerable.

The wretched man spoke in short, sharp jerks; his voice grew
inarticulate, choked as it was by gasps, sobs and tears. Anxiously
Prometheus and Cocles listened; they took each other’s hand and
trembled. Damocles said, seeming to see them:

Debt is a terrible duty, gentlemen ... but how much more terrible is
the remorse of having wished to evade a duty.... As if the debt could
cease to exist because it was transferred to another.... But your eye
burns you, Cocles!--Cocles!! I am certain it burns you, your glass
eye; tear it out!--If it does not burn you, it ought to burn you, for
it is not yours--your eye ... and if it is not yours it must be your
brother’s ... whose is it? whose? Whose??

The miserable man wept; he became delirious and lost strength; now and
again fixing his eyes on Prometheus and Cocles he seemed to recognize
them, crying:

--But understand me for pity’s sake! The pity I claim from you is not
simply a compress on my forehead, a bowl of fresh water, a soothing
drink; it is to understand me. Help me to understand myself, for pity’s
sake! _This_ which has come to me from I know not where, to whom do
I owe it? to whom?? to Whom??--And, in order to cease one day from
owing it one day, believing, I made with _this_ a present to others!
To others!!--to Cocles--the gift of an eye!! but it is not yours, that
eye, Cocles! Cocles!! give it back. Give it back, but to whom? to whom?
to Whom??

Not wishing to hear more, Cocles and Prometheus went away.


IV

--There, you see, said Cocles, coming down the stairs, the fate of a
man who has grown rich by another’s suffering.

--But is it true that you suffer? asked Prometheus.

--From my eye occasionally, said Cocles, but from the blow, no more; I
prefer to have received it. It does not burn any more; it has revealed
to me my goodness. I am flattered by it; I am pleased about it. I never
cease to think that my pain was useful to my neighbour and that it
brought him £20.

--But the neighbour is dying of it, Cocles, said Prometheus.

--Did you not tell him that one must nourish one’s eagle? What do you
expect? Damocles and I never could understand each other, our points of
view are entirely opposed.

Prometheus said good-bye to Cocles and ran to the house of Zeus, the
banker.

--For goodness’ sake, show yourself! he said, or at least make yourself
known. The miserable man is dying. I could understand your killing him
since that is your pleasure; but let him know at least who it is that
is killing him--that he may be at peace.

The Miglionaire replied:--I do not wish to lose my prestige.


V

The end of Damocles was admirable; he pronounced a little while before
his last hour some words which drew tears from the most unbelieving and
made pious people say: How edifying! The most notable sentiment was the
one expressed so well in these words: I hope at any rate that he will
not have felt the loss of it.

--Who? asked some one.

--He, said Damocles, dying; he who gave me ... something.

--No! it was Providence, cleverly replied the waiter.

Damocles died after hearing these comforting words.


THE FUNERAL

--Oh! said Prometheus to Cocles, leaving the chamber of death,--all
that is horrible! The death of Damocles upsets me. Is it true that my
lecture can have been the cause of his illness?

--I cannot say, said the waiter, but I know that at any rate he was
greatly moved by all that you said of your eagle.

--Of our eagle, replied Cocles.

--I was so convinced, said Prometheus.

--That is why you convinced him.... Your words were very strong.

--I thought that no one paid any attention and I insisted.... If I had
known that he would listen so attentively....

--What would you have said?

--The same thing, stammered Prometheus.

--Then?

--But I would not say the same thing now.

--Are you no longer convinced?

--Damocles was too much so.... I have other ideas about my eagle.

--By the way, where is he?

--Do not fear, Cocles. I have my eye on him.

--Good-bye. I shall wear mourning, said Cocles. When shall we see each
other again?

--But ... at the funeral, I suppose. I will make a speech there. I
ought to repair in some way the damage I have done. And afterwards I
invite you to the funeral feast in the restaurant exactly where we saw
Damocles for the first time.


VI

At the funeral there were not many people; Damocles was very little
known; his death passed unnoticed except for those few interested in
his history. Prometheus, the waiter, and Cocles found themselves at the
cemetery, also a few idle listeners of the lecture. Every one looked at
Prometheus, as they knew he was to speak; and they said: “What will he
say?” for they remembered what he had said before. Before Prometheus
began to speak great astonishment was caused by the fact that he was
unrecognizable; he was fat, fresh, smiling; smiling so much that his
conduct was judged a little indecent, as smiling still he advanced to
the edge of the grave, turned his back on it, and spoke these simple
words:


THE HISTORY OF TITYRUS

--Gentlemen who are kind enough to listen to me, the words of Scripture
which serve as text for my brief discourse to-day are these:

_Let the dead bury their dead._ We will therefore occupy ourselves no
more with Damocles.--The last time that I saw you all together was to
hear me speak of my eagle; Damocles died of it; leave the dead ... it
is nevertheless because of him, or rather thanks to his death, that now
I have killed my eagle....

--Killed his eagle!!! cried every one.

--That reminds me of an anecdote.... Let us grant I have said nothing.


I

In the beginning was Tityrus.

And Tityrus being alone and completely surrounded by swamps was
bored.--Then Menalcas passed by, who put an idea into the head of
Tityrus, a seed in the swamp before him. And this idea was the seed and
this seed was the Idea. And with the help of God the seed germinated
and became a little plant, and Tityrus in the evening and in the
morning knelt before it, thanking God for having given it to him. And
the plant became tall and great, and as it had powerful roots it very
soon completely dried up the soil around it, and thus Tityrus had at
last firm earth on which to set his feet, rest his head, and strengthen
the works of his hands.

When this plant had grown to the height of Tityrus, Tityrus tasted the
joy of sleeping stretched under its shadow. Now, this tree, being an
oak-tree, grew enormously; so much so that soon Tityrus’ hands were
no longer sufficient to till and hoe the earth around the oak--to
water the oak, to prune, to trim, to decorticate, to destroy the
caterpillars, and to ensure in due season the picking of its many
and diverse fruits. He engaged, therefore, a tiller and a hoer, and
a trimmer and a decorticator, and a man to destroy the caterpillars,
and a man to water the oak, and two or three fruit boys. And as each
had to keep strictly to his own speciality, there was a chance of each
person’s work being well done.

In order to arrange for the paying of the wages, Tityrus had to have
an accountant, who soon shared with a cashier the worries of Tityrus’
fortune; this grew like the oak.

Certain arguments arising between the trimmer, and the pruner, and the
depilator--as to where each man’s work began and finished, Tityrus saw
the necessity of an arbitrator, who called for two lawyers to expose
both sides of the question.

Tityrus took a secretary to record their judgments, and as they were
only recorded for future reference, there had to be a keeper of the
rolls.

On the soil meanwhile houses appeared one by one, and it was necessary
to have police for the streets, to guard against excesses. Tityrus,
overcome by work, began to feel ill. He sent for a doctor who told him
to take a wife--and finding the work too much for him, Tityrus was
forced to choose a sheriff, and he himself was therefore appointed
mayor. From this time he had only very few hours of leisure, when he
could fish with a line from the windows of his house, which still
continued to open on the swamp.

Then Tityrus instituted bank holidays so that his people might enjoy
themselves; but as this was expensive and no one was very rich,
Tityrus, in order to be able to lend them all money, first began by
raising it from each of them separately.

Now the oak in the middle of the plain (for in spite of the town,
in spite of the effort of so many men, it had never ceased to be
the plain), the oak, as I said, in the middle of the plain, had no
difficulty in being placed so that one of its sides was in shadow and
the other in the sunshine. Under the oak then, on the shady side
Tityrus rendered justice; on the sunny side he fulfilled his natural
necessities. And Tityrus was happy, for he felt his life was useful to
others and fully occupied.


II

Man’s effort can be intensified. Tityrus’ activity seemed to grow with
encouragement; his natural ingenuity caused him to think of other means
of employment. He set to work to furnish and decorate his house. The
suitable character of the hangings and the convenience of each object
were much admired. Industrious, he excelled in empiricism; he even made
a little hook to hang his sponges on the wall, which after four days he
found perfectly useless. Then Tityrus built another room by the side
of his room, where he could arrange the affairs of the nation; the two
rooms had the same entrance, to indicate that their interests were the
same; but because of the one entrance which supplied both rooms with
air, the two chimneys would not draw at the same time, so that when it
was cold and a fire was lighted in one, the other was full of smoke.
The days therefore that he wished for a fire, Tityrus was forced to
open his window.

As Tityrus protected everything and worked for the propagation of the
species, a time came when the slugs crawled on his garden paths in such
abundance that he did not know where to step for fear of crushing them
and finally resigned.

He invited a woman with a circulating library to come to the town, with
whom he opened a subscription. And as she was called Angèle he became
accustomed to go there every three days and pass his evenings with her.
And by this means Tityrus learnt metaphysics, algebra, and theodicy.
Tityrus and Angèle began to practise together successfully various
accomplishments, and Angèle showing particular taste for music, they
hired a grand piano upon which Angèle played the little tunes which
between times he composed for her.

Tityrus said to Angèle: So many occupations will kill me. I am at the
end of my tether; I feel that I am getting used up, these consolidated
interests intensify my scruples, and as my scruples grow greater I grow
less. What is to be done?

--Shall we go away? said Angèle to him.

--I cannot go: I have my oak.

--Suppose you were to leave it, said Angèle.

--Leave my oak! You don’t mean it!

--Is it not large enough now to grow alone?

--But I am attached to it.

--Become unattached, replied Angèle.

And a little while after, having realized strongly that after all,
occupations, responsibilities, and other scruples could hold him no
more than the oak, Tityrus smiled and went off, taking with him the
cash-box and Angèle, and towards the end of the day walked with her
down the boulevard which leads from the Madeleine to the Opéra.


III

That evening the boulevard had a strange look. One felt that something
unusually grave was going to happen. An enormous crowd, serious and
anxious, overflowed the pavement, spreading on to the road, which
the Paris police, placed at intervals, with great trouble kept free.
Before the restaurants, the terraces disproportionately enlarged by the
placing of chairs and tables, made the obstruction more complete and
rendered circulation impossible. Now and again an onlooker impatiently
stood upon his chair for an instant--the time that one could beg him
to get down. Evidently all were waiting; one felt without doubt that
between the two pavements upon the protected route something was going
to pass. Having found a table with great difficulty and paid a large
price for it, Angèle and Tityrus installed themselves in front of two
glasses of beer and asked the waiter:

--What are they all waiting for?

--Where does your lordship come from? said the waiter. Does not your
lordship know that every one is waiting to see Meliboeus? He will
pass by between 5 and 6 ... and there--listen: I believe one can
already hear his flute.

From the depths of the boulevard the frail notes of a pipe were heard.
The crowd thrilled with still greater attention. The sound increased,
came nearer, grew louder and louder.

--Oh, how it moves me! said Angèle.

The setting sun soon threw its rays from one end of the boulevard to
the other. And, as if issuing from the splendour of the setting sun,
Meliboeus was at last seen advancing--preceded by the simple sound of
his flute.

At first nothing could be clearly distinguished but his figure, but
when he drew nearer:

--Oh, how charming he is! said Angèle. In the meantime Meliboeus
as he arrived opposite Tityrus, ceased to play his flute, stopped
suddenly, saw Angèle, and every one realized that he was naked.

Oh! said Angèle, leaning upon Tityrus, how beautiful he is! what strong
thighs he has! His playing is adorable!

Tityrus felt a little uncomfortable.

--Ask him where he is going, said Angèle.

--Where are you going? questioned Tityrus.

Meliboeus replied:--Eo Romam.

--What does he say? asked Angèle.

Tityrus:--You would not understand, my dear.

--But you can explain it to me, said Angèle.

--Romam, insisted Meliboeus.... Urbem quam dicunt Romam.

Angèle:--Oh, it sounds delicious! What does it mean?

Tityrus:--But my dear Angèle, I assure you it is not so delightful as
it sounds; it means quite simply that he is going to Rome.

--Rome! said Angèle dreamily. Oh, I should love so much to see Rome!

Meliboeus, resuming his flute, once more began to play his primæval
melody, and at the sound, Angèle, in a passion of excitement, raised
herself, stood up, drew near; and as Meliboeus’ arm was bent to her
hand, she took it, and thus the two together went on their way along
the boulevard; further, further they went, gradually vanished from
sight, and disappeared into the finality of the twilit dusk.

The crowd, now unbridled in its agitation, became more and more
tumultuous. On all sides one heard the questions: What did he
say?--What did he do?--Who was that woman?--And when, a few minutes
later, the evening papers appeared, a furious curiosity swept over them
like a cyclone, and it was suddenly divulged that the woman was Angèle,
and that this Meliboeus was a naked person who was going to Italy.

Then, all their curiosity having died down, the crowd streamed off like
water flowing away and the main boulevards were deserted.

And Tityrus found himself alone, completely surrounded by the swamp.

Let us grant that I have said nothing.

       *       *       *       *       *

An irrepressible laughter shook the audience for several seconds.

--Gentlemen, I am happy that my story has amused you, said Prometheus,
laughing also. Since the death of Damocles I have found the secret of
laughter. For the present I have finished, gentlemen. Let the dead bury
the dead and let us go quickly to lunch.

He took the waiter by one arm and Cocles by the other; they all left
the cemetery; after passing the gates, the rest of the assembly
dispersed.

--Pardon me, said Cocles. Your story was charming, and you made us
laugh.... But I do not quite understand the connexion....

--If there had been more you would not have laughed so much, said
Prometheus. Do not look for too much meaning in all this. I wanted
above all to distract you, and I am happy to have done so; surely I
owed you that? I wearied you so the other day.

They found themselves on the boulevards.

--Where are we going? said the waiter.

--To your restaurant, if you do not mind, in memory of our first
meeting.

--You are passing it, said the waiter.

--I do not recognize it.

--It is all new now.

--Oh, I forgot!... I forgot that my eagle.... Don’t trouble: he will
never do it again.

--Is it true, said Cocles, what you say?

--What?

--That you have killed him?

--And that we are going to eat him?... Do you doubt it? said
Prometheus. Have you looked at me?--When he was alive, did I dare to
laugh?--Was I not horribly thin?

--Certainly.

--He fed on me long enough. I think now that it is my turn.

--A table! Sit down! Sit down, gentlemen!

--Waiter, do not serve us: as a last remembrance, take the place of
Damocles.

       *       *       *       *       *

The meal was more joyful than it is possible to say. The eagle was
found to be delicious, and at dessert they all drank his health.

--Has he then been useless? asked one.

--Do not say that, Cocles!--his flesh has nourished us.--When I
questioned him he answered nothing, but I eat him without bearing him
a grudge: if he had made me suffer less, he would have been less fat;
less fat, he would have been less delectable.

--Of his past beauty, what is there left.

--I have kept all his feathers.

       *       *       *       *       *

_It is with one of them that I write this little book. May you, rare
friend, not find it too foolish._




EPILOGUE


TO ENDEAVOUR TO MAKE THE READER BELIEVE THAT IF THIS BOOK IS SUCH AS IT
IS, IT IS NOT THE FAULT OF THE AUTHOR

One does not write the books one wants to.

                                 _Journal des Goncourt._




_The history of Leda made such a great stir and covered Tyndarus with
so much glory that Minos was not much disturbed to hear Pasiphaë say to
him: “It can’t be helped. I do not like men.”_

_But later: “It is very provoking (and it has not been easy!) I trusted
that a God had hidden there. If Zeus had done his share I should have
produced a Dioscurus; thanks to this animal, I have only given birth to
a calf.”_


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