XVII
THE MAIDENS OF THE ROCKS
I awakened in my room. The sun, already at its zenith, filled theplace with unbearable light and heat.
The first thing I saw, on opening my eyes, was the shade, ripped down,lying in the middle of the floor. Then, confusedly, the night's eventsbegan to come back to me.
My head felt stupid and heavy. My mind wandered. My memory seemedblocked. "I went out with the leopard, that is certain. That red markon my forefinger shows how he strained at the leash. My knees arestill dusty. I remember creeping along the wall in the room where thewhite Tuareg were playing at dice. That was the minute after KingHiram had leapt past them. After that ... oh, Morhange and Antinea....And then?"
I recalled nothing more. I recalled nothing more. But something musthave happened, something which I could not remember.
I was uneasy. I wanted to go back, yet it seemed as if I were afraidto go. I have never felt anything more painful than those conflictingemotions.
"It is a long way from here to Antinea's apartments. I must have beenvery sound asleep not to have noticed when they brought me back--forthey have brought me back."
I stopped trying to think it out. My head ached too much.
"I must have air," I murmured. "I am roasting here; it will drive memad."
I had to see someone, no matter whom. Mechanically, I walked towardthe library.
I found M. Le Mesge in a transport of delirious joy. The Professor wasengaged in opening an enormous bale, carefully sewed in a brownblanket.
"You come at a good time, sir," he cried, on seeing me enter. "Themagazines have just arrived."
He dashed about in feverish haste. Presently a stream of pamphlets andmagazines, blue, green, yellow and salmon, was bursting from anopening in the bale.
"Splendid, splendid!" he cried, dancing with joy. "Not too late,either; here are the numbers for October fifteenth. We must give avote of thanks to good Ameur."
His good spirits were contagious.
"There is a good Turkish merchant who subscribes to all theinteresting magazines of the two continents. He sends them on byRhadames to a destination which he little suspects. Ah, here are theFrench ones."
M. Le Mesge ran feverishly over, the tables of contents.
"Internal politics: articles by Francis Charmes, AnatoleLeroy-Beaulieu, d'Haussonville on the Czar's trip to Paris. Look, astudy by Avenel of wages in the Middle Ages. And verse, verses of theyoung poets, Fernand Gregh, Edmond Haraucourt. Ah, the resume of abook by Henry de Castries on Islam. That may be interesting.... Takewhat you please."
Joy makes people amiable and M. Le Mesge was really delirious with it.
A puff of breeze came from the window. I went to the balustrade and,resting my elbows on it, began to run through a number of the _Revuedes Deux Mondes_.
I did not read, but flipped over the pages, my eyes now on the linesof swarming little black characters, now on the rocky basin which layshivering, pale pink, under the declining sun.
Suddenly my attention became fixed. There was a strange coincidencebetween the text and the landscape.
"In the sky overhead were only light shreds of cloud, like bits ofwhite ash floating up from burnt-out logs. The sun fell over a circleof rocky peaks, silhouetting their severe lines against the azure sky.From on high, a great sadness and gentleness poured down into thelonely enclosure, like a magic drink into a deep cup...."[17]
[Footnote 17: Gabrielle d'Annunzio: _Les Vierges aux Rochers_. Cf. The_Revue des Deux Mondes_ of October 15, 1896; page 867.]
I turned the pages feverishly. My mind seemed to be clearing.
Behind me, M. Le Mesge, deep in an article, voiced his opinions inindignant growls.
I continued reading:
"On all sides a magnificent view spread out before us in the rawlight. The chain of rocks, clearly visible in their barren desolationwhich stretched to the very summit, lay stretched out like some greatheap of gigantic, unformed things left by some primordial race ofTitans to stupefy human beings. Overturned towers...."
"It is shameful, downright shameful," the Professor was repeating.
"Overturned towers, crumbling citadels, cupolas fallen in, brokenpillars, mutilated colossi, prows of vessels, thighs of monsters,bones of titans,--this mass, impassable with its ridges and gullies,seemed the embodiment of everything huge and tragic. So clear were thedistances...."
"Downright shameful," M. Le Mesge kept on saying in exasperation,thumping his fist on the table.
"So clear were the distances that I could see, as if I had it under myeyes, infinitely enlarged, every contour of the rock which Violantehad shown me through the window with the gesture of a creator...."
Trembling, I closed the magazine. At my feet, now red, I saw the rockwhich Antinea had pointed out to me the day of our first interview,huge, steep, overhanging the reddish brown garden.
"That is my horizon," she had said.
M. Le Mesge's excitement had passed all bounds.
"It is worse than shameful; it is infamous."
I almost wanted to strangle him into silence. He seized my arm.
"Read that, sir; and, although you don't know a great deal about thesubject, you will see that this article on Roman Africa is a miracleof misinformation, a monument of ignorance. And it is signed ... doyou know by whom it is signed?"
"Leave me alone," I said brutally.
"Well, it is signed Gaston Boissier. Yes, sir! Gaston Boissier, grandofficer of the Legion of Honor, lecturer at the _Ecole NormaleSuperieure_, permanent secretary of the French Academy, member of theAcademy of Inscriptions and Literature, one of those who once ruledout the subject of my thesis ... one of those ... ah, poor university,ah, poor France!"
I was no longer listening. I had begun to read again. My forehead wascovered with sweat. But it seemed as if my head had been cleared likea room when a window is opened; memories were beginning to come backlike doves winging their way home to the dovecote.
"At that moment, an irrepressible tremor shook her whole body; hereyes dilated as if some terrible sight had filled them with horror.
"'Antonello,' she murmured.
"And for seconds, she was unable to say another word.
"I looked at her in mute anguish and the suffering which drew her dearlips together seemed also to clutch at my heart. The vision which wasin her eyes passed into mine, and I saw again the thin white face ofAntonello, and the quick quivering of his eyelids, the waves of agonywhich seized his long worn body and shook it like a reed."
I threw the magazine upon the table.
"That is it," I said.
To cut the pages, I had used the knife with which M. Le Mesge had cutthe cords of the bale, a short ebony-handled dagger, one of thosedaggers that the Tuareg wear in a bracelet sheath against the upperleft arm.
I slipped it into the big pocket of my flannel dolman and walkedtoward the door.
I was about to cross the threshold when I heard M. Le Mesge call me.
"Monsieur de Saint Avit! Monsieur de Saint Avit!
"I want to ask you something, please."
"What is it?"
"Nothing important. You know that I have to mark the labels for thered marble hall...."
I walked toward the table.
"Well, I forgot to ask M. Morhange, at the beginning, the date andplace of his birth. After that, I had no chance. I did not see himagain. So I am forced to turn to you. Perhaps you can tell me?"
"I can," I said very calmly.
He took a large white card from a box which contained several anddipped his pen.
"Number 54 ... Captain?"
"Captain Jean-Marie-Francois Morhange."
While I dictated, one hand resting on the table, I noticed on my cuffa stain, a little stain, reddish brown.
"Morhange," repeated M. Le Mesge, finishing the lettering of myfriend's name. "Born at...?"
"Villefranche."
"Villefranche, Rhone. What date?"
"The fourtee
nth of October, 1859."
"The fourteenth of October, 1859. Good. Died at Ahaggar, the fifth ofJanuary, 1897.... There, that is done. A thousand thanks, sir, foryour kindness."
"You are welcome."
I left M. Le Mesge.
My mind, thenceforth, was well made up; and, as I said, I wasperfectly calm. Nevertheless, when I had taken leave of M. Le Mesge, Ifelt the need of waiting a few minutes before executing my decision.
First I wandered through the corridors; then, finding myself near myroom, I went to it. It was still intolerably hot. I sat down on mydivan and began to think.
The dagger in my pocket bothered me. I took it out and laid it on thefloor.
It was a good dagger, with a diamond-shaped blade, and with a collarof orange leather between the blade and the handle.
The sight of it recalled the silver hammer. I remembered how easily itfitted into my hand when I struck....
Every detail of the scene came back to me with incomparable vividness.But I did not even shiver. It seemed as if my determination to killthe instigator of the murder permitted me peacefully to evoke itsbrutal details.
If I reflected over my deed, it was to be surprised at it, not tocondemn myself.
"Well," I said to myself, "I have killed this Morhange, who was once ababy, who, like all the others, cost his mother so much trouble withhis baby sicknesses. I have put an end to his life, I have reduced tonothingness the monument of love, of tears, of trials overcome andpitfalls escaped, which constitutes a human existence. What anextraordinary adventure!"
That was all. No fear, no remorse, none of that Shakespearean horrorafter the murder, which, today, sceptic though I am and blase andutterly, utterly disillusioned, sets me shuddering whenever I am alonein a dark room.
"Come," I thought. "It's time. Time to finish it up."
I picked up the dagger. Before putting it in my pocket, I went throughthe motion of striking. All was well. The dagger fitted into my hand.
I had been through Antinea's apartment only when guided, the firsttime by the white Targa, the second time, by the leopard. Yet I foundthe way again without trouble. Just before coming to the door with therose window, I met a Targa.
"Let me pass," I ordered. "Your mistress has sent for me." The manobeyed, stepping back.
Soon a dim melody came to my ears. I recognized the sound of a_rebaza_, the violin with a single string, played by the Tuareg women.It was Aguida playing, squatting as usual at the feet of her mistress.The three other women were also squatted about her. Tanit-Zerga wasnot there.
Oh! Since that was the last time I saw her, let, oh, let me tell youof Antinea, how she looked in that supreme moment.
Did she feel the danger hovering over her and did she wish to brave itby her surest artifices? I had in mind the slender; unadorned body,without rings, without jewels, which I had pressed to my heart thenight before. And now I started in surprise at seeing before me,adorned like an idol, not a woman, but a queen!
The heavy splendor of the Pharaohs weighted down her slender body. Onher head was the great gold _pschent_ of Egyptian gods and kings;emeralds, the national stone of the Tuareg, were set in it, tracingand retracing her name in Tifinar characters. A red satin _schenti_,embroidered in golden lotus, enveloped her like the casket of a jewel.At her feet, lay an ebony scepter, headed with a trident. Her barearms were encircled by two serpents whose fangs touched her armpits asif to bury themselves there. From the ear pieces of the _pschent_streamed a necklace of emeralds; its first strand passed under herdetermined chin; the others lay in circles against her bare throat.
She smiled as I entered.
"I was expecting you," she said simply.
I advanced till I was four steps from the throne, then stopped beforeher.
She looked at me ironically.
"What is that?" she asked with perfect calm.
I followed her gesture. The handle of the dagger protruded from mypocket.
I drew it out and held it firmly in my hand, ready to strike.
"The first of you who moves will be sent naked six leagues into thered desert and left there to die," said Antinea coldly to her women,whom my gesture had thrown into a frightened murmuring.
She turned to me.
"That dagger is very ugly and you hold it badly. Shall I send Sydya tomy room to get the silver hammer? You are more adroit with it thanwith the dagger."
"Antinea," I said in a low voice, "I am going to kill you."
"Do not speak so formally. You were more affectionate last night. Areyou embarrassed by them?" she said, pointing to the women, whose eyeswere wide with terror.
"Kill me?" she went on. "You are hardly reasonable. Kill me at themoment when you can reap the fruits of the murder of...."
"Did--did he suffer?" I asked suddenly, trembling.
"Very little. I told you that you used the hammer as if you had donenothing else all your life."
"Like little Kaine," I murmured.
She smiled in surprise.
"Oh, you know that story.... Yes, like little Kaine. But at leastKaine was sensible. You ... I do not understand."
"I do not understand myself, very well."
She looked at me with amused curiosity.
"Antinea," I said.
"What is it?"
"I did what you told me to. May I in turn ask one favor, ask you onequestion?"
"What is it?"
"It was dark, was it not, in the room where _he_ was?"
"Very dark. I had to lead you to the bed where he lay asleep."
"He _was_ asleep, you are sure?"
"I said so."
"He--did not die instantly, did he?"
"No. I know exactly when he died; two minutes after you struck him andfled with a shriek."
"Then surely _he_ could not have known?"
"Known what?"
"That it was I who--who held the hammer."
"He might not have known it, indeed," Antinea said. "But he did know."
"How?"
"He did know ... because I told him," she said, staring at me withmagnificent audacity.
"And," I murmured, "he--he believed it?"
"With the help of my explanation, he recognized your shriek. If he hadnot realized that you were his murderer, the affair would not haveinterested me," she finished with a scornful little smile.
Four steps, I said, separated me from Antinea. I sprang forward. But,before I reached her, I was struck to the floor.
King Hiram had leapt at my throat.
At the same moment I heard the calm, haughty voice of Antinea:
"Call the men," she commanded.
A second later I was released from the leopard's clutch. The six whiteTuareg had surrounded me and were trying to bind me.
I am fairly strong and quick. I was on my feet in a second. One of myenemies lay on the floor, ten feet away, felled by a well-placed blowon the jaw. Another was gasping under my knee. That was the last timeI saw Antinea. She stood erect, both hands resting on her ebonyscepter, watching the struggle with a smile of contemptuous interest.
Suddenly I gave a loud cry and loosed the hold I had on my victim. Acracking in my left arm: one of the Tuareg had seized it and twisteduntil my shoulder was dislocated.
When I completely lost consciousness, I was being carried down thecorridor by two white phantoms, so bound that I could not move amuscle.