Gustave Flaubert - The Temptation of St. Antony; Or, A Revelation of the Soul

Antony gazes at them, in spite of himself.

"All the women you ever have met, from the daughter of the cross-roads singing beneath her lantern to the fair patrician scattering leaves from the top of her litter, all the forms you have caught a glimpse of, all the imaginings of your desire, ask for them! I am not a woman – I am a world. My garments have but to fall, and you shall discover upon my person a succession of mysteries."

Antony's teeth chattered.

"If you placed your finger on my shoulder, it would be like a stream of fire in your veins. The possession of the least part of my body will fill you with a joy more vehement than the conquest of an empire. Bring your lips near! My kisses have the taste of fruit which would melt in your heart. Ah! how you will lose yourself in my tresses, caress my breasts, marvel at my limbs, and be scorched by my eyes, between my arms, in a whirlwind – "

Antony makes the sign of the Cross.

"So, then, you disdain me! Farewell!"

She turns away weeping; then she returns.

"Are you quite sure? So lovely a woman?"

She laughs, and the ape who holds the end of her robe lifts it up.

"You will repent, my fine hermit! you will groan; you will be sick of life! but I will mock at you! la! la! la! oh! oh! oh!"

She goes off with her hands on her waist, skipping on one foot.

The slaves file off before Saint Antony's face, together with the horses, the dromedaries, the elephant, the attendants, the mules, once more covered with their loads, the negro boys, the ape, and the green-clad couriers holding their broken lilies in their hands – and the Queen of Sheba departs, with a spasmodic utterance which might be either a sob or a chuckle.

WHEN she has disappeared, Antony perceives a child on the threshold of his cell.

"It is one of the Queen's servants," he thinks.

This child is small, like a dwarf, and yet thickset, like one of the Cabiri, distorted, and with a miserable aspect. White hair covers his prodigiously large head, and he shivers under a sorry tunic, while he grasps in his hand a roll of papyrus. The light of the moon, across which a cloud is passing, falls upon him.

Antony observes him from a distance, and is afraid of him.

"Who are you?"

The child replies:

"Your former disciple, Hilarion."

Antony – "You lie! Hilarion has been living for many years in Palestine."

Hilarion – "I have returned from it! It is I, in good sooth!"

Antony , draws closer and inspects him – "Why, his figure was bright as the dawn, open, joyous. This one is quite sombre, and has an aged look."

Hilarion – "I am worn out with constant toiling."

Antony – "The voice, too, is different. It has a tone that chills you."

Hilarion – "That is because I nourish myself on bitter fare."

Antony – "And those white locks?"

Hilarion – "I have had so many griefs."

Antony , aside – "Can it be possible? …"

Hilarion – "I was not so far away as you imagined. The hermit, Paul, paid you a visit this year during the month of Schebar. It is just twenty days since the nomads brought you bread. You told a sailor the day before yesterday to send you three bodkins."

Antony – "He knows everything!"

Hilarion – "Learn, too, that I have never left you. But you spend long intervals without perceiving me."

Antony – "How is that? No doubt my head is troubled! To-night especially …"

Hilarion – "All the deadly sins have arrived. But their miserable snares are of no avail against a saint like you!"

Antony – "Oh! no! no! Every minute I give way! Would that I were one of those whose souls are always intrepid and their minds firm – like the great Athanasius, for example!"

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