THE BEGINNING

The hospital ward was as white as a maiden’s boudoir. The setting sun agonisingly
filtered its rays through the two tall windows projecting two orange-coloured rhombs onto
the floor as they held the legs of the bed in a quivering embrace.
The freshly painted walls gave off a strange smell of whiteness that sifted in tiny waves
onto the table and the three chairs between the windows, the terracotta stove in the corner,
the nightstand and even on the wicker armchair nurse Dafina was sitting in watching,
dressed in her white overall, her white cap on the top of her head, between her breasts
bulging with health a tiny red cross. Timid greyish shadows emerged from all corners
flickering back and forth then suddenly vanished as if frightened by the heavy silence that
lined the room and swallowed the grave tick-tock of the clock hanging above the calendar on
the strip of wall between the who windows.
Dafina was sitting motionless, her hands in her lap on a carefully folded newspaper,
looking at the patient lying in bed his arms stretching over the white sheet, his head wrapped
up in a white bandage leaving open to view only his waxen face fretted by three parallel dark
lines; his eyebrows, his eyelashes and his moustache. His closed eyelids seemed violet
patches; his thick lips were so pale that one could not make out their outlines.
There was tenderness and bewilderment in the nurse’s eyes. The poor patient had all her
sympathy especially since she had learned that he was the victim of a love story. She was
kind-hearted and sentimental. Her golden curls caressed her ruddy cheeks and her lazy blue
eyes were swimming in tears. Her stand-in had whispered to her this morning that the victim
was an important professor, that he had been shot by a jealous husband, that they have
brought him here late last night to the St. Mary Sanatorium and that doctor Filostrat was
furious which meant that the patient’s chances of survival were slim….
To Dafina, a temperament thirsting for romance, her colleague’s words were like salt on a
raw wound, her heart trembled with curiosity. She wanted more exciting details and there
was no one to provide them. The patient had lain motionless all-day long. He had not opened
his eyes even when they changed his bandage. All that the temperature chart could tell her in
neat handwriting was the name: Toma Novac. She had pinned high hopes on the Universul.
The other nurse had slipped the newspaper into her hand around noon. The “Drama in Alba
Street”, however, was very briefly reported in a couple of dry lines. Dafina read them over
and over again searching for hidden meanings in the conventional wording. Not finding what
she yearned for, her soul wallowed in a grey sadness as the printed words haunted her: “
Yesterday around seven o’clock in the evening at number 7 Alba Street, the Russian émigré
Stephen Alexandrovich Poplinsky who has recently arrived in Bucharest from Berlin were he
had fled from the Revolution put four bullets through the chest of Toma Novac well-known
professor at the University of Bucharest. The reason seems to have been the same old story:
jealousy. First investigations apparently point to the fact that the distinguished professor was
caught in the very act of adultery with the young and beautiful wife of the jealous foreigner. It
was a dead shot so that professor Novac, quickly rushed to Dr. Filostrat’s sanatorium, is in a
state of agony. Only a miracle could save his life. The husband was arrested, the wife is
unhurt except for the shock. The news of the crime created quite a sensation since the
murderer is the descendant of nobility; they say that he might actually be a baron. He had a
few acquaintances in Bucharest and was determined to settle in Romania while his wife-
rumour has it- was the owner of age-long estates.”
But what was she like? How did they get to know each other? How were they caught?
What about the criminal? All these questions tortured Dafina as she sat in her wicker
armchair which to her was tantamount to the rack. She tried to overcome her curiosity by
closely watching the hero of the drama. She liked him. “ He deserves to be loved even by a
countess”, she said to herself. She loved him.
1
 Then she felt like reading the newspaper all over again, more carefully this time. She
thought she might discover something about the patient between the lines. She slowly
unfolded the paper and stepped herself in the “Crime in Alba Street”.
Then Toma Novac raised his eyelids as if waked from a dreamless sleep. His whole body
was shaking with pain . The dim light gave off a strange sheen like that of light bulbs soaked
in blood. He first noticed the clock between the windows: the pendulum was swinging slowly,
heavily, silently while the face of the clock was so blurred he could distinguish neither figures
nor hands. There was a calendar underneath and he could read a black Arabic seven and a
red Roman seven.
“What a funny calendar”, he thought. “ The month is also in figures…. Never saw such a
thing…”
Then suddenly he said to himself as if to test his own lucidity: “ The seventh day of the
seventh month… What a coincidence… Which month is the seventh?”
Meanwhile his eyes hitherto motionless, now began to shift slowly right and left, left and
right in surprise wondering: “Where am I? …. What happened?”
He felt as though an iron band was squeezing his head tight and he wanted to raise his
hand and touch his head. The effort caused an avalanche of pain and gave rise to a short
stifled groan which in turn bred other pains like knives stabbing his body in thousands of
places: he dared not even close his eyes.
Dafina heard the groan as if in a dream. Frightened, she dropped the newspaper, jumped
to her feet went near the bed and murmured in a daze, “Can I help you, sir?... I’m so glad
you’ve…”
Toma Novac now caught sight of her for the first time. It made him so angry that he
closed his eyes quickly forgetting all about his suffering.
“ A sanatorium!” he said to himself bewildered, furious. “how on earth did I get here?...
What happened?”
Instead of answers all that his ears could perceive was the rhythmic frightened breathing
of the nurse who in a stupor was standing near his bed. Some moments later he heard her
footsteps – three footsteps only – the swishing of her new calico frock, the creaking of the
wicker chair and then the rustling of papers as Dafina unfolded her newspaper, shaking her
head. She riveted her eyes on her hero writhing as if his body were being torn by an unseen
claw.
In the web of silence that permeated the ward the patient’s thoughts set out furiously in
search of an explanation. His memory itself seemed to have been wounded and could not pull
itself together. Vague snatches of recollections emerged and then vanished in his brain with
no coherence whatever. Eventually a woman’s name cropped up haltingly out of the maze of
kaleidoscopic images:
“Ileana…”
Then the name itself set out in dizzy zigzags to gather all the wandering and blurred
memories into a consistent whole. The image of the woman was clearer now: blond hair and
eyes shining with happiness… it set his soul ablaze with joy and all his pains seemed to have
melted away instantly. For a moment. Then behind the woman there loomed a shadow which
gripped her in its arms more and more brutally until it turned into a wild and frightful
apparition, eyes burning with hatred. Then came four thunderclaps that rang in his ears
driving all shreds of thought out of his overwrought brain. The shots – always four at a time –
came back more and more rapidly finally turning into an endless whistling that ran through
his bones, his flesh, his nerves and stirred up pains everywhere. Then the whistling stopped
all of a sudden as if the very roots of hearing had been eradicated leaving behind a bitter
darkness in which snatches of uncontrolled thought like drops of rain on a windy night in
autumn were again flitting about.
“I must be dying now!” the thought flashed through his mind. The very thought filled him
with anger like the iron pliers that were squeezing his forehead. If only he could relieve it! But
his strength had waned.
2
 “I must be dying now!” the thought reverberated through his brain defiantly. Unable to
drive it away he finally accepted the idea with resignation.
“He who is born must die”.
An ironical smile flickered across his lips. That was a motto he had taken from folklore. He
had been repeating it willy-nilly for over twenty years everywhere showing off although he
realised how cheap it was. And now in spite of the irony of it all the words seemed to have
acquired a surprisingly deep meaning.
“Death is a hypothesis up to the moment when one finds himself in its grips with no hope of
returning”.
It was an uncalled for answer to his own trite motto. He remembered quite clearly how he
had smiled with haughty superiority when he had first heard the remark but he could not
recall when he had heard it and who he had heard it from. He probed into the past with all his
might to find out who had first said it but the other thought forced its way in:
“I must die now!”
It was so compelling this time that it stirred up the age-old question:
“Why?”
Then there was the unending chain of arguments through which he had in vain tried for a
lifetime to find complete fulfilment and in his soul again the woman took shape more
tantalising than ever as if to guide him on a long and unknown journey. All of a sudden his soul
filled with a painful and overwhelming joy. It was over in a flash but it seemed to make up for
the many sufferings of a lifetime. “True happiness will always last but an instant”, the sick
man thought the memory still fresh in his soul. ”Human nature cannot stand it longer. For
often in a lifetime of many years one does not meet with such an instant, not even come close
to it.”
Toma Novac felt his mind clear and calm as if aster a good long rest. Memories rushed in
from everywhere caressing his soul and speaking to him only about Ileana.
It was on a morning in May that he first met her accidentally in a street teeming with
people. He recognised her on the spot although he has never seen her before. For days his
heart had been waiting and looking for her. And he found her among the thousands of
common people. He first caught sight of her green eyes soft and warm. They shook him to the
very foundations of his being; with the speed of lightning he had discovered the meaning of all
life’s mysteries. Then she caught his eye and he understood that she too had recognised him
although she had never seen him before. She was walking down the street arm in arm with a
stranger but Toma felt that her heart was lagging behind keeping time with his own.
For seven long days he had lost her. Misgivings and hopes gnawed at his insides. Then
they met again unexpectedly. He followed her everywhere for hours on end to her home late
in the evening. Next day he knocked at her door, walked in and they fell into each other’s
arms – before knowing each other’s name. they both realised that their souls had been
seeking each other for a long time maybe for thousands of years.
The stranger he had seen her with the other day found them locked in embrace. Finding
himself at gunpoint Toma’s only thought was Ileana. He took the bullets without pain. What
hurt him was her scream. It was a desperate scream that tore at his heart.
“I must die now!” the thought sprang out of his brain like a red-hot silver wire that had
burnt out all the crowded memories leaving behind a grey vacuum.
The vacuum grew and grew like a soap bubble which one blows and blows without the
least care that it might burst.
“This means that the end is drawing near” the patient thought and he felt a strain of horror
sneaking into the threatening vacuum, a horror which despite everything it seemed almost
pleasant.
That very moment, however, Toma Novac sensed that the nurse had again come near his
bed. He could even hear her heartbeats.
“She is looking at the temperature chart” he said to himself. “Now she’s looking at me…
she’s lifting my hand now…. I think she wants to feel my pulse….”
3
 His innermost horror and his thoughts suddenly merged into a feeling of relief. Other
memories cropped up in a confused mass at first but then they straightened out round like the
links of a chain.
“That’s it”, he sighed feeling great satisfaction, “It was Tudor Aleman! That’s the man,
Aleman… At last”
He now realised that it was Aleman who made the remark that tormented him a short
while ago. That the recollection had been right there all the time at his bedside near the nurse
just waiting for the opportunity to arise.
Toma Novac had met the man at a christening in the house of the lawyer Brebenaru.
Aleman was short and thin, a white goatee on his chin. His hair too was white, his cheeks
ruddy, his dark eyes always smiling and so sparkling that they seemed to drill holes into the
very bottom of your soul. He had come late, during the baptismal service. The priest was
reading and singing, a precentor was giving snuffling answers while all the people around
were chattering in whispers. Aleman alone listened devoutly to the words of the Gospel.
When the service was over, Novac murmured apathetically, “Beautiful service…”
“God’s voice is always beautiful”, the old man replied with a strange twinkle in his eye.
Toma looked at him in surprise and went over to have a short chat with Brebenaru.
Afterwards talked with a plump coquette and then back again to Aleman as if under a spell.
The man was explaining to a fidgety young lady that death, like birth, has but a relative
significance during the true existence of the soul. With his usual irony, Toma Novac threw his
motto into the balance. The old man, however, re-joined with a remark that went straight to
his mind like an arrow and stuck there, “Death is a hypothesis up to the moment when…”
The two men sat together all evening long. They talked about life and death and about
God. Aleman was saying the strangest things with such ingenuousness that Toma listened to
him with pleasure but could not help thinking that the man was naïve.
“Naivete is a divine virtue”, Aleman said all of a sudden as if he had been reading Toma’s
mind. “Naivete, not philosophy!”
“Unfortunately, I happen to be a professor of philosophy”, Toma murmured smiling.
“I know. I taught philosophy myself”, the old man went on, his cheeks ablaze with
excitement. “ It’s true not in a university but in a high school. I believed philosophy the way
the apostles must have believed in Christ. But when my wife died, the first one I mean, I
turned my back on all philosophies. It was then that I understood that philosophy is a play on
words. One word explains another which in turn explains another and so on and so forth until
death comes and the soul finds itself naked and deserted face to face with God.”
“Unfortunately, I happen to be an unbeliever”, Toma Novac interrupted him, smiling again
though rather impatiently this time, “so that God…”
“I was sure!” Aleman answered in triumph and with an annoying pride. “As a matter of fact
I too was an unbeliever. Once you get fed up with philosophy you don’t want to believe in
anything any more. That’s what I thought until my second wife died.”
“Death usually converts unbelievers who are anxious to believe” said Novac with a graceful
wave of his hand signifying derision.
“Nothing to laugh at, professor”, the old man persisted. “It’s the naked truth: Death is the
secret of secrets and the key to the unknown.
He sighed and stroked his goatee. His eyes, so soft and gentle were filled with tears as if
he had descended into a deep mystery. The humiliation and warmth in his eyes as he looked
at Toma gave the professor a guilty feeling and he was determined to make up for his
rudeness by saying something nice to the old man. But before he could open his mouth,
Aleman started, pulled himself together and in a different voice his eyes smiling as usual
came back with:
“There I go again! I’ve let my imagination run away with me! Here we are in a house
celebrating life and we’re talking about death. But if you feel like going on, come over to my
place, professor! You may find my collection of books interesting by way of temptation. When
shall I be expecting you?”
4
 Toma Novac promised to drop in on a certain day, at a certain time but he really did not
mean it. He was determined not to go. He had no time to waste over futile discussions about
futile things. Yet, on the set day and at the set time, he knocked at the old man’s door and was
greeted with a boisterous welcome.
“I knew you’d come”, Aleman said cheerfully, “you had to come! You wanted to keep
away but…”
The two men chatted for about an hour and then Toma asked “So you believe that you
have found the answer to the great riddle?”
Tudor Aleman’s retort was quick as lighting and almost blatantly confident:
“It all happened seven years ago! And since then death no longer frightens me, for life is
unique and everlasting, beyond earthy life and death. Life is God!”
“One word explains another word and so on”, Novac rejoiced jokingly. “Which proves
that philosophy has not forsaken you although you walked out on her”.
The old man came back with a sharp “Have you ever seen people dying?”
“People dying?... Yes I think I have”, Toma mumbled too amazed to be sure of himself.
“Well, I have seen hundreds and hundreds of people dying!” Aleman went on suddenly
flaring up with passionate belief. “In the eyes of many I have seen flashes that illuminate and
explain the mystery. It is only in his dying moment that man is able to explain to himself what
he could not understand while living on earth: the beginning and the end, the two poles
between which the seven lives of the soul unfold. The most atrocious bodily pain of a dying
man cannot extinguish the divine spark he is living through. I had my doubts for a long time
before I could understand. But exact sciences had taught me to observe and test before
believing.”
“A new kind of metempsychosis”, the professor muttered shrugging his shoulders.
“Maybe yes…. Because we are bent on interpreting reality which the soul alone can
penetrate. Oh Lord, how easy it is to make a fool even of God!”, the old man added
reproachfully.
“But a man who thinks cannot be satisfied with unexplained physical realities. You say
that you have penetrated into the very essence of life and the world. Your understanding,
however, means nothing unless it is accessible to everybody”.
What Toma wanted was a clear, round explanation, something like a system in which
interrelated parts make up a whole. Aleman, however, steered clear of a straightforward
scientific approach to the subject and kept complaining that laws were a human fabrication
and therefore could not go into the very essence of things. He lost himself in details and
digressions, finally pulled himself together and began another idea:
“You have travelled quite a bit, haven’t you?” The old man was cheerful again as if he had
found what he had been looking for. “Haven’t you ever had the impression that you were
visiting places you knew you had never seen before yet the seemed familiar? Or have you
ever met somebody you had never seen before and yet you had the feeling that you precisely
knew him or her?”
“That’s right! Toma answered somewhat enlivened. Even you… ever since I met you at
Brebenarus’ I have been wondering where I had met you before”.
“I had the same feeling”, Aleman smiled. “We seemed to have been good friends once, a
long time ago. Maybe in another life”.
“It could be no more than a supposition”, the professor added thoughtfully.
“Oh, no you don’t. You can’t solve the problem with a meaningless word!” the old man
objected. “Supposition! Just another word! Whenever you are in want of an explanation
another meaningless word comes along to fill the gap.”
He paced up and down, his hands behind his back, puffing away in a flurry of indignation.
Then as if his anger had set his thoughts in order, he went on:
“If you want to explain everything through words, you end up by explaining nothing! The
fallacy begins when we identify the words with the spirit. The soul communicates directly with
the spiritual world, the world of worlds. And the soul is the essence, the eternal, infinite
5
all-embracing spirit. The material world itself is merely one aspect of the divine essence.
Everlasting matter is involved in its very essence. Furthermore, matter and all the material
world exists in terms of human perception. Density, colour, heat, all the attributes of matter
are perceptible by man alone. As a matter of fact here is no difference between sidereal ether
and heavenly bodies; they are all, in the ultimate analysis, manifestations of the spirit.
Seeming modifications make up and maintain the countless attributes. Matter continually
changes thereby acquiring true existence; the spirit likewise arranges its elements into a
harmonious whole by perpetual regeneration. Spiritual gleams must permanently interweave
with material elements. Regeneration of the spirit can be brought about only through
identification with matter. All transformations of matter beginning with mechanical down to
biological changes are thus diverse aspects of the life-giving spirit. There is only a difference
of degree; the highest degree, of course, is man in whom the spirit is aware of itself beyond
the material crust.
If matter is identical in all its atoms, then the spirit embraces the entire godhead. The
whole and the part are identical. The billions and billions of spiritual atoms like their material
counterparts, keep moving continuously between the material and the spiritual worlds. The
life of the atom is identical with the life of the universe. The part is the whole and the whole is
the part.
The material atom, however, finds its equilibrium between two energies. The equilibrium of
the spiritual atom consists of two principles. The equilibrium of the principles lies in
spirituality and when the spiritual loses its balance it falls on the material plane. Time and
space become realities for the parts of the whole and material life begins. The two principles
retain their spiritual essence even in the transformations they go through as life-giving
elements to matter. The pure spirit throbs within them like an ideal which they perpetually
aspire after. Yet no return to the spiritual plane is possible until the two elements reunite and
thus attain their lost equilibrium. Their striving for the spiritual ideal eventually finds fulfilment
in reunion.
On the material plane, the two principles represent infinite forms of the positive and the
negative which on the higher levels of life are called male and female. When the principle
becomes aware of its origin the soul and man appear!
For instance, take a spiritual atom that loses its balance. It falls and splits into two souls:
man and woman. They are hence destined to live material lives. They must pass through all
the strata of earthly existence yearning for reunion and the spiritual world. The moment the
naked soul takes shape, man’s life begins. For the soul it is a terrible ordeal. Completely
fenced in the material shell it must with difficulty regain its identity and obey laws of material
life. It is continuously on the alert and bent on finding its mate in order to reset the balance.
The man and the woman seek each other out in the immerse turmoil of human life. A man
among millions of men yearns for only one woman out of millions of women. One man alone
and one woman alone, no one else. Adam and Eve seeking each other out unconsciously and
irresistibly. That is the raison d’etre of man’s life. All laws, moral and social conventions,
everything empathically called progress of mankind is made, remade and undone in order to
facilitate the reunion. The instinct of love is the reminiscence of divine origin. Love alone can
unite the soul of a man with the soul of a woman to make them again part of the spiritual
world. This love is the divine fruit of the human soul. God is the image of love in a man.
Love and God, whether conscious or unconscious, must be the supreme concern of
man’s soul. Without them man could not exist!
One lifetime is not enough to bring about the union of man and woman. Space and time
are impediments which the soul, fettered in its material shell, can gradually overcome. Then
even when these are subdued, new obstacles appear such as social conventions which are
often stronger than any man. The soul’s élan breaks down the moment the body collapses.
Material death releases the soul facilitating its union with its mate. Their union in the material
world can alone be redeeming. So the soul released after its first incarnation drifts about in
the space like a wretched pure consciousness waiting for the chance of a new human
6
incarnation. The second life on earth begins and death brings it to and end and the soul has
not yet found its true mate. Then comes a third life slashed by a third death. Next comes
another and yet another one. Maybe during a reincarnation the other soul has lingered on in
some far-away sphere; then man feels the dreadful uselessness of earthly life and all its
turmoil and tries to approach God through solitude and meditation.
How many earthly lives make up one true life?... Seven!... Why seven? Because seven is
the sacred number. It has always been sacred in all souls!
Each material life ends in regret over its futility. In the eyes of a dying man, in the glimmer
of the last moment, there is a quivering of the soul in helplessness and pain for it has lived its
life in vain.
It is the seventh life alone that brings about the happy reunion between the two souls.
That is why the seventh life means revelation. For the seventh death means the end of
material life and the beginning of the return to the spiritual world. In a flash the soul relives all
the earlier lives so that it may more fully enjoy the splendour of the new, eternal life awaiting
him. From now on it will no longer wander in the spheres of the material world but having
turned into pure principle, having regained its balance together with the other soul it will
resume its divine existence on the spiritual plane.
And there you are! The circle is closed. The spirit regenerated by matter , matter animated
by spirit. Perfect unity in duality”.
Aleman stopped speaking in front of Toma who had been listening his eyes downcast. The
old man’s voice had a strange timbre. When Aleman finished, Toma started as if wakened
from a dream. He looked up. Aleman was stroking his goatee with both hands alternately
smiling in full self-assurance.
“Does this system really satisfy you?” Novac asked with an unusual shyness.
“ What system? Aleman asked in surprise. “No, no! It’s not a system. System means a
sophisticated arrangement. What I spoke to you about is just a psychological evolution!”
“But your evolution, you must admit, is nothing but a metaphysical combination, Mr.
Aleman”, Toma re-joined somewhat ironically. “On the other hand you scorn philosophy as a
hybrid fabrication of the mind, on the other hand, however, you build up a veritable arbitrary
labyrinth on a doubtful revelation.
The old man turned sad and interrupted threateningly: “You will yet find one day that there
is truth in what I say!”
“Truth depends only on direct verification!”
“Direct verification comes only in the supreme moment”, Aleman more pathetically
retorted. “You will then remember I am wiser than you are: the death of others made me
understand and I learned my lesson. The majority of people understand only when we die”.
“At any rate verification in the supreme moment is rather late, so that…!
“All right… all right…. All right” the old man repeated gloomily and concluded with: “ No
point in going on!... All right… all right… all right…”
In spite of all the two became friends. They would often meet and keep talking about the
same things. Aleman would always find new details which he believed would shed more light
on things that could not be understood at a single glance. Toma, however, was more
interested in the man than his fabrications. Sometimes, when thinking of the old man he felt
upset and his heart would start throbbing as if gnawed by fear. His doubts would then
whisper to him: “But what if…?” he would brush the thought aside. He felt ashamed that he of
all people, a professor of philosophy should be troubled by the imaginings of an exultant old
man…
“Why should all his words come to my mind now of all times?” the sick man wondered
suddenly shaken by his thoughts. For a moment the question wavered back and forth
between the cells of his brain. A more tormenting thought drove it away: “What if?...
The thought dared not round off. But in his heart there was a yearning more painful than if
the thought had been completed.

7
 “Direct verification comes in the supreme moment” – he recollected faintly as if whispered
by a voice from another world.
The recollection relieved the aching in his heart so that he felt satisfied and confident. He
even convinced himself the strange thoughts that whirled in his mind were nothing but the
extravagances of his feverish brain. Then he thought that they might not be extravagant after
all. He was perfectly aware of everything around him so that he could now hear the tick-tock
of the clock, even the twittering of birds outdoors although the windows were closed. He
thought for a moment that opening his eyes might ascertain his awareness but dared not for
fear that all the previous pain would come back. He was awake now and felt more at ease, but
he found it hard to breathe and he could hear the wheezing of his lungs.
All of a sudden a noise made him start.
“Somebody is coming… I wonder who?” he thought hearing the nurse rise from her wicker
chair as the chair gave a sigh of relief.
The noise in the hall lasted for only a couple of minutes and the door was smoothly opened
wide. Doctor Filostrat tall and thin, clean-shaven, with thick curly hair appeared on the
threshold. He bowed and waved his hand like a medieval knight and courteously said: “This
way, madam… After you, Mr. Aleman”.
A tall slim blonde wearing a simple black dress and a small black hat hesitantly made her
entrance murmuring something in a voice drowned in tears. Tudor Aleman in a grey jacket,
black tie, his grey top hat in one hand, a cane in the other, rushed in as if someone were
pushing him. Their eyes searched for the patient without even noticing Dafina who stood
gaping at the beautiful woman who, she suspected, was the heroine of the drama in Strada
Alba.
The doctor closed the door carefully, approached the bed, looked at the patient, felt his
pulse with one finger and asked the nurse: “Well?”
“No news, doctor” – she murmured all upset especially by the woman’s look. “ A short
while ago he opened his eyes for a couple of seconds and has been more restive ever since.
Look how heavily he breathes!”
“ I see…” the doctor mumbled with a wry face. “What can we do? God is almighty…”
The woman came near Filostrat questioningly and imploringly while Aleman tiptoed
around the bed and reached Dafina.
“Doctor, doctor!” the woman said in a whisper so soft that it seemed like stifled sigh.
Filostrat shrugged his shoulders in compassion and helplessness. The woman’s large
mysterious green eyes were swimming with tears.
“Please, madam… please!” said the doctor gently and yet reproachfully. You promised to
control yourself… Please… It was a special favour letting you see him although the patient
needs absolute quietness. Any excitement might prove fatal. If you hadn’t gone through the
frightening attempt on his life together, believe me, I would never have permitted… But under
the circumstances I had to make an exception fot you and Mr. Aleman the patient’s good
friend.”
Aleman who had been feverishly examining Toma Novac’s face now quickly stepped over
to the doctor’s side mumbling reproachfully: “Ever since this morning I’ve been trying to
understand and…”
“Thank you, doctor…” the woman murmured softly sobbing.
The two voices struck the patient’s ear like arrows. He had heard all the noises, the
footsteps, Dafina’s words, the doctor’s words. He had been listening to find out something
about his condition. The new voices somehow played havoc with all his senses for a second.
“Ileana!”
The name caught fire in his heart dominating it, filling it with happiness.
He tried to pull his thoughts together: “Aleman has come for verification… he is sure I’m
dying.”
The thought flashed away leaving in his soul her quivering voice and her name. “Ileana…”

8
 “Doctor, please, for goodness’ sake, tell me honestly is there any hope?” the woman
asked wringing her hands while looking at the sick man tossing in his bed.
Toma drank the voice in as if it were a warm kiss. Its silken waves caressed his soul for
Ileana spoke the words in her sweet Moldavian accent giving them extra warmth.
Happiness was so much alive in the sick man’s soul that he was afraid it would choke him.
His heart was beating slowly as if each beat were trying to prolong the moments of
happiness.
“He’s got all four bullets in his chest”, Filostrat explained gravely, addressing Aleman. “His
condition is serious. We did not even try to extract them. There might be an internal
haemorrhage. As a matter of fact he has lost a lot of blood. His organism is weak.
Exhausted… after all, God can still work miracles.”
“He is dying and I am to blame!” the woman burst out no longer able to control herself.
“Forgive me Toma, my love, my only divine love!”
“Love and God” – Aleman mumbled Hoarsely, with a sudden glint in his dark eyes.
The voices of Ileana and Aleman suddenly mixed up into an annoying blending. He felt
their eyes glued onto him. It hurt. The doctor’s explanations seemed stupid to him. What
danger could there be when his consciousness was as clear as a mountain spring! He wanted
to prove that he had overcome death and tried brusquely to rise. Atrocious pains turned his
ambitious attempt into helpless tossing. But he would not give in and opened his large dark
bloodshot eyes.
He caught her eye. She was trembling with compassion, tears streaming down her pale
cheeks. Her hands were clasped as in prayer. In the depths of her green eyes there was the
melancholy gleam of her mysterious love. At the same time Toma saw Aleman’s eyes: two
black beads in which a morbid curiosity was flickering.
The strain of looking at the two was fatiguing and it lasted for only one moment. His eyelids
seemed to be made of lead and he felt that they had stiffened leaving his eyes open in a frozen
stare directed to the wall between the two windows. He saw the calendar with its black
Arabic seven and its reed Roman seven; he saw the pendulum swinging slowly,… slowly. The
face of the clock was now a shining white blank. Its hands pointed to seven o’clock sharp.
“Three sevens… the sacred number” it occurred to him. At the same time he clearly heard
Ileana’s voice as well as that of Aleman:
“Look, doctor, he’s dying… Save him, doctor… Save…”
“Do you see that cold glint in his eye, doctor? Do you…”
His hearing brusquely failed as if the door had been slammed and cut the words in two
leaving the last syllabus outside. Then the glint in his eyes went out and the pendulum froze in
mid aid.
“Is this the moment of supreme verification?” Toma thought to himself. In that case I
should be reliving in a flash all my seven lives. And yet it is not…”
The thought remained unfinished.
The soul dropped whirling into eternity. He had the feeling of falling which neither
frightened him nor gave him joy, as if any earthly sensation has been wiped out of his being,
no trace left. He could not make out how long the fall had lasted. Was it for a second or a
chain of centuries? Neither could he realise how and when falling changed into rising. His
consciousness as clear and all-embracing as ever, he found himself drifting above space and
beyond time.
In the infinite monotonous emptiness white beams were flickering from another world like
temptations that called back memories of a divine existence. His soul understood and
doubted wavering between regret and hope. Solitude embraced him. It was an embrace
which tortured him…

9
Chapter One
NAVAMALIKA

Then the torture resolved itself into a waiting, a premonition of an inevitable change. The
soul plunged whirling into the future that was now the present. Consciousness gradually lost
its all-embracing serenity; it seemed to drop deep into a whitish and stifling cloud. The
spheres of the new world squeezed the soul more and more within closer and closer
confines. All that was left was a weak flicker in space that had no beginning and no end.
Then there was the feeling of a descent down through ever thicker strata in which
consciousness grew thinner and thinner like a silver wire endlessly twisted.
All of a sudden consciousness seemed to split in two and the soul found itself shot in an
impenetrable wall.

“Be as handsome as the two Asvinis, be noble-minded like king Yayati, be generous like
Rantiveda, be devout and righteous like the son of Usinar, and may your name be Mahavira!”
Such were the words spoken by the cowherd Kaurava as he blessed his newborn son
holding him up in the cool rays of the rising sun. Held tightly in the father’s knotty hands burnt
by the scorching winds of India, the Rudy child gurgled as it quaffed the purple ways of the
dawn.
“Mahavira”, sighed Radha, the cowherd’s wife, her voice choked with sobs of happiness
as she stood by in her rags forgetting her pains in her pride that she had given a man to the
world.
Kaurava turned to her in gratitude. This was their first-born and he seemed to have
received a treasure. His heart glorified the almighty Vishnu.
“Radha”, he murmured softly, “ I am the happiest man in the world!”
He set the baby down on its mother’s lap. In his eyes Radha had always been more
beautiful than the red water-lily but now as she sat with the child in her arms she was like the
sacred mango merging into the innocent white flower navamalika. He gave mother and child
a fond look and said “ I’m going to ask the wise Rishi for his blessing”. He set off then turned
back.
“Radha, I’ll take the child with me!”, he said.
The woman’s eyes filled with tears. The great Rishi to bless her offspring! The
hermit renowned for his wisdom and devoutness far and wide even as far as Hastinapur, the
king’s city. She wrapped the child in a jacket and fondly kissed it and said “Go, Kaurava!”
The sun was rising among the undulating hills covered with age old cedars. It’s purple
face was harshly smiling like the cheeks of a warrior in the thick of the battle. To the north far
away in the horizon, the sacred Himalayas were thrusting their eternally snow capped peaks,
the abode of the powerful Indra, like a protecting wall into heavens. Ranges of mountains
descended in sloping terraces lower and lower in colours that were darker and darker down
to the kesara forest in the midst of which lay the sacred clearing where the devout Rishi was
living a life of fasting and prayer. Westwards far off in the distance the silver stream of the
Malini river gleamed softly as it lost itself in the dark waves of the sacred Ganges flowing
northwards. The village of Ram, a handful of log cabins scattered over the mountain slope
with small pastures in between looked like a collection of grey mounds in the greenness if the
field.

10
 The cowherd, holding his child in his arms, briskly climbed on the believers’ beaten path
to the kesara forest. On the edge of the forest he was met by a gazelle with large inquisitive
eyes. It mad him glad; it was a good omen. The sun’s rays were weaving a golden web
between the branches of the cedars. Red patala flowers have off a fragrance that blended
with the babbling of the monkeys leaping from tree to tree. Their shrill cries rang like daggers
rending the quietness of the forest.
Panting Kaurava finally reached the sacred clearing which was crossed by a brook
damned up that the wise man and his disciples may have their bathes of repentance. The
saint’s hut was propped up against a tree. All around there were clothes hanging on
branches to dry in the sunshine. The old man with his long white beard reaching down to his
waist was deep in prayer. Gazing at the sun he stood motionless like a pillar of stone.
Intoxicated with the child’s happiness, the cowherd made for a spot somewhere beyond
the saint’s bathing place to wade across the brook. But before his unclean feet could touch
the water he heard an angry voice thunder “Nûm!”
Frightened he stood stock still. It was a warning from the hermit angry at being
interrupted while praying. The cowherd crouched down on the grassy bank ok the brook
holding his offspring on his lap. On his sunburnt face joy had swept fear away. From the other
side of the brook he heard invocations and prayers addressed to Surya, the sun god. The old
man’s lips seemed motionless and yet his words drifted into the fragrant air like unseen holy
flowers.
“Surya, thou all-seeing god in thy presence the stars and the night like thieves slink away.
Rise over the multitude of gods and men, over the vast boundlessness and search the
heavens of Indira! Seven red steeds draw your chariot, oh Surya, with plaits of sun rays. Thou
giver of light! Rise high into the highest of heavens and save me from fear of the dark. Thou
art magnanimous and benevolent, soothe the aching of my heart! Surya, Surya!”
When the wise man was through with his prayers he beckoned Kaurava to come but Jade
him cross the brook farther downstream lest he defile the sacred bathing place. The cowherd
obeyed and waded through the water knee high feeling that he had been cleansed of all his
sins.
The great Rishi waited for him sitting on an antelope skin his staff with seven knots by his
side. Behind the hue three elderly disciples were trying to light a sacrificial fire rubbing two
sticks together. Kaurava flung himself at the holy man’s feet and kissed the gem of the
hermit’s tough haircloth coat still wet from the morning bathe.
“Merciful master”, he mumbled, “this is my child. Give him your blessing!”
The wise man took the child in his rough wrinkled hands, gazed at it and spoke:
“Be as handsome as the two Asvini, be noble-minded like king Yayati, be generous like
Rantiveda, be devout and righteous like Siva, the son of Usinar!”
Kaurava flung himself again at the old man’s feet and hugged them with even greater
devotion. “The great wise man blessed the child with the very same words I had uttered”, he
thought to himself, “which means that the eternal gods had attended its birth propitiously.”
Then aloud, “he is our first born, oh merciful master, and his name is Mahavira!”
“Mahavira?”, the old man sighed, staring into the distance, and he repeated: “Mahavira...”
The wise man’s blessing set the cowherd brimming over with happiness as he said to
himself:
“The name Mahavira means great hero, may the great Vishnu watch over him!”

11
 2

Kaurava tended the herd all day long and saw to the daily household chores while his
young wife, Radha, stayed at home with the child. The boy was gentle like his mother. He had
her dark eyes and her dreamy soul. He would rather listen to the stories about brave kings or
miracle-working Brahmins, or endless battles between warriors than play with the village
children.
His mother treated him with loving care to the age of seven and then he had to go out and
help his father tend the cattle. But the wonderful stories haunted him. He was keen and hard
working so Kaurava had no reason to be concerned about his future wellbeing. But there
was a glint in the boy’s eyes that worried him.
On reaching the age of twice seven, Mahavira proved to be wiser than his father, Kaurava
whom fortune had not blessed with another offspring. The boy’s wisdom now frightened the
father. He often talked it over with his wife, Radha. But she was as dim as ever and all she
wished for was to see Mahavira a warrior in king Arjuna’s army. Kaurava shook his head in
astonishment. He had no stomach for thoughts such as these. His knowledge of the world
was scant. Neither did he have the slightest idea of the secrets of this world. His imagination
was directed to the altar he had built in front of his hut and where day in, day out he offered
the usual sacrifices asking the great Vishnu in simple words for abundance of cattle, rich
grass and fair weather and humbly praying to be delivered, he and his herd, from wild beasts.
To him Vishnu and Siva meant everything. Other names of gods and kings in his
childhood prayers found a mysterious response in his heart. The evil spirits of Rakshas,
however, frightened him. He was aware that his ignorance was a burden and that was why he
was worried about Mahavira.
One day at sundown he took his son by the hand and made for the sacred clearing.
“Master”, Kaurava said bowing low, “ please take Mahavira to serve you and to take
advantage of the remnants of your wisdom. Let him learn from your holy lips the things that
my ignorance could not teach him”.
The wise man was silent for a long while. Twice he looked into the bright and soft eyes of
the child. He seemed to find it difficult to give an answer. By merely speaking to an
untouchable a Brahmin stains his reputation. And yet the Brahmin spoke:
“Let him come every morning and every evening before prayers and dry the garments of
my disciples”
And so Mahavira cheerfully came to the holy place twice a day. The disciples at first would
not even look at him lest they should stain their reputation but they appreciated his diligence.
They then began to speak to him and finally became fond of him much to the satisfaction of
the Brahmin himself.
Many days did Mahavira make his way to the holy clearing where among the disciples of
the great wise man, his mind bloomed like a flower in the sunlight. He began to understand
things that he had never even dreamt of but which had lain hidden deep down in his heart.
The sky and earth, now peopled with beings rulers of many worlds, revealed their secrets to
him and his soul no longer felt lonely wherever he found himself.
He was nineteen now and felt strange throbbings in his heart. He feared Yama, the judge
in the kingdom of the dead. He worshipped Vishnu great sovereign of the gods, he loved Siva
ruler over the earth, he loved Lakshmi the beloved wife of Vishnu and he loved Indra king of
the blue sky, and he loved Surya the health-giving sun that rides in his chariot drawn by seven
roan steeds driven by Aruna the queen of the dawn and he loved the thirty-three gods in
Brahma. But in his heart of hearts there was Kama, the beautiful child astride a parrot holding
his bow of reed decked with flowers and five arrows in his quiver. While the Brahmins went
through their daily repentance paces deep in contemplation of their own soul, Mahavira
12
gazed with a yearning heart at the thick forest as if expecting the heavenly maiden Apsara to
appear and comfort him whispering sweet words. Little by little his yearning took shape in his
mind's eye and turned out to be a maiden lithe, willowy in a translucent gown that clung to her
slender figure her eyes were as green as the dew washed grass before the break of day. He
saw her laughing : her lips as red as the most precious of waterlilies.
Meanwhile the Brahmins often spoke to him about the mystery of mysteries :
There is only one single reality and that one and only reality is Atman. Whoever descends
deep down into the innermost recesses of his soul will find Atman there, that is, the true world
where there is no distinction between past and future, reality and appearance for the human
mind unable to perceive the whole has conjured up the parts that lead to misunderstanding.
Man's heart easily solves all mysteries. The heart is the key to wisdom.
Mahavira actually felt that he was on his way to discover truth and his heart yearned for
the spark that would kindle the big fire.
"The maiden must come", he said to himself time and again hiding in the same place his
eyes glued to the same spot in the holy clearing.
He believed that that was the only place where the heavenly maiden could appear under
the protection of the Great Brahmin and Mahavira made up his mind to remain in the service
of the holy man for the rest of his life. He confided his thought to his father. The idea
frightened the old man. "Wisdom and common sense don't mix", Kauvara said to himself and
tried to talk his son out of it.
But Mahavira had his reasons. He argued that the great wise man would be more
benevolent if he offered up his entire being for eternal salvation. It was in cities and towns —
where the scum of mankind gathers, where even Brahmins wallow in wickedness — that the
poor sinner is condemned to stay in the same plight forever and ever. If the wise man should
refuse to allow him to live in the holy clearing he would hide in a thicket in the forest, feed on
grass and yet wait for the heavenly maiden Apsara to appear for she would bring him the
great salvation.
On hearing these words Kaurava was so frightened that he dared not even ask what would
eventually become of his cattle if Mahavira, his only offspring, were to leave the parental
home for good. He talked it over with Radha. What was to be done ? After seven days of
deliberation they finally made up their minds to marry him off. But before letting him know of
their plan they had to find a good hard-working, well-to-do girl for him.
And Radha was to see about it. She knew everybody in the village, even the children.
Nevertheless she went for advice to some of the elderly women experienced in match-
making. They finally settled on Durga's daughter, Anuya. Kaurava himself went over to make
the deal. Durga had many cows and sheep, a rice field and countless slaves that caught fish
in the Malini river which they took to town and traded them for household utensils. After the
deal was made, Kaurava called his wife Radha and they asked to see Anuya. They liked her.
She was a fine husky strong-limbed lass with big breasts and a small nose. Born to be a hard
worker she would also make a good mother.
Mahavira was saddened to hear of his parents' decision. He had to obey. Kaurava was his
father and his master after all, but he wept his heart out. He had not known woman yet, He
went to the great Rishi and implored his blessing. He took his leave of the Brahmin disciples
and of the heavenly maiden he had in vain expected.

13
3

Every now and then Mahavira would call at the holy clearing. But he was now alien to the
life of the wise men. They received him as they did any other starveling come to pay his
respects to the great Rishi and do penance.
One day one of the Brahmins belonging to the holy clearing called on Mahavira at his
home. The wisest of wise men by a heavenly command was to go to Hastinapur the sacred
citadel of kings. No one knew why but the disciples felt that he was out to reprimand king
Arjuna. The wise man was almost one hundred years old. He was weak in body owing to
fasting and prayers and he could not set out alone on such a long journey. He ordered his
disciples to stay on in the Holy Clearing and go on with their prayers. He chose Mahavira to
escort him. So let him make ready.
The unexpected honour that was bestowed on Mahavira caused quite a stir in the village of
Ram. Rumour had it that Kaurava's son was destined to become a Dvija for the wise man
chose him to be his companion on the long journey. Kaurava was proud and sacrificed a
white calf to Vishnu while Anuya and Radha set about the job of preparing wholesome food
for the journey. But Mahariva followed the advice of the disciples and gave the food to the
poor. The only thing he took along with him from home was the skin of the leopard he had
killed two years before. The women wept all the louder and Kaurava promised to look after
the children and rear them, come what may.
The whole village, young and old, saw them off to the banks of the Malini river. The great
wise man, son of Vasishta was as usual wearing his robe with, the Brahmin girdle round his
waist. He was barefooted ; in his hand he held the staff with seven knots. His white beard
fluttered in the breeze flashing with silver streaks like the sacred Himalayas in midsummer.
With his left hand he held Mahariva's strong arm for support. Mahariva was tall and
handsome, his dark tresses streaming down over his broad shoulders, his eyes twinkling with
mysterious joy and pious humility. The two men did not look back not even to take leave of the
multitude that gave their blessing wishing them good health and god speed.
On and on they walked for seven months. They passed through seven towns and seven
villages crossed numberless brooks and streams. They stopped to rest whenever and
wherever they got tired, they ate fruits and roots found on the way. Word went round far and
wide that the great wise man, the son of Vasishta, was on his way to reprimand king Arjuna
and everywhere people watched him pass by and they trembled with fear as if the almighty
Vishnu himself had come down on earth.
The Brahmin and Mahavira climbed up hills and down vales, trudged through thick forests
and rich fields until they reached the waters of the sacred Ganges, the river that harboured
many islands and impenetrable bushes of reed. For seven days they put up at Doab and then
went on through endless fields of rice. They came to the heart of the holy Ganges crossed the
river and headed for the limpid greenish-blue waters of the holy Djamuna and back again to
Doab then bent their steps eastward. One morning far off on the horizon Mahavira caught
sight of the royal citadel and murmured :
"Hastinapur…”
The Brahmin, however, did not raise eyes as if he loathed the sight of the city.
As they approached the citadel news of the Brahmin's arrival spread like wildfire. One
crafty merchant was telling everybody that Durvasa, the strictest of Brahmin saints himself
had descended from the Himalayas bringing the curse of the gods. A pious fisherman was
saying on the contrary the gentle and wise Navada, son of Brahma, messenger of the gods,
was coming to bring a message of goodwill from Siva. Most people, however, believed that
the wayfarer must certainly be Vasishta himself the Brahmin saint whom king Kansa once
killed at the request of the beautiful Nisumba. They added that the saint still had the poisoned
arrow in his chest as a memento of the everlasting wickedness of kings.

14
 The sacred town of Hastinapur situated on the crest of a hill that cut off the horizon was
growing steadily in the eyes of the approaching wayfarers. In the centre of the city above the
surrounding twenty foot high rampart there rose the red marble walls of the royal palace with
its seven pyramid-like roofs amidst the spreading green branches of century-old plane-trees.
Around three sides of the citadel the town stretched away embracing the ten thousand
houses with its more than one hundred thousand souls.
One hundred steps of white stone and an avenue of plane-trees lining either side tidily
paved descended
from the citadel at dead of night to the Ganges, the royal bathing place.
Excitement in Hastinapur, the citadel of seven portals, was tantamount to the swarming of
an ant-hill.
People came out into the streets and consulted together; they gathered in clusters on the
countless alleys and kept looking towards Doab to catch sight of the great Rishi. Every now
and then some spirited youth would bring news to the western portal guarded by many
soldiers two abreast bearing brass tipped lances. The commander strutted up and down
turning a deaf ear to all hearsay. It was only when a grey-haired old man re¬ ported that the
son of Vasishta was actually on the outskirts of the sacred town that the commander-in chief
got worried. He sent seven men to see if it was true and rushed to the citadel to acquaint king
Arjuna with the facts. The king had just come back with his friends from a gazelle hunt.
The wisest of wise men leaning on Mahavira's shoulder slowly crept up to the citadel. The
brass portals were wide open. The soldiers terror-stricken fell to their knees and let him pass.
The multitude stopped at the gate as if in fear of an approaching calamity. The wise man, eyes
closed so as not to see worldly vanities that lead to perdition, plodded steadily on straight to
his goal as if he knew the way better than the soldiers themselves even better than the king
himself. By the old man's side Mahavira walked gaping all around in fascination. The pagoda
with its many roofs supported by granite pillars, the bathing pools for the daily bathe of the
Brahmins, the tree for hanging out their robes to dry, the priests of the royal household
motionless in their white vestments and red girdles deep in pious meditation, the stables for
war-elephants and their hundreds of attendants, the houses of the great counsellors with
stone colonnades and many storeys and at last king Arjuna's palace with open terraces
shaded with purple curtains braced by jointed bamboo stems, the white marble steps — it all
seemed to be a fairyland. He remembered the fairy tales he had listened to in his childhood
but what he beheld now was real and far more enchanting than anything he could have ever
imagined.
They made their way along gravel paths lined with plane-trees here and there a thick
mango or a kesaya with trembling branches: They turned in to an alley that led to the royal
palace. On the right about twenty yards away on the shiny blue ripples of a lake golden pairs
of chakravakas, the wonderful birds of the Brahmins, were mating. He turned his eyes to the
shores of the lake to descry a bevy of frolicsome girls in thin veils that clung to their shapely
figures chasing one another laughing and shouting... Mahavira thought that he was seeing the
group of heavenly maidens he had often dreamed of at the sacred clearing. His heart was
throbbing with boundless joy. Among them he discerned one figure as delicate as if shaped
by the caresses of Vayu the god of the wind. She had just broken away from the others and
with her white hands was covering her breasts that trembled with tiredness like two
frightened doves. He heard the others calling :"Navamalika!... Navamalika !"
The maiden turned around and Mahavira caught her eye. That very instant in her eyes, as
green as the grass in the meadows, Mahavira read his past and future. They seemed to open
Heaven's portals towards an eternal union in Brahma. The moment she caught sight of him
the smile on her moist lips froze. Her friends called out in jest,
"What's the matter with you, Navamalika ? Has one of Kama's arrows by any chance hit
you ?"
But she did not hear their voices. She was aware of him alone. He was all the world to
her.
15
 Mahavira and Navamalika both instantly felt that they had met before, that they had
known each other for time without end and that their destiny was now fulfilled for ever.
"Mahavira !", the wise man mumbled harshly realizing that his companion felt like
stopping.
So Mahavira had to go on at the side of the holy old man. But his eyes were riveted to the
gentle nymph that was standing in the same place, a bewitching apparition.
"Navamalika!" Mahavira said to himself. "Her name is the name of the sweetest flower and
she is truly the sweetest flower in the world of Siva !"
"Mahavira", Navamalika said to herself, "is the name of a great man and truly there can
be no greater man than he under the skies of Indra !"
The two wayfarers climbed up the steps leading to the terrace, made their way through
magnificent halls, among courtiers magnificently bedecked with sparkling precious stones
and finally found themselves facing the throne. King Arjuna was sitting arrogant in his royal
seat of gold. On his left sat the woman who had borne him three sons. All around the throne
were the other seventy-seven women belonging to the powerful monarch, all of them young
and beautiful like gems on a kingly crown, all of them clothed in veiling of the finest gold and
silver thread adorned with diamonds so that the hall was resplendent with the glitter of the
precious stones and the fire in their eyes. On the right and left stood the king's counsellors
with their bamboo staffs and their well-trimmed beards. Then there were the leaders of the
army in their rough uniforms armed to the teeth. To one side stood the great chief sacrificer
of the royal household surrounded by sacrificers and singers of holy verse together with the
disciples of Yayurveda and last of all the caretakers of all sacrifices the atharva who attend to
everything that occurred but has not as yet been fulfilled.
Mahavira, in a daze, was blind to everything around him except the one image that filled
his soul : the maiden Navamalika. It was only in front of the throne that he came round when
he heard the loud and strong voice of the great hermit :
"I reprimand you, King Arjuna ! For seven months and seven days I have dragged myself
along in order to ask you to your face to mend your ways ! You have forgotten the soul's
commandments. You have gathered countless women round you and have given in to carnal
pleasures stirred by that avaricious goddess Rati. You have set an example that has spread
throughout the country. You have led innocent people to temptation and let themselves be
overpowered by carnal desires and disobey the commandments of the gods. Woe unto you,
king Arjuna! Cursed be your memory. Take care O king ! The day of reckoning is drawing
near. Look into your soul and repent !"
The words of the grey-bearded old man flashed out like streaks of lightning over the
heads of the multitude of leaders gathered in the hall. Mahavira himself felt a twinge of
conscience realizing that the words were also meant for him.
It was a grievous fault that he who had been chosen to give physical and moral support to
the wise man on this arduous journey, he, of all people, had lost himself in thoughts of
Navamalika. In his heart of hearts he begged forgiveness of the old man but his prayer was
mingled with the image of the maiden : two prayers that contradicted each other and yet were
inextricably entangled.
Then king Arjuna rose and spoke. His eyes flashed with anger and his words were
daggers :
"Foolish old man I ought to put you in chains for your unjust reproof. Has Vishnu ever
forbidden man to love woman and multiply ? Have not the sacred customs ordained that kings
shall satisfy their hearts' yearning in bed with women so that they may send clean-blooded
offspring into the world ?"
The wise man paid no heed to the king's words but simply murmured, "Mahavira !"
And the two of them walked out. On their way out Mahavira heard the threatening and
scornful voice of the king,
"Your father, Vasishta, was guided by a holy gazelle while you besmirch your Brahmin
caste by leaning on the arm of a wretched untouchable !"
16
 The words almost scared him out of his wits and all of a sudden he felt the wide gap that
separated him from Navamalika. He now realized what a long way it was to the maiden's
heart, a way so long that it took more than one lifetime to go.

They climbed down the terrace steps. The king's attendants prostrated themselves before
the wise man as he passed by. The shores of the lake were now deserted. The frolicsome
maidens had vanished. The wailing call of a chakravka pierced the quietness like a bad omen.
Clouds gathered and darkened the horizon. Yet there were streaks of blue in the western and
northern skies that seemed to betoken a promise.
Barefooted they trod the white gravel paths. The wise man kept mumbling meaningless
words which Mahavira felt expressed the anger of the offended gods.
Suddenly a blinding streak of lightning split the mass of dark clouds and shook the king's
citadel to its foundations. The great hermit raised his seven-knotted staff to the sky as if to
incur the wrath of Rudra, the god of devastating storms. Mahavira was scared out of his wits.
He now thought that a rain of fire would fall from the heavens and burn the cursed king's
palace to ashes. What worried him most was that Navamalika would perish in the flames.
As they reached the brass gate another streak of lightning rent the sky. The terrified
guards noticing that the wise man was furious threw down their arms and kissed his
footprints on the path. ,
Then a heavy rain began to fall with drops as big as cherries. Lightning streaked in rapid
succession while raindrops rattled on roofs like unseen woodpeckers. The rabble having
learned of the goings-on at the king's palace ran for their lives and knew not where to hide as
if expecting the world to come to an end. Eyes swollen with fear peered through windows as
the venerable old man passed by taking no heed of the heavenly water . As it poured down
heavily his grey beard fluttering in the wind the rain ruffling his grey hair as he raised his
Brahmin staff skyward to the throne of Rudra. Walking by the old man's side head bowed in
humility, Mahavira's heart was filled with bitterness. The holy man's company was no longer a
comfort to him. On his way to Hastinapur it seemed that there were gods all round. But now
the old man was a burden to him for it was because of him that he had to leave the citadel
where Navamalika dwelt. And the farther away he went, the more he realized that his heart
was where Navamalika was and that there alone could he find salvation.
They were again treading the winding paths of Doab among the rice fields and
underneath trees with branches torn by the storm. Mahavira kept looking backwards. The
sacred city of Hastinapur with its grand walls had vanished from sight. The wrath of the
heavens had died down. On the horizon the red sun was angrily going down. On the right in
the distance the turbid waters of the sacred Ganges sparkled in the approaching twilight.
The wise man bent his steps towards the river and Mahavira knew that he wanted to
bathe in it and thus cleanse himself of having touched the wicked city.
The earth was soft underneath their feet. There were shiny puddles among tall reeds and
broad blade grasses. When the ground grew firm again they found themselves facing the
quiet yellow waters of the sacred Ganges, the river was so wide that you could hardly discern
the opposite bank in the distance.
Mahavira sat down under a young palm-tree. The riverbank was smooth : the gravel
under a thin layer of yellow clay was like a honeycomb. The Brahmin walked barefoot to the
margin of the water. He stopped and glanced at the holy waves that gleamed like a mirror. He
stood for a while lost in thought enveloped by the red rays of the setting sun. When the sun
finally went down the old man stepped in unsteadily feeling his way with his staff. The soft
17
warm waves clung to his dry feet. He stopped again. In his rough robe with his silvery hair
and beard he looked like a tree burdened with snow. He went in deeper. The twilight was
weaving a web of darkness around him. Mahavira watched him as he had done ever so many
times but now his thoughts were elsewhere. He noticed that the wise man's lips were moving.
But his voice mingled with the gurgling of the holy waters rose mysteriously to the heavens
and the words made no sense to human ears.
Then the great hermit raised his seven-knotted staff high up in a trembling arm. The
water reached his hips and the waves played with his red girdle. His voice grew stronger, he
seemed to be running through the clamorous waves when all of a sudden he brought them
under control with one word that rang out like thunder:
"Aum !" The wise man bowed east. His white beard touched the water and down he
went. All that was left of him for an instant was the white patch of his hair on the surface of
the water. His Brahmin staff floated on the waves. Then in the twinkling of an eye, all was
over.
Mahavira first thought that the old man wanted just to taste the holy water. Then he got
scared, jumped to his feet, took off his leopard skin and ran to the river to find the great Rishi.
But night was falling fast and Mahavira searched in vain.
As he came out of the river aware of his loneliness he was seized by a horror that sent
shivers up and down his spine. "A miracle has happened", he said to himself. "The wise man
whose heart had been broken by king Arjuna was called to the abode of the gods by Vishnu".
It seemed that there was nothing left on earth but sin and punishment and he was
frightened. He wondered why the wise man had not taken him along to the other world. Out of
the anguish over his regret there suddenly took shape the image of Navamalika. He felt guilty
and began to beat his chest with his fists and cried out in despair,
"The wise man is dead !"
He cried his heart out as if the whole world had crumbled and he lay all alone on the heap
of ruins. All around darkness took control and filled the cool ait, the thick undergrowth and
branches of ancient trees with whispers of the restless waves and the chirping of crickets.
Somewhere nearby a chakravaka sent forth her melancholy call to which her heavy-hearted
mate from on the opposite riverbank responded with a low far-away moan.
Mahavira quickly dried his tears and listened to the song of the Brahmin birds whose
lamentations seemed like a mourning over the dead hermit. The chakravaka drew closer and
closer to the place where Mahavira was crouching on his leopard skin. The closer it came the
more agonizing its song sounded as if it gushed from his very heart. Mahavira no longer knew
whether he was weeping over the dead saint or yearning for Navamalika.
He looked around expecting help or some heavenly miracle. In the undergrowth he saw
strange sparkles : sometimes they were the eyes of the wise man at other time the eyes of
Navamalika. First the sparkles comforted him but then it occurred to him that they might be
the eyes of some wild beast lying in wait or maybe evil spirits bent on tormenting him the
whole night long. He closed his eyes. He wanted to see nothing. The lamentations of the holy
birds held sway over his ears and dripped grief and terror into his heart. He then thought that
he had better go somewhere. Sleeping there, a prey to all the spirits of the night, was out of
the question. He rose and put on his leopard skin. But where could he go? He was a stranger
to the place even in the daytime, to say nothing of the night. Stupefied, all he could do was
murmur as if in self-defence :
"The wisest of wise men is dead..."
He instantly found comfort in the thought that he was out of harm's way on the banks of
the sacred Ganges. So he laid his leopard skin on the ground and crouched down. The
chrakravaka kept on lamenting while the wind hissed through the thick reeds like a bad-
tempered snake.
All of a sudden the air shook with the sweet trills of a kokila the miraculous bird that lulls
the goddess Lakshmi to sleep. Mahavira' heart filled with overwhelming joy. Navamalika had
driven away all his fears. He no longer heard the lamentations of the Brahmin bird. He no
18
longer heard the rustling of the wind. All he heard was the trilling of the wondrous kokila. It
seemed to be the very voice of the maiden Navamalika. In his mind's eye he warmly embraced
her and murmured with trembling lips,
“Navamalika… Navamalika …”
Sleep brought fulfilment of his wishes. The king appointed him commander of his war
chariot and in reward for his bravery gave him the hand of Navamalika. Mahavira woke with
her kisses on his lips and with the memory of boundless happiness in his heart.
He washed his face in the waters of the sacred Ganges. He wanted to be handsome
although he felt that under the circumstances there was no point in wooing. The cold water
brought him back to his senses. The sun god sent forth his reddish-gold rays into the sky. Day
was breaking.

Mahavira started alone on his journey back to the sacred city of Hastinapur where he
wished to make known to the people and to the king that the great Rishi was drowned in the
waters of the eternal river. He was filled with remorse for in spite of all the thought of
Navamalika was uppermost in his mind.
He reached the city outskirts when the sun was at its hottest and made his way on the
crooked street that led to the royal citadel. No one took any notice of him. Only naked and
dirty children gaped at him or rather at the leopard skin he had round his waist. Mahavira was
at first surprised and then angry that nobody paid any attention to him. He then quickened his
steps and began to cry out,
"The wise son of Vasishta is dead !"
Then people stopped to listen and wondered who he was and what he was saying. Some
remembered having seen him escorting the hermit who had come from the Himalayas. They
suddenly felt that a misfortune musthave happened. Some of them ran up to him and asked.
Mahavira, however, kept shouting,
"The great Rishi is dead..."
The news spread like wild fire. The citadel guards, struck by the excitement of the
people, let Mahavira through the brass gate. But while his lips were mournfully repeating the
same words over and over again, Mahavira's heart trembled with yearning for Navamalika
and his eyes were anxiously turning right and left in the hope that he might catch sight of her.
The stranger's shouting caused an uproar in the citadel Warriors and Brahmins and
attendants swarmed through winding paths and gathered around Mahavira who worked his
way steadily towards king Arjuna's palace looking all around more and more worried. Then
suddenly he discovered Navamalika on the terrace of a palace hidden among huge plane-
tress and his heart started throbbing like mad. The maiden caught sight of him and rushed
down to meet him. Finding himself face to face with her he stared at the heaving breasts, felt
faint and mumbled in a daze,
"The wise man is dead..."
Then quickly added like a consuming flame,
"Navamalika !..."
They gazed into each other's eyes in deep adoration. The royal palace was only a few
yards away now. The sun sifted its golden rays on the grass and on the shiny blue waters of
the lake with its pairs of chakravakas.
Voices everywhere murmured,
"The king... the king..."

19
 Arjuna made his appearance on the shaded terrace his eyes flashing with anger.
Mahavira heard no murmurs, nor did he see the frightened faces around him. His soul had
found embodiment in the green eyes of the maiden. He fell to his knees as if she were a
goddess come down to earth and embraced her legs with both arms mumbling words that he
himself could not understand ; words that nevertheless joined their hearts.
The voice of king Arjuna shook him,
"Get out, you untouchable Sudra !"
As he spoke the words the king struck Mahavira on the head with his heavy staff
rendering the young man unconscious. Dozens of hands now hurried to grab Mahavira as he
shouted in a daze,
"The wise man was drowned in the holy waters of the Ganges !"
He no longer caught the eye of the terrified maiden. The men howled and cursed as they
dragged Mahavira towards the gate of the citadel. The king's voice was the loudest of all as
he shouted the devastating word,
"Untouchable Sudra... untouchable Sudra..."
At the brass gate the guards received him with blows all over his body and finally hurled
him like a hunk of unwanted meat among a group of people who were feverishly talking about
the death of the great Rishi. One of them recognized Mahavira ; he had seen him on his way to
the citadel to make known the death of the hermit. There were first timid murmurs followed by
outright angry protests that the king had made his sin all the heavier by torturing the
messenger who had brought the news that the wise man was dead. They picked Mahavira up
out of the dust and gave him shelter in the house of the jeweller, Gianuka. Some of the women
washed his wounds and asked him to tell them at leisure how the son of Vasishta had found
his death. Details were relished and passed on and people murmured,
"A miracle !... A great miracle!... A ragged fisherman whose dirty face was aglow with
excitement cried out,
"I'm going to the sacred Ganges. Maybe I'll find the remains of the wise man !"
And he set out for the holy river. Many followed him mostly old men all with a mysterious
fear in their eyes as well as women scared stiff that the wrath of the gods would descend on
the city. Soon after, other groups followed. On the swampy riverbank thousands of men and
women rushed about groaning and moaning, searching and imploring the mercy of the
heavens. Some plunged into the river and many were drowned happy that they could die in
the sacred waters that had swallowed the great wise man.
Mahavira had been left behind forgotten in the house of Gianuka, the jeweller. Gianuka had
been a widower for many years and lived all alone hammering away at bracelets, rings and
other gewgaws for the king's court, for the higher-ups of the land and their women. They all
loved him because they knew him to be obedient, hard-working, gentle and devout. On
returning home that evening Gianuka to his surmise, found Mahavira in his house but did not
drive him away. They had a bite together and then went out to sit in front of the house and
talk. Gianuka asked Mahavira to tell him all about it. He listened and smiled.
"I understand, stranger. You were lucky the king didn't have your head cut off !"
"Why, what had I done wrong ?" Mahavira asked, was it because I had brought the news
of the wise man's death ?
"That too", the jeweller nodded. "King Arjuna can never forgive the great Rishi's tongue-
lashing. But what's worse is that you touched Navamalika. That's it. For Navamalika is not an
Apsara as you think. She is the daughter of Gutayana, the treasurer. Arjuna has fallen in love
with her and he will soon take her in his palace. You defiled her by hugging her white legs and
aroused the anger of the master who looks forward to deflowering her and having an
offspring as beautiful as she and as brave as he is.
His voice trembling with fear, Mahavira asked,
"But are her parents willing to give her to the king ?"
"You are in the dark" Gianuka re-joined with an air of superiority.

20
 "What greater honour could there be for a parent than to have his offspring in the king's
bed ?"
"What about her ?" Mahavira followed up obstinately.
"Navamalika ? She would be crazy not to be proud that the king desires her body and her
love. After all, who cares what a brainless girl wants ?"
"But king Arjuna has seventy-seven women !" Mahavira insisted.
"Will Navamalika be the last of them ?"
"On the contrary, she will be the first because the king loves her most of all !" answered
the jeweller with the pride of the obedient servant devoted to his master.
Mahavira was silent. It was getting dark now and Gianuka could not see how pale the
stranger's cheeks were, nor could he hear the wild throbbing of his heart.
"It's a pity, however, that poor Navamalika is rather unwell", the jeweller went on
thoughtfully after a pause.
"When I gave her the jewels that I had made out of king Arjuna's gold I found her weeping.
Her mother said that she was upset by the trouble you had stirred up. She even called an old
woman to charm away her sorrow",
Suddenly Mahavira grabbed the jeweller by the hand and blurted out,
"Does Navamalika know that I am in your house ?"
"How on earth could she know when I myself didn't know ?", Gianuka answered,
laughing at the pointless question.
"If they should find out and if Navamalika should feel worse, then you're done for
because the king would put an end to your life. That's why I'm telling you to go to sleep now,
pull yourself together, and tomorrow go home where you belong !"
"I'm going, all right !" Mahavira murmured as if he had uttered a curse. He went to lie
down outside near the door on his leopard skin and spent the whole night long looking at the
stars that twinkled exactly like Navamalika's eyes. His heart sighed and his mind thought up
countless plans of how to get to her again, and how to snatch her out of the king's arms, to
take her somewhere and live together just the two of them in a world of their own. He kept
saying to himself that he would go home but he also kept adding that he could not go home
alone. He was perfectly aware that his stay at Hastinapur was fraught with danger but then he
also knew that no danger could be worse than separation from Navamalika. He tried to quiet
his heart down by thinking of the great Rishi of his village at the foot of the Himalayas, of his
children and his wife, Anuya. But the thoughts went out like candles in the noon-day sun. In
the morning his eyes were red from not having slept a wink and his mind was torn with
indecision. Sleepy-eyed Gianuka greeted him with
"May your journey be blessed by the gods !"
But Mahavira humble as a stray dog in a strange yard begged,
"Take me as a servant in your household !"
The jeweller was puzzled. "Why don't you go back home ?"
"I can't go away from here", Mahavira answered his head bowed low. "I don't know the
way back to the foot of the sacred Himalayas".
Gianuka was scared. How could he, a retainer at court, give shelter to a man who had
been persecuted by the king ? He did not even need the man's services. Mahavira, however,
seemed to be sensible and obedient and if Gianuka did not have the heart to drive him away.
So he put off his answer.
At noon he left with a silver box in his hand and said to Mahavira
"More jewels for the beautiful Navamalika".
He came back later and cheerfully told Mahavira
"You can now stay as long as you like, stranger! Everybody has forgotten you as though
you had never been in the citadel at all. That's how quickly people forget people. Everybody is
now talking about preparations for the forthcoming festivities sponsored by the king in
honour of the maiden Navamalika. As a matter of fact she has now come to herself. I found
her cooing like a turtledove. She was the only one to ask about you and wondered if I had by
21
any chance seen you. It seems that she hasn't forgotten you maybe because you scared her
out of her wits or maybe she liked you. Like any other young and brainless girl she might have
fallen in love".
Mahavira controlled his joy. He took off his leopard skin and put on the blue apron of a
servant. Next day, however, as Gianuka was getting ready to go to the citadel, Mahavira said
"Take me along, master, I may be of help !"
"Vishnu forbid !" the jeweller defended himself. "If anyone should recognize you I'd be
done for !" Mahavira did not insist. Hope steeled his capacity for enduring. Every day Gianuka
would give him news of what was going on in the citadel. Every day he had something to say
about Navamalika. Then one day Gianuka spoke triumphantly,
"Tomorrow morning Navamalika will bathe in the holy waters of the Ganges then at night
she will lie in king Arjuna's bed".
Mahavira turned pale. All his dreams were shattered like beads off a broken string. The
very image of the maiden seemed to have vanished from his heart leaving behind but an
excruciating pain. He lost control of himself, threw himself at jeweller’s feet, cried his heart
out and confessed that Navamalika was his sole reason for being and begged Gianuka to
take him along to the citadel that he might see Navamalika for the last time. Gianuka would
not even dare understand the horrible words he heard. He turned Mahavira down gently but
resolutely. Mahavira instantly obeyed as if a new ray of hope had arisen in his heart. He took
his leopard skin and left without a word. Watching him go, Gianuka heaved a sigh of relief,
"Glory to almighty Vishnu for saving me from great danger !"

Unaware of what he was doing, Mahavira headed for the sacred Ganges. Twilight was
falling fast. It was dark when he reached the outskirts of the city. He did not know the places
but he was not afraid. Far off in the distance in the darkened field the holy river looked like a
grey winding silken ribbon. He bent his steps in that direction determined as if toward a
haven of salvation. Rotten trunks of trees felled by winds tried to make him alter his course ;
small branches and twigs of undergrowth slapped him on the face, holes in the ground and
ditches slowed him down, puddles and swamps pulled him. Nothing could stop him. The
image of the maiden was all he had in mind. His heart was full of a strange confidence that
gave him comfort.
Fatigue and sleep eventually got the better of him. He lay under a tree and instantly fell
into a deep dreamless sleep.
The sun's warm rays woke him up in the morning tickling his eyelids. He was more
determined than ever as though for seven nights he had planned everything in detail. His
heart was light and gay as if in expectation of great happiness.
To the west he saw the row of plane trees like a hedge descending from the citadel
stretching way dowry to the royal bathing-place in the Ganges.
"That's where Navamalika will pass", he said to himself. He started out joyfully, reached
his goal quickly and hid in the undergrowth close to the avenue and waited quietly. He had
learned from Gianuka, the jeweller, that not a living soul could ever be allowed near the
bathing place when the king passed by so much the less when Navamalika would pass. From
his hiding-place he had a good view of the avenue of white sand lined with plane trees the
trunks of which were as thick as a man's waist. He examined the path closely from the stone
steps that led to the citadel, to the bronze gate with nails of gold. He thought up a plan which
seemed to take shape of itself : he would steal to the edge of the avenue, take Navamalika in
22
his arms and disappear with her in the undergrowth of the sacred Ganges before the soldiers
could realize what had happened and take her far away in the forests of the Himalayas.
A while later he heard footsteps. Soldiers had come to make sure that nobody was
around whose eyes might defile the king's beloved. Mahavira sat motionless. Three husky
men poked about in the bushes with their lances. As they passed by Mahavira they spoke
about Navamalika loudly praising her beauty in dirty words. One of them sighed,
"I wish I were in the king's place tonight..."
The others laughed coarsely. Then Mahavira saw the soldiers lining up on either side of
the avenue each one hundred yards away from the other.
"She must be coming any minute now" Mahavira thought and riveted his eyes on the
bronze gate. Suddenly his heart skipped a beat. The bronze gate opened slowly and heavily.
Gutayana, the treasurer, the maiden's father, in his bright white robe, a long staff in his right
hand came into view. He was followed by seven barefooted maidens in silvery veils their long
hair streaming down their backs. Then Mahavira shook with excitement as he saw
Navamalika come into view. She too was white like the others but she had on a veil of gold
studded with precious stones that flashed in the sunlight. Two black women slaves attended
her providing shade with peacock fans. Then came seven of the king's women dressed in
garments of red like the most expensive lotuses. Next came fourteen women slaves carrying
a bamboo palanquin on their shoulders. The palanquin had tiger skins and silken pillows on
which Navamalika was to lie after her holy bathe lest any common earthly mortal should defile
her before the king condescended to make a woman of her.
Mahavira stood stock-still for a while silently watching the procession approach. He
suddenly felt that the moment had come. He slowly crept between bushes and finally got to a
hollow tree without being seen by the guards right and left. But on the opposite side there
was a husky soldier with big gnarled hands leaning against a tree. Holding a spear bigger
than himself the soldier's eyes were glued to the procession which had leisurely got into
motion.
Silence was heavy. Only a few flies and bumble bees were timidly buzzing around
between leaves. Then Mahavira heard creaking footsteps on the gravel and the soft humming
of the girls escorting Navamalika. That very moment up above on a plane-tree branch a kokila
began singing a love song so sweet that the soldier raised his eyes in search of the
miraculous bird.
Mahavira's heart was weeping like a fresh wound while his brain was swimming with
thoughts. The song of the kokila mingled with the humming of the girls in glorifying his love
together with Navamalika.
He crawled closer to the edge of the avenue terrified that the soldier on the opposite side
might hear the throbbing of his heart.
Gutayana leisurely passed by with downcast eyes dragging his staff in the sand. Among
the seven maidens he recognized some of which he had seen near the lake. Navamalika's
eyes turned right and left as if she were looking for somebody. Her breast was heaving under
her veil and her hips were swaying. Suddenly she caught Mahavira's eye. She stood stock-
still. Her cheeks were flushed with a joy that seemed to spell salvation.
That very instant Mahavira jumped out of his hiding place took her in his arms and rushed
back into the undergrowth. Navamalika cuddled up to him and took his head in her white
arms. Mahavira's cheek rested between her maidenly breasts. The fragrance of her body, the
velvety touch of her skin ; Mahavira completely lost his reason. He kissed her unveiled
breasts in desperation. Three paces was all he could make. He was overwhelmed with
happiness. In her embrace he forgot all danger, he forgot the whole world. There remained
only he and she. They were the beginning and the end.
The slaves with the peacock fans were scared stiff. The king's women screamed at the
top of their voices. Gutayana came over panting. The husky soldier from under the plane-tree
swooped down on Mahavira snatched Navamalika out of his arms, grabbed him by the neck,
dropped his spear and started punching him on the face. Other guards promptly fell on him,
23
knocked him down and began to batter him. They then tied him up and flung him aside while
Navamalika surrounded by women kept murmuring,
"Mahavira... Mahavira..."
Her father took her by the hand and the procession went on its way as if nothing had
happened. But Navamalika turned her head round and looked back. She saw Mahavira lying
unconscious on the ground tied up and bleeding. She gave a start as if she wanted to stop.
Gutayana calmed her down taking her by the arm,
"Take it easy, now. Take it easy, Navamalika ! He was only a wretched slave infatuated
with your beauty".
The maiden sighed. She no longer felt her legs. Her breast still burned with his kisses.
Three soldiers untied Mahavira, then they kicked him and pricked him with their spears to
wake him up.
"Get up and move", the soldier from under the planetree panted in a hoarse voice and
punched him between the ribs with his knotty fist.
"Navamalika !" Mahavira murmured turning his eyes to the sacred avenue. But the
procession was no longer in sight.
At about midday, Mahavira again entered the citadel through the same brass gate this
time, however, he was escorted by the soldier with the knotty hands who was pulling him by
the chain clasped round his neck. Two other soldiers attended kicking him from behind and
pricking him with their spears. In the citadel everybody knew what had happened on the royal
avenue.
"Is this the scoundrel ?" asked the chief guard at the gate. The first , soldier answered
simply with a nod as he tugged furiously at the chain. The chief guard then went up to
Mahavira and spat in his face,
"Dog!"
They passed over bypaths until they reached the prison near the Yama gate. They climbed
down dark stairs into a dungeon right under the citadel wall. There the soldier chained his
legs, fastened the chain to a stone pillar and left him alone. Mahavira heard the heavy thud of
the trap door that closed the opening to the prison. He tried to move but succeeded only in
turning his face upwards and had no choice but to stay that way, a body torn with pain. His
body was bleeding all over; his only piece of clothing was the apron Gianuka had
given him. He had left his leopard skin in the undergrowth. The damp and cold ground helped
soothe his pains.
His open eyes perceived nothing but darkness. Little by little his thoughts made sense.
His recollections seemed to light up the cell. Navamalika's eyes green like a bedewed
meadow drifted around him. In his nostrils he still felt the fragrance of her breasts. His lips
were still burning with her kisses. Round his neck, instead of the chain, he felt her warm
loving arms. A sweet-smelling happiness pervaded his being and his burning lips whispered,
"Navamalika..."
For a moment a foreboding of death flashed across his mind but quickly vanished in the
immensity of his happiness. Time itself seemed to stand still to grant boundlessness to his joy.
Then it occurred to him that that very night king Arjuna would hold Navamalika in his
arms. And suddenly the illuminating joy of memories died out leaving the cell darker and more
tormenting than a tomb. He wriggled like a worm to get up and break his chains and rush to
her rescue. Hungry rats were scampering about. After great effort he succeeded in standing.
He leaned against the stone pillar for a while. A noise upstairs brought him to himself. It
seemed that the heavy trap door was set aside. Angry footsteps .were climbing down the
stairs. Mahavira took heart. Maybe he still had a chance to prevent the defiling of the maiden.
It was the same soldier come to untie his legs and drag him out. Mahavira was pleased to
note that the sun, was setting and thought that Navamalika might still be rescued. A multitude
of angry guards surrounded him. They pushed him down a path. One of them from behind
kept lashing him with a whip. Each lash went to his heart. He bit his lips but did not utter a
single cry of pain.
24
 On the left there was a white terrace on which the king's women crowded to see the man
who had tried to kidnap Navamalika. Many of them felt sorry for him. They thought he was
handsome although his body was covered all over with mud and blood.
In the open hall king Arjuna was seated in his judge's chair surrounded by counsellors and
court Brahmins. The soldiers hurled Mahavira down flat on his face before the king who made
a sign to lift him to have a better look at him. The guards came down on Mahavira and
whipped him until he rose to his feet.
The king glared at him wishing to read in his eyes the reason why this untouchable sudra
dog had pounced on Navamalika. Mahavira's eyes, however, turned in all directions
feverishly looking for somebody. Arjuna understood that his eyes were searching for his
beloved maiden. He jumped to his feet and shouted
"Take his eyes out !"
Mahavira seemed not to hear the words. There was a feverish and impatient glint in his big
dark eyes.
Two violent hands grabbed him by the shoulders while in front of him appeared a short thin
man with slanting eyes, a yellowish complexion grinning in a strange way. He was king
Arjuna's executioner a gift from the ruler of the yellow race. The executioner wore an orange
coloured girdle round his waist. The yellow skinned man exchanged glances with the guards
standing behind Mahavira then raised both hands, fists clenched, thumbs sticking out. In the
twinkling on an eye Mahavira felt an excruciating pain as if someone had thrust two daggers
into the sockets of his eyes and crushed his eyeballs. Mahavira let out a long piercing cry that
rent the skies and he fell to his knees. Hot blood streamed down his cheeks. Unconsciously
he murmured in despair,
"Navamalika..."
King Arjuna heard the whisper and commanded
"Pluck out his tongue !"
A hand grabbed him by the neck, turned his head backwards. Another hand grabbed him
by the chin and forced his mouth open. Then he felt a cold pair of tongs grab his tongue and
jerk it out by the root. Waves of blood gushed out of Mahavira's mouth as he tossed about a
stifled rattling in his throat.
"Skin him alive and throw him to the dogs !", king Arjuna bellowed more furious than ever
at the thought that amid the groans of pain he had again heard the maiden's name.
Renewed lashing on Mahavira's back made him stand up, A soldier dragged him out.
Slaves rushed in to wash the shiny blood stained pavement clean...
Mahavira could not feel his legs that nevertheless were taking him along the same path
back to the Yama gate. Beyond the wall in front of the gate, was the torture terrace where the
convicted were shown to the rabble always thirsting for acts of cruelty. A herald would blow
his trumpet calling the people to see and beware. At the bottom of the terrace in the big
square from which seven paths branched off an immense impatient multitude had already
gathered. There were all sorts of rumours about the stranger who had defiled king Arjuna's
chosen maiden. The more curious ones asked the soldiers that cordoned the terrace off
questions. The soldiers answered with coarse jokes that aroused their curiosity all the more.
The multitude was thrilled when the executioner made his appearance. He had come
beforehand to make preparations. Everybody knew him and loved him for his amazing skill.
Friendly voices cheered calling him by name
"Ham Chun !... Ham Chun !"
The yellow man was flattered. He bowed grinning and set about arranging his tools which
he produced from a grey bag people said was made of man's skin.
There was a heavy silence all around the terrace. Mahavira came into view his eye-sockets
red, his face covered with blood clots, his mouth an open wound. The soldiers kept lashing
him lest he should fall down. Ham Chun snatched the apron off his waist and whispered
something to the soldiers. Two of them grabbed Mahavira by the legs, turned him head

25
downwards and dragged him to the spikes in the citadel wall. He was quickly hanged by his
legs like a slaughtered animal ready for skinning.
His body writhed in agony while his tresses swept the slabs of the terrace.
The executioner selected a knife with a long and narrow blade. He sharpened it carefully
on a round whetstone. Then he approached Mahavira's body and with the tip of the knife slit a
straight line from the navel to the neck. He did it very carefully lest he cut too deep and blood
should spurt out. Mahavira writhed in great pain and his blood filled mouth made thick
choking noises. The soldiers lined up on either side and looked on with greedy eyes. Down on
the ground the multitude crowded breathlessly to watch every movement. Then Ham Chun
took the knife between his teeth and began to skin the body with his fingers every now and
then kicking the head which wagged and bothered him.
The yellow man finished his job as the last rays of the setting sun were sinking in the
west. To end with, he took pride in taking the live skin off the hands and ankles and waved it
to the multitude. The soldiers untied Mahavira and made him stand but he staggered and fell
down. Lashes on his raw flesh made him stand again.
He made a few steps and then tumbled down unconscious, Ham Chun quickly- produced
another knife, turned Mahavira face, up and stabbed him in the chest to make him regain
consciousness. Mahavira came round again and felt the knife sink in. His body then made one
supreme effort. In a flash of consciousness one thought took shape : "the maiden
Navamalika..." the rest was darkness...

The soul had a sensation of ethereal relief. Then the sensation thinned out like a whiff of
air that vanishes into nothingness. The memory of a futile life lingered on for an instant then it
too vanished into thin air.
Pure consciousness drifted like lightning towards greater heights as if trying to steer
clear of a destiny. Its speed, however, decreased as it reached higher spheres and eventually
turned into a tormenting immobility.
Between two worlds the naked soul sank into boundless solitude...

26
 Chapter Two
ISIT

Solitude was grey and heavy. The soul trembled; it was just a flutter of ether in eternity.
The memory of a pure life in another world cheerfully flashed across space like a promise of
fulfilment of expectations. Waiting was heavy and steadily made for an unknown goal.
Reminiscences then grew darker and waiting became a painful descent. The soul seemed
to grow thinner while consciousness was more and more burdened until suddenly it went out
like a snuffed out flame...

The child was born on the seventh day of the mysteries of Osiris in the year of the seventh
count of live stock during the rule of the great Kufu who wore two crowns.
It was the first-born of Senusret of Abotu, the nomarch, the head of the county. The
father's joy was boundless especially since his wife and sister, Merit, had borne him a son. He
had completed his forty third year. He had been living gnawed by fear that his family would
die out and he had secretly hankered after the throne of the Pharaohs now in the hands of the
Nu-Ptah county nomarchs.
He named the child Unamonu and proudly presented it to that lover of justice, the kind
Osiris, son of Geb and Nut.
Four years later there was new joy in Senusret's heart. Merit gave birth to a girl who, as
the mother wished, was named Neferura.
The county nomarch of Abotu now thought that he could die in peace, Unamonu and
Neferura joined in marriage would continue the family line and keep their blood pure.
The kind Osiris, however, granted Senusret many years of life and he enjoyed the comfort
of teaching Unamonu to write and to read the sacred symbols, to heal diseases, to be good at
figures, to wield the bow and arrow, the spear and the sword.
When Unamonu was seventeen the Pharaoh ordered Senusret to hastily send a band of
about two hundred husky men to the House of Eternity which thousands and thousands of
slaves had been working at for a long time without finishing it. Senusret had a group of
soldiers get as many Nubians together from beyond the Great Oasis as he could muster. In
due time he had over three hundred men in chains at his command. On such an occasion it
was the custom to have an official take charge and hand the men over to the Pharaoh. On
second thoughts, however, Senusret considered this an opportunity to present Unamonu to
the king.
At the head of the convoy of boats transporting the black men, sailed the county
nomarch’s ship its red triangular sail swelling in the warm noonday breeze. They met
hundreds of vessels wearily creeping upstream towards Svenet to fetch slabs of stone for the
Pharaoh's. huge pyramid. Senusret showed Unamonu all the towns on the banks of the
sacred river down to Nu-Ptah.
Kufu gave the county governor of Abotu a friendly welcome in the small hall of the throne.
On the white columns that supported the starry ceiling inscribed in gold there were sacred
words wishing the brave leader long life and only victories. The Pharaoh was seated on a
golden throne the pschent on his head while his bare feet rested on a slab of silver. He
listened cheerfully to Senusret and answered in words that the scribe squatting by his side
carefully put down on a sheet of papyrus.

27
The atmosphere was sultry in the small hall and from underneath his head-dress woven of
threads of pure gold shiny beads of sweat trickled down the Pharaoh's cheeks. Three pairs of
naked women slaves in vain tried to cool the air around the throne with fans of ostrich
feathers. Unamonu was happy to be allowed to kiss the Pharaoh's foot and to receive from his
very hands a golden scarab bearing the seal of the master of masters.
Senusret was very satisfied and went back home together with Unamonu, to the sacred
city of Abotu where lay the eternal remains of the first Pharaohs who had ruled over the two
Egyptian lands and in the midst of which rose the majestic temple of the god Osiris, lord over
all things, redeemer of the world, master of eternity.
It took Unamonu five years of living among the priests of the god to resist all temptation,
to acquire at last the knowledge of all the seen and unseen mysteries of the world. After
having been presented to the goddess Isis as an enlightened believer, Senusret married him
off to Neferura gave them a new house especially built for them and asked them to give him a
grandson.
Unamonu was now a fine handsome man. In his dark eyes there seemed to lurk mysterious
dreams and desires. The white mitre on his shaven head lengthened his face. He was gentle
and sedate in contrast to his wife and sister Neferura who was slender and beautiful like a
water-lily but harsh and nagging, the terror of the household.
Aged Senusret passed away one warm spring morning without having ailed. Merit found
him dead and began to wail in despair and tear off her clothes and the little grey hair she had
on her head. Her cries brought Neferura instantly on the spot and then all the women in
Pahimtu so that the palace and garden of the county governor rang with wailing.
Unamonu alone controlled his grief and ordered the slaves, to take the body to the house
of the dead and prepare it for the long journey. Then he himself brought the sad tidings to the
seven high priests of Osiris and gave notice that as the descendant of Senusret he would take
over as county governor. The priests and officials bowed as was their custom and wished him
long life and to rule for millions and millions of years to their satisfaction and that of the
sacred city of Abotu. The new county head, however, that very day, sent a humble
message to the Pharaoh reporting that the wise Senusret had given up the ghost and that he,
Unamonu, was from now on, master of the district.

For almost three days Unamonu did not leave the house of the dead, where under the
supervision of the priest Aahotep who kept burning incense all the time and read prayers,
skilled slaves painstakingly embalmed the body. Himself a magician, a hekau, knowing all
about these things he with his own hands laid on the dead man's chest the talismans meant to
smooth away the dangers that the soul would meet with on its journey
through the world of Osiris.
Then they wrapped the body in a shroud and let it dry for a period of seventy days while
Unamonu devoted himself to preparations for the eternal rest of the deceased. He feared lest
he should forget some detail and
bungle up the long journey of the soul to the Fields of Yalu.
Senusret had had his tomb built in due time. Seventy slaves had worked at it for twelve
years on a rocky flank towards Uahe Psoi. It was a wide and deep corridor at the farthest end
of which other workers cut out crypts on the walls of which skilled artists depicted the most
important events of his earthly life with a sprinkling of sacred symbols. The basalt
sarcophagus had actually been finished seven years before his death. Unamonu went down
to the Eternal House every day and read and re-read the magic formulae that the soul needed
28
in order to acquire everlasting life like Osiris. He also saw to it that the room neighbouring the
resting-place of the body was well stocked with necessities.
The funeral took place on the seventy-seventh day. A huge crowd came to see Senusret
off on his last earthly journey: all the three thousand seven hundred priests of the great
temple, then came the high ranking officials of the city, the heads of all the trade guilds, the
shepherds, the peasants and even the much despised swineherds. The wailing of the women
shook the air while the soldiers with their golden spears and their leathern helmets escorted
the mummy which was carried by sixteen attendants followed by the cow with painted horns
to be sacrificed. At the head of the funeral procession walked Unamonu himself representing
the faithful god, Horus, while on his right and left two priests representing Thot and Anubis.
Behind them came Merit representing the goddess Isis, then followed Neferura standing for
the gentle Neftis.
The cortege started towards the great Temple and stopped for a few moments in front of
the huge column surrounded by tall poles on the tops of which fluttered the flags of the two
crowns. Unamonu murmured a prayer and the procession made for the House of Eternity.
Wrapped in a white shroud on its chest as a pious gem, the image of the kind Osiris with the
oval smiling face, the Pharaoh, whip in one hand, the shepherd's staff in the other, the
mummy was laid on the sand dune at the mouth of the tomb. The sacrificing priest
slaughtered the cow and handed the meat round.
The ceremony was long and solemn as it should be. Not knowing the sacred words and
having to utter them after the priests, Merit and Neferura slightly bungled the service so that
Unamonu frowned twice. The mummy was finally lowered underground and laid on a
sarcophagus on one side the head slightly propped up so that he could more easily read the
formulae that bring redemption in the world beyond the grave or refresh his memory in case
he had forgotten them. The brick-layers promptly started to stop up the entrance to the
underground corridor while the saddened multitude regaled themselves on the rich food
offered in memory of the deceased.
All night long Unamonu watched, in his mind's eye, the journey of his father's soul in the
other world. He saw him arrive at the temple of Osiris, knock at the gate of the empire of
souls, enter the hall of justice where man is redeemed of sins and thus made deserving to
have everlasting life. At the farthest end of the hall sat the kind and just god under a
sycamore waiting for his son Senusret who came in trembling. There was a huge balance in
the middle of the hall where Mait, the goddess of justice and truth, stood waiting to weigh the
heart of the deceased. Nearby stood a fierce beast, Amait, the eater half crocodile and half
hippopotamus that turned its mouth towards Osiris as if asking permission to eat up the new-
comer.
All around the forty-two god judges and sins that lead men into temptation on earth, were
squatting on the floor. Anubis puts the heart on the scales. Senusret is scared out of his wits
and cries out, "Heart of my mother, heart of my birth, heart of my life, do not bear witness
against me, be not my enemy before the immortal gods The kind and loving Isis is ready to
come to the rescue. But there is no need to. Senusret has never sinned so the god Thot could
make known to Osiris his master : "The deceased has been weighed on the scales and he has
no sins, his heart is righteous as shown by the scales..." Then Osiris spoke cheerfully : "Let
the deceased be victorious and walk in all places among spirits and among gods and the
guards of the Western gates shall not stop him !..." Overwhelmed with joy Senusret then
quickly repeated the one hundred and one names of Osiris and the names of all the other
gods, then of the seven halls of Heaven with their fourteen gates and fourteen dwellings...
Unamonu could not sleep a wink that night. He kept worrying lest he should have
forgotten something and that the soul of the man who had given him life for want of some
talisman or other might be devoured by some evil spirit and be lost in eternal nothingness.
The thought terrified him. The danger of nothingness now became a threat to his own being.
He must ward it off. He strongly felt that his life must be extended even beyond death as if he
had a secret mission to accomplish.'
29
 Next day he decided to have work started on his own House of Eternity at once. He talked
it over with the master craftsmen and chose a site hidden among hills. He himself made out
some plans and began work with a handful of trustworthy men. And he calmed clown as if he
had now crushed the power of death.
Two years later Merit, his mother, passed away not so much because of age as of grief for
her husband, Senusret, whom she had loved very much and with whom she had got on so well
together.
Another two years later a messenger brought the news that the Pharaoh had died. The
holy city of About went into deep mourning and Unamonu made preparations to go to Nu-Ptah
to attend the funeral of the dead king and the coronation of the new one. On hearing the news
Neferura flattered her husband and begged him to take her along. She had never been away
not even as far as Nut-Amon although she is the wife of a county governor and would be
entitled to make public appearances. She wept and cursed her destiny. All men take their
wives along with them when they attend such beautiful festivities. She is neither ugly nor
stupid. Why should she be destined to bury her youth in a town where there were only priests
and tombs. She wanted to know the customs at court and to chat with the Pharaoh's Wives.
Unamonu gave in. He took her along.

Nu-Ptah, the capital, was noisily mourning over Kufu while the high priests were preparing
the coronation of the crown prince Dadefra, the eldest of the thirty-three sons of the
deceased.
Unamonu like all other county governors was a guest of the Pharaoh's House. The crown
prince had been in the temple for several days preparing for the coronation. Cafra, the
second son of Kufu was to welcome the county governors. All day long he chatted with them
and saw to it that they were well taken care of. He had a sweet voice and eyes of steel.
Unamonu loved him.
Mourning ended on coronation day. People crowded in the crooked narrow streets. The
luckier ones found their way on the lane between the royal palace and the grand temple of
Amon where the procession was to pass by. When Dadefra made his appearance with the
special heavy head-dress on, his rich cloak over his shoulders
and the staff and whip of Osiris in his hands the whole multitude burst into cheers.
Everywhere in the throne hall, in the temple, Unamonu closely watched the new pharaoh's
heavy face, his thick moist lips. Beads of sweat trickled down the pharaoh's forehead cutting
furrows in the make up the women slaves had put on his face. His olive eyes of yellowish
green betokened the lassitude and languor of the ladies' man. Watching him, Unamonu felt a
strange hatred surge within him. He tried to stifle it but in vain. He remembered the words
that his father had once whispered to him about the crown prince : "Dadefra loves women
better than he does Amon..." Then rumour had it, and it spread as far as Abotu, that Dadefra
had taken a slave's daughter, Isit, into his House of Women. That was why the prince
neglected and humiliated his sister and wife. Isit had cast a spell over him that made him
always love other women but come back to her bed each might.
As they were walking round the walls of the sanctuary. Unamonu asked one of the
priests,
"Has the pharaoh got any children ?"
30
 "Isit has borne him three", answered the priest surprised that the county governor should
be ignorant of what the lowest slave in Nu-Ptah knew.
The festivity ended with a grand feast in the palace gardens rich in plane-tree shade,
flowery mown lawns like carpets and benches of sycomore and marble. Low tables were
spread out on the margins of lanes for the benefit of the leaders of guilds and the thousands
of attendants of the pharaoh's household. The county governors and their wives were seated
on a white terrace facing the palace together with all the royal counsellors and the high
priests of all the gods.
Dadefra made his appearance in the company of the Grand Woman, his sister and wife,
and of Isit, the woman of his heart. Everybody bowed low and kissed the ground but in the
hearts of the superiors there was amazement that the pharaoh could not keep Isit away even
at the coronation feast. Instead of holding his royal wife's hand, Dadefra was leaning on the
shoulder of his beautiful mistress who was smiling triumphantly and looked over the bowed
heads as if she were the true ruler over the two countries.
Unamonu was sitting at a table near that of the pharaoh's. When he caught sight of Isit he
gave a start as if shot by an arrow. He could not take his eyes away from her, and felt a terror
in his heart that yet comforted him.
"Isit... Isit..."
The name whirled wildly in his head as if searching for traces of a hidden memory in the
innermost recesses of his soul.
"I know Isit... Where do I know her from ?" he suddenly wondered making an effort to
remember all the moments of his life.
It was in vain and yet the feeling persisted more and more vividly his heart now
overflowing with the burning joy of a long-awaited second coming together.
Isit stood a little while before sitting down on the lion skin covered bench on the pharaoh's
left. A thick white ostrich feather in her reddish-brown hair, her thin blood-coloured lips, her
small pert turned-up nose her translucent dress caressed her slender body. Her collar
embroidered in gold thread and studded with precious stones falling on her ivory shoulders
and resting on her breasts round like two oranges. On her feet she had sandals of gold.
Slaves carrying heavy trays loaded with food were running between tables. The favourite
dish was fried goose and aged wines in double handled cups continuously filled by attending
maidens. Neferura was happy. She felt that she was more beautiful than all the other women.
She laughed and ate. Breaking a goose breast into pieces with her fingers she whispered to
Unamonu,
"Our lotus seed bread is better than this barley one..."
Unamonu did not hear her. In his hand he was holding tight a hunk of fried goose that he
had not even tasted. He was staring at the pharaoh's table in a daze. Neferura spoke again.
He did not understand but he came round.
"Isit is absolutely bewitching", he thought to himself. He was worried.
He gulped down two cups of wine in quick succession and started chatting with an old
county governor. They talked about the House of Eternity that the late Kufu had had built one
year before his death as if urged by a premonition that his end was drawing near. The old
man, a big eater, his cheeks smeared all over with grease and bits of meat, his eyes popping
out with greed answered in monosyllables taking a swig of wine after each mouthful. It was
only after he had finished off his drumstick that he felt like making conversation and he
started talking about the expensive tomb he had had built close to the pyramid of the great
pharaoh so that he could rest in peace by the side of his kind and just master. Unamonu,
however, was not listening. He was again gazing at Isit who had not even noticed him. Then,
all at once, he interrupted the old man's chatter and from the bottom of his heart came the
words
"Isit, the king's woman, she is beautiful..."
The county governor gave a sly wink, turned his head to have a look at her and murmured,

31
 "She is beautiful. And what's more she'll never grow old. She's thirty, has borne three
children and, there you are, she looks like a maiden of fifteen.
Neferura overheard the old man's words, heaved a sigh and murmured reproachfully,
"Oh, I wish I knew her secret. Unamonu knows it but he won't tell".
Unamonu looked at her in surprise as if he saw her for the first time in his life. He was
suddenly struck by the thought : "This woman is a stranger to me although she's my sister
and wife, while Isit, although, a stranger,. She seems to be my true sister and wife !" It was a
strange thought and it frightened him. He wanted to drive it out of his mind and again turned
his eyes towards Isit who was laughing noisily in self contentment as the pharaoh stroked her
naked back. In Unamonu's heart his hatred for Dadefra flared up more violently than ever. He
felt like dashing over to save Isit from the caresses of an enemy. Neferura's voice calmed him
down,
"Look what a beautiful dress she has on. I'm going to have one like it. Do you think it will
suit me ? Do you like the cut of the sleeves ? They're like swallows. Look at the way the
pharaoh's hugging her. Oh ! and the poor queen smiling and putting up with it all. But she
really is too cool. Isit is much sweeter.
Then Isit stretching her neck under the royal kiss turned her eyes towards the table
where Unamonu was sitting, caught his eye and her smile froze on her lips. It was for the very
first time that Unamonu actually saw her eyes, blue as the morning sky, her eyelids heavy
with make-up, a mysterious and tempting gleam, a reminiscence of another world. Her
bewildered gaze on Unamonu was so long that everybody took notice. The pharaoh himself
turned his eyes towards Unamonu's table and whispered something in Isit's ear that made her
start as if waked from a pleasant dream. Neferura had noticed Isit's long, steady look and
blushed with pride when Dadefra himself deigned to look their way and murmured in delight,
"Did you see that, Unamonu ? Isit looked at me. So did the pharaoh. I am the only one
they took notice of here. I'm so happy".
The slaves were now bringing fruit and sweets.
In front of the royal table on the small square designed for the purpose, Tantnuit, the
dancer, made her appearance. She was stark naked holding a red transparent veil in her
hands voluptuously twisting her body to the sounds of the sistrum, flute, and harp. The
pharaoh's eyes were all ablaze. The small orchestra struck up a tantalizing tune. Slave girls
squatting among the musicians clapped their hands beating time. Tantnuit twisted and span
round swaying her hips, shaking her belly whirling the veil around as if in self-defence
against passionate advances. Dadefra kept licking his lips feasting his eyes on her. When, at
the end of the dance, she threw herself on her knees before him, the pharaoh gave her a
cornelian ring as he squeezed her slightly sweated arm.
Tantnuit had hardly left the scene and Danga, the dwarf, the court's pampered jester
rushed in. He was received with peals of laughter to which he responded by sticking out his
tongue. He walked about on all fours yelping like a hungry clog and turned somersaults. But
the pharaoh took no notice of him.- Angered at being ignored, the dwarf howled wild words in
an unknown language. In vain. Some county governors ignorant of conventions at court let
out feeble laughs.
Next came a black with monkeys trained to dance like human beings to a special music
played on flutes and drums. Everybody was delighted except Dadefra. He did not even glance
at the foreign maestro and his two parrots trained to talk with each other about the new
pharaoh and shout at the end : "May our master Dadefra live millions and millions of years !"
All of a sudden the pharaoh in a harsh voice gave the order
"Tantnuit !"
The master of ceremonies ran out in despair to find Tantnuit wrapped in a linen cloak
sitting among her companions underneath an old palm-tree nearby. The moment Dadefra set
eyes on her his face lit up with pleasure. In the middle of the dance he spoke one word to the
queen and another word to his favourite ; he rose, beckoned to the dancer, took her by the
hand and the four of them made for the palace gate. On her way out Isit turned to have one
32
long look at Unamonu as if to satisfy her soul. The pharaoh put his arm around the dancer's
waist touching her naked rounded hips. Sighs of relief were heard everywhere
"Dadefra has invited Tantnuit, He's through with Isit. He has freed himself from the charms
of the beautiful Isit. Glory to the great Amon !"
Unamonu was glad but could not understand why there was a painful empty feeling in his
heart when Isit was out of sight, and yet he was cheerful.
"She kept looking at me, she did", Neferura whispered triumphantly in his ear. "But
Tantnuit, the dancer is more beautiful and from now on she will be the pharaoh's favourite".
Every word he heard seemed soaked deep in happiness,
The merry-making continued. Other dancers came, then came the Libyan wrestlers,
Unamonu looked on and kept smiling lost in thought. 'At the table next to his the wife of the
county governor of Mes-Ra, a soured old woman, said out loud
"The pharaoh will drive her out of his House of Women although she is the mother of his
children, and Isit will again be a slave just like her mother was..."
Unamonu heard the old woman's words. They made him so happy that he felt like hugging
her. He answered laughing in self-content,
"That's all right! Let the pharaoh kick her out ! I'll buy her then and take her to our home in
Abotu". His tongue thickened and his words turned into a jabber as if he were drunk although
he had not drunk half as much as the others. Neferura was delighted that Unamonu thought of
buying her the pharaoh's favourite as a slave in their household.
,
4

The next day Unamonu went to the high priest of Osiris who knew everything that was
going on at court. He must find out all about Isit or at least talk about her. The high priest had
known and loved Senusret. The priest was talkative by nature and would talk at the slightest
provocation. He trusted the son of Senusret and lie opened his heart to Unamonu especially
when the conversation turned to the new pharaoh
"These are bad omens ! Dadefra is completely at the mercy of women he murmured in
bitterness. "Instead of devoting his energies to the problems of government he is always
thinking of his unsatisfied carnal desires. A pharaoh should be like Amon, the god of gods,
but Dadefra can't control his sexual urge..."
Unamonu nodded with the seriousness suited to the occasion and wondered how he could
find out about Isit. The priest went on to say that all the attendants of the gods were indignant
at the new pharaoh's behaviour. There has never been a ruler in the history of the two
countries to appear at the very feast of his coronation holding the hand of his mistress. Let
him have as many women as his heart desires but let him keep them in his ownHouse of
Women according to
custom, for the satisfaction of the flesh. And, then, the way he left the table with Tantnuit
anxious to go to bed with her thus putting all the high officials to shame.
"He is completely enslaved by women", the old man groaned.
Unamonu now saw his chance to direct the conversation his way, "At least Dadefra has got
rid of the witch ?..." The priest smiled kindly.
"Do you think he's got rid of her ? You don't know Dadefra, young man ! He hasn't got rid of
her and never can free himself from her charms. Why, he's got Isitunder his skin like a sweet
poison that nobody can cure him of. Since he took Isit into his House of Women, Dadefra has
had thousands of women according to his whims. They have all gone, Isit has remained."
"Tantnuit, the dancer is too beautiful", Unamonu murmured with a heavy heart.
"Only her body is beautiful whereas Isit has a beatiful soul as well !" the old man stressed
the point.
33
 “Isit...” Unamonu whispered as if all his hopes had been shattered.
"Tantnuit may be good for one night but Isit is for a lifetime", the priest added.
"The pharaoh must drive Isit out of his House of Women !" Unamonu said his frightened
eyes flashing with anger.
"Never ! After each new woman Dadefra is tied down tighter to Isit !"
Unamonu turned pale. He looked at the high priest with imploring eyes, then stammered,
"He must drive her out !"
"Must ?" the old man rejoined somewhat sarcastically.
"Well it may interest you to know that a short while ago I saw Dadefra together with Isit in
the palace garden sycamore kiosk. He was holding her on his knees and kissing her while she
hardly responded..."
The priest was not aware that Unamonu was slightly reeling as if overtaken by a dizzy
spell. He went on talking about the goings-on in the pharaoh's household ; he pitied the queen
who had not had the good fortune to give birth to a child ; then he praised Kafra and was
sorry that the late pharaoh had not left Kafra heir to the throne for the good and the grandeur
of the country.
Unamonu heard nothing as if he had eaten of the unclean Oxyrhynchus fish that had
devoured the manhood of the kind Osiris. It was only in the evening that he came round and
said to himself that the high priest was crazy and talked a lot of rubbish and that Isif, come
what may, can no longer stay in Dadefra's House of Women.
The pharaoh's Grand Lady invited the wives of ail the county governors to a party in her
houses. From morning till noon Neferura kept dolling herself up and put on all her jewels. She
wanted again to be the most beautiful as she thought she had been at the coronationfeast.
When she came back to her husband she was bub bling over with joy.
"I was charming, my love ! and had a wonderful time. Everybody admired me. Some of the
pharaoh's women immediately called their slaves to see my dress and have the same kind of
dresses made for them..."
Unamonu waited anxiously. He was hoping to hear about Isit. Neferura gave details of
how she had met Dadefra's eighty-eight women (she did her best to remember their names)
and, above all, the dresses and jewels of each and everyone of them... She did not like the
queen very much. She actually found her too cold and melancholic. Unamonu could stand it
no longer and burst out
"What about Isit ? Did the pharaoh drive her out?"
Neferura gave him a haughty look as if the question deserved no answer. She went on for a
little while talking of the queen's sandals and then she turned to Isit, Unamonu sighed.
"Almost all the time Isit was with me", she said proudly. "Didn't I tell you that she was
gazing at me at the feast ? That's the naked truth. Isit now told me that I was the most
beautiful of all !"
Shivers ran up Unamonu's spine. He felt like asking a thousand questions but was afraid
Neferura might find out his secret. So he just kept silent and drank her words in,
"She asked me about you", Neferura went on "tightening her lips ironically as if ashamed
to talk about a poor county governor. You were lucky I made a very good impression. She
asked me several times about you. But that was of course just to flatter me. See, what it
means to have a clever and beautiful wife like me ? You don't deserve so many sacrifices on
my part, Unamonu !"
One could clearly see the envy on the man's face as he murmured,
"You certainly are happy, Neferura !"
"I am like I ought to be", the woman said haughtily.
"But I'm sorry we're not staying here !"
"We must, at any rate, stay here till Kufu's funeral is over..."
"I meant staying here for good", Neferura rejoined.

34
 "It's a pity it can't be done. Isit asked me why don't we settle here in Nu-Ptah since you are
a friend of the pharaoh's. She didn't know that it was your destiny to live in Abotu. She even
offered to ask the pharaoh to bring us to court and .give you some suitable position."
"She did ?" asked Unamonu with a burst of joy that resolved itself into bitterness. He
added sadly
"It's true no one in the world, not even the pharaoh, can take me away from the great
temple of the Kindest One. Only death".
"I told her so and yet she insisted" Neferura added. "She loves me very much. You have no
idea how much she loves me. She's very nice. No wonder Dadefra calls her "mistress of
tenderness" and is head over heels in ]ove with her ! "
"Rumor has it that he wants to drive her away", Unamonu sighed losing all hope.
"The pharaoh will sooner drive out all the priests and high-ranking officials than send Isit
away. "There was so much assurance in Neferura's reply that no room for the slightest hope
was left. Unamonu was in low spirits indeed. His dream was shattering. Deep in his heart,
however, there still remained the yearning for Isit like a burning ember. He wandered up and
down dirty streets among ugly, noisy ragged people through the lanes of the palace gardens
hurried and frightened as thoughlooking for something he had lost for ever. Then next day out
of the blue he asked Neferura,
"What's her voice like ?"
"The queen's voice ?" she answered in surprise not quite understanding the question.
"No..." Unamonu hesitated, "not the queen's..."
"You mean Isit ?" Neferura laughed. "Warm and sweet. Soothing".
Another day passed and Unamonu asked,
"Was she cheerful ?"
"Isit is the embodiment of cheerfulness", Neferura made clear. "But in her heart she often
sighs. That's what hearts are like, never satisfied with what they have".
"Maybe she doesn't love Dadefra ?" Unamonu ventured
"What woman wouldn't love a king ?..." .
Unamonu was getting restless. Days on end he would hang around the heavy gates that
barred men from the royal Women's House hoping he might catch sight other. One look at her
would have soothed him. He tried to chat up the eunuch guards who were scared to death
and drove him away like a wretched slave.
At last the day of Kufu's funeral arrived. In his capacity as county governor in the sacred
city where the gentle god Osiris rose from the dead, Unamonu was assigned an important
role in the ceremony and above all in the rite of the opening of the tomb. Yet he bungled some
lines that he knew well ever since his childhood. He suddenly caught sight of Isit among the
other royal women. Throughout the service held in the new temple built near Kufu's House of
Eternity he could think of nothing else but wishing to hear her voice even if it meant losing his
soul in the life beyond the grave. He was glad when the pharaoh's mummy was laid in the
bosom of the huge pyramid.
Thousands of cows and ever so many fowls were sacrificed that the soul of the deceased
might gain the mercy of the god who loves justice. Thousands and thousands of people
surrounded the House of Eternity which looked like a mountain of shiny stones. The feast was
to the satisfaction of everybody. The smoke of the sacrifices covered the entire field all
around like a blue cloud and descended over the waters of the sacred Nile. Thousands of
priests high and low handed out slices of holy meat to the hungry and noisy multitude.
The pharaoh himself handed out, with his very sacred hands, the choicest pieces to the
high officials of the country beginning with the Grand Royal Lady, then to his brothers, the
princes and to the women of his house. As grand master over the great temple of the great
Osiris, Unamonu gave a helping hand to the pharaoh. He was happy. He could now see Isit
from close by for she was all the time there near to Dadefra and near to him. Sometimes his
white cloak would touch her blue dress which was as fine as a cob-web. They gazed at each
other and read in each other's eyes the joy in their hearts at meeting after a separation of
35
millions of years. Their faces were bright as their eyes comforted each other. Then the
pharaoh broke the charm with a question. Isit answered and Unamonu heard her voice but
did not understand the words. He was intoxicated with happiness. He realized that if he kept
gazing at her he would not be able to control his passion and would dash over and hug her in
front of all these people. He no longer dared look her way. But he felt her eyes on his cheeks,
his chest, his hands that were trembling as he cut a joint of sacrificial beef. Then, thirsting for
hep he raised his eyes and met her warm smile. He noticed that she was holding in her hand a
slice of meat that she had taken but one bite of. He noticed the very spot where her small
white teeth had taken the bite.
The pharaoh's hands were greasy from the meat he was handing out as a token of
friendship to the highest of the officials. Unamonu was skilfully cutting the meat although the
hand he held the knife in was trembling. All of a sudden as he was gazing at Isit he felt a sharp
pain in the forefinger of his left hand. The knife had sunk to the bone. He gave a short dull
shout. Blood spurted out from the wound. Dadefra turned to him, saw the wound and smiled.
Isit frightened rushed to him and asked
"Is it deep ?"
"Just a scratch", Unamonu mumbled looking into her eyes.
"Let me dress it", she added and gave the pharaoh an imploring look.
"Dress it !" Dadefra ordered.
Unamonu was amazed and smiled. The wound did not hurt at all and he kept looking at Isit
who was still holding the slice of meat in her hand and did not know what to do with it. He
came to the rescue. He cut a strip off his white cloak and handed it to the beautiful Isit. She
took it but was bewildered. Then Unamonu laid the knife on the stone altar and greedily
grabbed the meat.
She laughed, a laugh that to him was like drops of silver. Dressing his wound, she
whispered
"Does it hurt ?"
"No !" he whispered back.
The touch of her warm fingers thrilled him. He felt her breathing softly on his greasy
bloodstained hand. Her breath was like the shade of the sycomore in hot summer. As she
stooped over his arm he could see her round shoulders and, under her dress which laid her
neck bare, the roundness of her breasts. His nostrils drank in the fragrance of her body
sweeter and more intoxicating than all the perfumes in the world.
"What's your name ?" Isit asked looking deep into his eyes as she gently touched his
bandaged hand.
“Unamonu of About” he said softly terrified by the throbbing of his heart.
"Unamonu !" she repeated in a dreamy voice as if the sound of the name had aroused the
wisp of a memory, Isit went back to her place and lost in thought kept whispering his name.
Unamonu looked at his left hand, the one her fingers had touched and was worried that the
traces might vanish. Then ne became aware of the slice of meat in his right hand and noticed
the traces of her teeth. Wild with greed he took a bite exactly in the same place. Isit saw him.
Her eyes were filled with sunrays of joy.

In a couple of days it was time to go home to About with Neferura. The thought horrified
him. All the forty two county governors took their leave of pharaoh Dadefra kissing the
ground seven times. The pharaoh ordered them to begin the count of cattle at once.
36
 Unamonu cherished the hope that he might have one more look at Isit but had to start up
the Nile with that hope shattered. The north wind began to blow hard as if to prevent
Unamonu from leaving his love behind. His ship was heavily loaded with gifts from the
pharaoh for the great temple of Osiris while his heart was heavy with grief. Thirty three pairs
of oars were breaking the sacred waters troubled by the hot wind. In the scorching sun,
Unamonu sat on deck on a high chair facing thecity where he had left Isit. As he sat there
motionless wrapped in his white cloak, his white mitre on his head he looked like a beardless
Osiris. He agonizingly scrutinized the horizon although the temples, palaces, and gardens
long vanished from sight like a beautiful dream on waking up. Two black slave girls were
doing their utmost to protect him against the su rays with huge papyrus fans.
Night fell and Unamonu was still alone in the same place, on the same chair. In vain did
Neferura call him in the kiosk where she had prepared a soft bed and a rich meal. He longed
for solitude. His silence was measured by the rhythmic lapping of the waves as the oars
struck them steadily, and by the twinkling of the stars that were feeling their way in the dark.
Her voice echoed more and more clearly in his ears until he heard the words spoken by her,
repeated a thousand times. These words now seemed to have a multitude of meanings in
which their love had resolved itself. His left hand was still bandaged in the strip of cloth she
had got ready seven days ago. Later on, he looked into the shiny mirrorlike surface of the
water and thought he saw Isit herself white and smiling in the waves. She seemed to be
approaching swaying her hips, a strange passion in her eyes like stars. She appeared more
ravishing than Isis, the goddess protector of love and secrets. Unamonu cravingly stretched
out his arms. The image vanished, like the delusion that it really was...
Once home sadness crept into his heart like an incurable disease. Neferura thought he
was ill and asked the great magician who knew the cures for all diseases to restore
Unamonu's health and cheerfulness. He heard of her calling the magician and suspicion
began to torment him : could Isit possibly have cast a spell over him as she had done over
Dadefra ?
He recalled having eaten the piece of meat that she had bitten of. He ran to the temple
sanctuary mumbled all the formulas against magic spells, drank of all the holy waters. But
that night Isit appeared in his dream and scolded him "So that’s the way you love me !"
Unamonu felt deep remorse and cried his heart out for having defiled his love.
Then he pinned his hopes on the great holiday in honour of the kind Osiris. The new
pharaoh will come to Abotu along with his entire court, according to age-old custom. He will
certainly bring Isit along. As the month of Choiak was drawing near Unamonu's spirits,
soared higher and higher. Dadefra came alone. That plunged Unamonu into deep despair
while Neferura was overwhelmed with joy. She was the only woman of quality present. She
was the only woman the pharaoh spoke to as if she were his sister. At the ceremony of the
great mystery she prayed to the goddess Isis. She had one single wish :that Dadefra should
fall in love with her and take her to his House of Women for good.
The very same high priest who had spoken to Unamonu about Isis in the yard of the Osirian
temple in Nu-Ptah now told him all about the recent happenings in the pharaoh's household.
The queen had had enough.
"If Isit goes to Abotu, I stay at home !" she said to the pharaoh's face urged on by the noble
Kafra. That threw the pharaoh into a fit of anger and for a moment he thought of coming with
Isit and the other women and leaving Aia at home which would have been an unforgiveable
insult. On the last day, however, fortunately for the two countries he gave in to the prayers of
the high priests and left all the women behind.
Unamonu listened to the priest's tale and turned his back on him without a word. The old
man went mad and shouted at the top of his voice.
"You disrespectful wretch!”
Kafra who had accompanied the king to the great festival, took Unamonu aside, before
taking leave, to have a chat just the two of them. Unamonu hoped it would be about Isit, some
secret way of making her his own. Kafra looked into his eyes searchingly as if intent on
37
reading Unamonu's mind. But Unamonu was in for yet another disappointment. All Kafra was
interested in was the ebb and flow of the waters of the Nile, the vintage of the year... Not one
word about Isit.
Unamonu was now at a complete loss. Only a miracle could bring him to Isit. Misgivings
began to torment him. Maybe she no longer thought of him. He may have misunderstood some
innocent word of hers and that made him imagine that the pharaoh's favorite could have
stooped down to him. His own stupidity hurt him. He remembered Neferura telling him that
Isit had asked about him and yet at Kufu's funeral she was lost in thought when he had told
her his name as if she had never heard it before.
He decided to drive her out of his heart once and for all. He thought to himself that his
body craved for the body of the pharaoh's favourite with a passion that was on the verge of
morbidity. It was a craving for a fleeting pleasure that his sister and wife Neferura could no
longer give him. One could, however, find this frivolous pleasure in the arms of other women.
When his father, Senusret, was training him for the priesthood, he had taught him to despise
the pleasures of the body and to look upon woman only as a means to beget offspring in order
to perpetuate the family line. That was why he had known no other woman but Neferura.
He began to look for women. When he brought the first one into the house Neferura
turned pale. She had bragged that Unamonu would sooner die than share her with other
women. He was the only county governor who had no House of Women. What need was there
for such a house since he desired no woman ? She scolded him, she cried, she swooned.
Unamonu seemed to be made of stone. He ordered his attendants to promptly build him a
Pahimtu. The new woman he brought in was young and very beautiful : he had chosen her
because she looked like Isit. She was the daughter of a lower priest of the temple. Her family
was glad and praised the kind Isis who had brought their offspring such good luck. Unamonu
tired of her body in seven days. However, he kept her in his Pahmintu and lavished gifts on
her.
He ordered the keeper of secrets to find another woman. The newcomer was a prettier
and more tender virgin.
Once he had seven women in his Pahmintu, it occurred to Unamonu that the pleasures of
the body could not quench the fire in his heart but he would not give up. He wanted at all
costs to kill the image of Isit in his heart. He had to find a woman who could at least take her
place. So he took whatever woman he desired.He no longer bothered to bring them in his
House of Women but satisfied his lust anywhere he happened to find the woman. He no longer
made a choice. To him there was no difference between slave and mistress. They were all the
same.
And yet the more he changed them the larger the emptiness in his heart grew. Isit haunted
him everywhere, night and day.
Then one day he suddenly left for Nu-Ptah in a light boat as swift as a silver arrow.
He was planning a new canal and went to Dadefra to ask permission to name it after him :
"The kindness of Pharaoh Dadefra, son of Kufu". The pharaoh gladlygave his permission. But
there was no joy in store for Unamonu. He could not even catch a glimpse of Isit.
To make matters worse he learned that the pharaoh had had a new palace built for Isit in
the middle of a wonderful garden. The palace had been especially built to save Isit from the
anger of queen Aia. No one but Dadefra had access to the palace.
With his own eyes Unamonu saw the walls of the garden and the white marble roof of the
house. That was the tomb his soul was buried in.

38
6

Six long years of torment followed for Unamonu the county governor in Abotu. Every now
and then he would go to Nu-Ptah, prowl around the palace and wait for the miracle to
happen. He made friends with the great scribe Tetunu, keeper of the royal seal guardian over
the Pharaoh's secrets. Unamonu gave the scribe lavish gifts and skilfully talked him into
speaking about Isit for Tetunu sometimes saw her. Unamonu thus learned that Isit was no
longer cheerful and frolicsome, that she had become thoughtful and melancholy as if some
hidden pain were gnawing at her heart. Unamonu found comfort in this piece of news. Isit
yearns for him. Isit is sad because she is not with him.
Neferura regained comfort when Unamonu gave up the other women although he still
kept them in his Pahimtu. She demanded, however, that she go along with him whenever he
went to Nu-Ptah. He eventually gave in thinking that through Neferura he could get to see Isit.
The great scribe advised him to calm down. It would not be advisable to get involved in the
pharaoh's family life. If Neferura went to queen Aia, the pharaoh might not like it. If she gained
access to Isit the queen and all her friends, the brave Kafra included, would be angry. People
should never interfere in the lives of their higher-ups. Unamonu insisted. He had ever so many
hopes. Neferura must speak to Isit. Little did he care about the queen's anger. He was
devoted to Dadefra — the pharaoh was his master. Tetunu gave in. Through his good offices,
Dadefra gladly allowed the county governor's wife to visit Isit in the royal house of love.
Neferura was amazed at the splendour in the house but was more impressed by the
welcome Isit gave her.She honored and embraced Neferura as if she were her sister. She
was just as sweet as she had been six years ago but there was a touch of painful melancholy
in her blue eyes. They chatted about a lot of insignificant things and then turned to the
festivities that occasioned their getting together and making friends.
"How is Unamonu ?" Isit suddenly asked in a sweeter voice.
Neferura told her how Unamonu had changed as if he were unwell. Isit gave a start. Her
eyes filled with tears.
"She loves me so much that even my husband's suffering affects her !" Neferura thought
as she flattered herself.
Isit did not complain about her solitude. She had thousands of slaves and the pharaoh
gladly fulfilled her every wish.
"The pharaoh dotes on me", Isit said with a sigh. "That's why he can't love his royal sister.
I'm not to blame. I'm just a poor woman. Time and again I have asked him on bended knee to
go back to Aia and leave me to my fate. I don't even expect him to keep me in
his House of Women. No use ! He says he would sooner set all the towns in his two countries
on fire than lose me".
On their way home, Neferura had to tell Unamonu dozens of times over and over again,
word for word all she had learned from Isit. Listening to it all his heart filled with joy. He was
sure now that Isit was the very essence of his soul. Life without her was meaningless on earth
or in any other world. In her eyes he knew, there shone the splendour of Osiris's light. By
union with her only could he achieve union with the great god. Isit is the talisman of his
immortality as he vouches for her eternity.
The two of them alone merging in one soul can become a divine soul worthy of
contemplating eternity. Their love is love in Osiris, the happiest of happiness, the most
mysterious of mysteries.
"I must get her out of the pharaoh’s love dungeon by all means ! " Unamonu said to
himself. .
He locked himself up in the chamber of magic which was behind the sanctuary. He was
determined to try hekau magic of which the holy scriptures said briefly that it could "crush
countries and crowns". No one ever dared try this magic for it brought about the death of the
39
magician himself.- Unamonu dared. Life without Isit meant a life with no fear of death. He
melted ten ingots of pure gold, mixed it with seven drops of his own blood and made a
statuette of Isit. He then hid it in a miniature palace, a duplicate of the white house in which
the Pharaoh's favourite lived. For seventy days running, seven times a day he took out the
golden image and seven times mumbled ancient words that he himself did not understand. He
finally crushed the palace with a silver hammer again melted the statuette and made a chain
of it which he hung round his neck to wear until the magic spell was fulfilled.
The following day news came that queen Aia had died. Unamonu secretly rubbed his
hands, "That was the power of magic hekau !"
He started off at once for Nu-Ptah in his big three sail ship. Before the city of Mes-Ra
appeared on the horizon he met a long convoy of swift ships coming from the north Kafra's
flag was flying on all of them. Unamonu was puzzled : "How come Kafra was not attending
queen Aia's funeral ?" Still he wanted to go on his way. He was signalled to stop and invited
on Kafra's ship. The prince himself spoke to him,
"The pharaoh poisoned Aia, the Grand Royal Lady, my sister and his sister in order to
place Isit his favourite on the throne. My life and the lives of all the offspring of the great Kufu
will be in great danger from now on. Dadefra wants to kill all those belonging to the Pharaoh's
family line and leave both countries to his children with Isit. The high priests of Nu-Ptah
shudder at this lawlessness and urge me to save Amon's countries from the master ruled by a
brainless slave. That is why I left. Now, I ask you, Unamonu, to tell me quite frankly whether
you are on my side or on the side of lawlessness?”
“I'm on your side !" Unamonu answered without hesitation.
"I thought you were our enemy" Kafra went on.
"Your wife once called on Isit in the royal house of love. Now we are going to kill Dadefra
and re-establish justice !"
Unamonu was beyond himself with joy. The magic he had appealed to was working. If
Dadefra dies, Isit will be saved and will belong to him.
"All the governors of the northern counties are on our side", Kafra added. "You alone
were silent. We are going westwards now to gather a large army and get ready for battle.
Victory will be ours in seventy days.

The war went on for one year and a half until the decisive battle near Mes-Ra where the
pharaoh's army was crushed and routed. Dadefra, however, succeeded in running away to
Nu-Ptah to hastily gather a new army.
Kafra advanced steadily northwards on his way destroying all the temples built by
Dadefra. Once the lawless king was killed, Kafra planned to wipe out all traces of Dadefra's
life in this world. In front of the city of Nu-Ptah, he met the pharaoh's new army. The fierce
battle began after sunrise and lasted half a day. His army crushed, Dadefra ran for his life till
he reached his unfinished pyramid where he was to await victory or death.
Unamonu had brought the best soldiers and rich provisions to Kafra's army and so he was
the prince's henchman and chief adviser. Kafra was determined to bring about Dadefra's
undoing and Unamonu did his best to foster his determination. Any delay towards the
achievement of this end was a heartache to Unamonu. The sventy days seemed a lifetime and
to make matters worse the great victory came only after twice seven months. His anxiety
grew as they approached the city of Nu-Ptah. He was terrified at the thought that Isit might
have been killed in the scuffle. Then he was afraid that Dadefra might have taken her with him
and she might have fallen into the hands of bloodthirsty warriors. Each victory brought him
40
mixed feelings. Could she possibly be among the corpses that the revengeful soldiers were
defiling ? He interrogated every prisoner, "Where is the pharaoh... where is Isit ?" The
prisoners trembled and mumbled but knew nothing and awaited their death in atrocious
torment. Unamonu killed them in the belief that their blood would soothe the awful aching of
his heart.
Soldiers brought the news that Dadefra had burnt queen Aia's mummy and had scattered
the ashes in the air. Kafra thundered
"The same will happen to Isit !"
Unamonu heard and was horrified. All his efforts andhopes were then dashed to the
ground. He waited for Kafra to calm down and then asked him for Isit.
"My soul needs Isit !" Unamonu insisted.
Kafra noticed a strange gleam in his eyes. He thought the man was planning a revenge
and promised her to him.
The bulk of the army by-passed the city hunting for Dadefra. Unamonu picked a band of
men for himself
"Let's go and find Isit !" he said,
"If Dadefra hasn't taken her with him !", Kafra answered on parting.
Unamonu felt a pang in his heart. On entering the city he ran into a priest.
"Isit!... Where's Isit?" Unamonu shouted
"The pharaoh couldn't take her with him... He left her in the house of love !" said the priest
with a low bow.
The streets were deserted. Frightened people were hiding everywhere. Here and there
straggling deserters from Dadefra's army were asking for mercy falling flat on their faces on
the ground in submission. The victors slaughtered them like sacrificial cattle dipping their
weapons in the steaming blood.
Unamonu finally caught sight of the white walls that surrounded the royal house of love
and of the flowered terraces on the roof in the midst of palm trees and sycomore trees. There
was a crowd at the big gate. Maybe other bands of soldiers had arrived there earlier and then
Isit...
He started to run. Some younger soldiers rushed past him brandishing their bronze-tipped
blood-stained spears. Others lagged behind trudging along panting heavily with dirty words
on their lips and coarse laughter. By now he was in the midst of a crowd of soldiers stripped
to the waist shiny beads of sweat all over, long bows on their shoulders, quivers on their
backs. Whichever way he turned his eyes there were hosts of men.
All of a sudden he stumbled as if those in front hadbumped against a wall. The fog lifted.
Unamonu dashed ahead. The great gate was only about fifty yards away. Some of his soldiers
studded with arrows were tossing on the sand moaning and groaning. A handful of armed
enemies disappeared through the bronze gate that was slammed with a loud bang.
Unamonu rushed towards the gate. Scared out of his wits he yelled at the soldiers who
were now appearing on the garden walls
"Give me Isit and I'll give you life !”
"Come and get her !" mockingly retorted a thick hoarse voice followed by peals of
laughter.
That very moment Unamonu heard the swishing of arrows all around him. He stood stock
still in a daze. His men had attacked the gate while his archers were aiming at the men on the
walls forcing them to take cover. His men were knocking furiously at the gate with their fists,
with their sword-hilts. Hatchets started to chop chips off the gate. Those inside threw heavy
rocks obstructing the efforts of the attackers and whipping up their fury. Unamonu having on
his white cloak hemmed with golden lotuses, his panther skin on his shoulder was wringing
his hands in despair, pacing up and down egging them on to break clown the gate, and
hoping they would not succeed for fear that he might not be able to rescue Isit. The air rang
with profane words :

41
 "Isit the pharaoh's dish-rag, let'er come over here !...We need her!... I'm gonna choke the
life outa her with my own hands !... I'm gonna slash off her tits with this sword !... But not
before I have my fun with her!...I wanna follow in the pharaoh's footsteps !... Me too !"
All these words were so many daggers in Unamom’s heart. He mingled with the soldiers to
be there at least when the gate goes down, to rush ahead and defend Isit.
A stone grazed his shoulder. He felt no pain so deeply was he worried about her life. He then
ordered the men to split into two groups : one group to go round the garden and climb over
the now defenceless wall ; the other to stay behind. "It's all over” Unamonu said to himself as
the first group left.
Some moments later he heard prolonged howling in the garden. The men outside hit
harder at the gate. The howling got louder. The last defenders of the gate climbed down to
face the besiegers that had got in.
Unamonu caught sight of a crack in the gate. While soldiers were striking at it harder and
harder, Unamonu tried to steal through. The panther skin slipped off, his linen cloak tore to
shreds, his right shoulder was bleeding. Yet he made it tumbling on the ground into the
garden. He was happy. He got up quickly and started for the tall white building with its
columns supporting the seven terraces transformed into flower gardens. The marble steps
led to the entrance guarded by huge statues of the goddess Hator with a cat's head on her
shoulders. Unamonu left the gravel path and darted straight across the carfully mown lawn
through the many-colored shrubs and flowers. The noise of fighting was now far behind. He
felt he was winning. He will take Isit in his arms and they will run away together. The two rows
of goddesses seemed to beckon him on. The cats seemed to wriggle their ears urging him on.
Unamonu started to shout at the height of happiness :
"Isit !... Isit !... My soul !... Here I am!
At the top of the white staircase among the grey statues of the goddess of voluptuousness
there suddenly appeared a tall broad-shouldered bare-chested man wearing the red apron of
an archer. Unamonu saw a harsh blackish face and two eyes bulging with hatred. He
stretched out both arms as if to tell the archer that he had come to rescue Isit. The man
raised his bow and aimed. -Unamonu yelled in a voice that was trembling with love :
"Isit !... Isit!”
He heard the arrow whizzing through the air, in the twinkling of an eye he felt it strike his
neck and suddenly a sharp pain in his throat. His legs walked on a couple of paces then
wobbled, he raised his arms skywards and fell on his back. The upright arrow stuck deep in
his neck was wagging like the tail of an angry snake. Unamonu felt the steaming blood
bubbling in his wound and trickling right and left following the swaying of the villainous arrow.
Meantime he found comfort in the thought that Isit maybe was no longer there anyhow or that
the man with the hateful eyes may have killed her to make sure she did not fall in the hands of
the enemy. His eyes saw the whitish sky far up above and the dry branch of a palm tree like
an arm stretched out in the air. It occurred to him to make an effort to take the arrow out of
the wound. It might be poisoned. But his arms seemed nailed to the ground. He could only
twist his chest. Then fearlessly he thought that he must die and that Isit...
The sky suddenly went dark as if a black curtain had been drawn over it and that very
moment the unfinished thought vanished.

*
The soul burst into a purifying agitation. Its flight was swifter and swifter as it passed
through thinner and thinner spheres and turned into an aimless drifting then stopped still.
Formless matter closed in on the speck of consciousness like a dark dungeon. Then the
atmosphere cleared into a sheet of light which brought memories of a divine existence
together with slim hopes.
An attempt for greater heights upset the balance in consciousness. The forms of matter
melted in the emptiness of the infinite. Space itself was extinguished inconsciousness. Time
rotated like a tireless call to a painful solitude...
42
Chapter Three
HAMMA

...In the boundless void, the soul awkwardly fluttered like a ray of hope.
The wait beyond time was pervaded by a warm ray out of the infinite bringing urges.
Then the wait grew thinner and time again seemed to flow in a straight line. Awareness of
space gradually took shape in waves that grew thicker and thicker. Various levels of matter
changed kaleidoscopically making the wings of the soul heavier and giving birth to the feeling
of motion.
It was a descent towards a new goal, a goal that was hazy and yet felt like a reliable guide.
The soul seemed striving to take shape while consciousness grew more and more restive and
helpless.
And all of a sudden, consciousness flickered out overburdened by the embrace of a new
world...

She named him Gungunum in memory of the brave, wise and just king who had once ruled
over Larsa and of whom it was often said had been an ancestor of hers. She was the wife of
the great numanda Pidur Libur, attendant and friend of king Samsu-Iluna, son and
descendant from the memorable Hammurabi ruler over Sumer and Akkad. Her name was
Nim-Utumu and she was glad that she had given birth to a boy and was impatiently waiting for
the return of her husband from the war against king Rim-Sin who had invaded the country
occupying the towns of Uruk and Ism, slaughtering thousands and thousands of people.
Nim-Utumu had given birth six times before but none of her offspring had survived. She
was now trembling for the life of Gungunum and daily sacrificed a white cow to the great god
Marduk imploring him for his protection. The old woman slave Luballat, who was skilled
in taking care of children, bathed him three times a day in fresh water brought from the
sacred river Buranun mumbling all sorts of charms that would certainly drive away the spirits
of all diseases.
Pidur Libur came home in bad humor. He had defeated the enemy in several battles but
king Rim-Sin had got away. And it was common knowledge that there will never be peace at
the frontiers until king Rim-Sin was skinned alive. He cheered up, however, when Nim-Utumu
presented him the two months old husky, healthy baby. He hugged the baby tight, promised
rich sacrifices to the gods and ordered Ululai, old Luballat's son to be as faithful as a dog to
Gungunum.
So Gungunum was reared in close companionship with Ululai who was fifteen years his
senior.
They would wander through the streets and gardens of the magnificent city of Babylon.
They would often go to the banks of the sacred Buranun, the river that split the city in two,
protected by the great Marduk, the supreme god. There they watched the countless boats
gliding over the muddy waves and Ululai would tell him about horrifying wars the kings of
Babylon had fought against the restive and greedy neighbours. Gungunum did not like these
43
stories but he listened to them like a good boy because he was very fond of Ululai although
Ululai secretly spanked him being of a sanguine disposition like all the people who hailed from
Assure And Ululai was one of them. He had come to Babylon at the age of three. His mother,
Luballat, had been taken prisoner of war byone of king Hammurabi's soldiers and sold for a
low price, since she had a small child, to Nim-Utumu's parents who then brought her as part
of her dowry to Pidur Ribur.
Ululai knew a lot of things especially about the war with the Kasheets. He had told the story
to Gungunum so many times that the child well remembered all the events : how king Samsu-
Iluna led his army against them and defeated them beyond the city of Kuta, how seven
thousand fell on the battlefield and nine thousand were taken prisoners, king Ulamburiash
among them, while the others trying to run away were drowned by the thousands like rats in
the waters of the Idigna river. Above all, Ulalai enjoyed talking about Samsu-Iluna's revenge
on the enemy that fell in his hands. Ululai's eyes flashed like a tiger's eyes his face twisted, his
nostrils swelled as if he smelled the fresh blood when he described in a hoarse voice how
Samsu-Iluna having buried his dead, ordered a thousand prisoners to be skinned alive and
others to be impaled making a horrifying fence of their bodies left there to be eaten by crows
and be a lesson to anyone who ever dared invade his country again. King Samsu-Iluna with
his own hands gouged out the eyes of king Ulamburiash and the Babylonian leaders gouged
out the eyes of the Kasheet leaders taken prisoners. Then he had the others put in chains and
driven like a herd of swine with lashes into Babylon where at the gate of the Esagil temple,
the dwelling-place of the great Marduk they cut off their arms at the elbows and left them to
be spat on and tortured by the people, to starve and be torn to pieces by stray dogs.
"I spat on Ulamburiash myself", Ululai said panting with fury, "and I struck him on the face
with a bamboo stick. Pie groaned and tossed about on the ground. I was twice seven years
old at the time. You hadn't even been born, Gungunum I Nim-Utumu brought you into the
world only one year later !"
Gungunum was silent and terrified. After a while he murmured
"I hate bloodshed..."
Ululai spat scornfully, got angry and swore he would never tell him anything. His anger,
however, never did last long. He was talkative and silence tormented him even worse than the
evil spirits that he was awfully afraid of, especially since, out of sheer carelessness, he
committed the great sin of spitting in the Buranun, the sacred river. He was lucky nobody saw
him or the king's judges would have had his tongue plucked out. Since then he thought he
was haunted by the Utukke spirits even in his sleep. He was afraid to go out at night, afraid
that some Uttukke spirit might strangle him for it was common knowledge that spirits were
stronger than gods in the dark. Ululai's fright had grown since, the other day, in the temple of
the goddess Ishtar, an Abkallu fortune teller reading his future in oil floating on water,
foretold that he would die at the hands of the enemy.
He would spend hours on end in many temples of the gods gaping at the multitudes that
swarmed in the yards paved with white and black slabs, at the sacrificial altars and the surly
sacrificial priests with their blood-stained hands like butchers. Ululai especially enjoyed
visiting Emah, the wonderful house of the goddess Ishtar, with its garden teeming with
Women of Joy who kept sacrificing olive stones to their protectress that she might give them
many wealthy men. Ululai hoped that one day he would lay hands on a beautiful plump woman
the only kind he thought fit for love. Gungunum, on the other hand, would rather spend the
whole day in Esagil especially when hearings were on under the great gate guarded by two
giant statues of limasses, bulls with five legs, a human head and wings of a dragon. He would
gaze at the scribes who wrote the sentences down on clay tablets. It was an unspeakably
wonderful game Gungunum thought, this scratching of strange symbols on soft clay with a
bamboo stylus. On their way home he repeatedly asked Ululai to make him a tablet and a
stylus but the slave was afraid of the marks that fettered people's names and would much
rather make him wooden swords and other toys.

44
 One sultry summer day Nim-Utumu ordered them to stay at home in the shade and Ululai
started to weave an Assyrian basket for Gungunum. While weaving the thin reeds he spoke
about the blood curdling feats of a warrior of Assur. Gungunum listened open-eyed. He again
noticed the scar on the slave's right arm. He had never dared ask thinking there might be
some connection with the evil spirits that Ululai feared. But he could control himself no
longer. He interrupted the slave and asked
"What's that on your arm, Ululai ?"
"This ?" the slave asked with a strange grin. "This is the mark that will never disappear. It
shows that I am a slave and that my master is Pidur Libur the great nubanda of Babylon. A
scribe once told me long ago that your father's name was inscribed in this mark".
"Who made that mark that will never disappear ?" the child went on touching the scar with
his finger.
"A red-hot iron"
Ululai laughed.
"Did it hurt ?"
"I don't remember. I was about your age at the time !"
"Will they make me a mark with a red-hot iron ?" Gungunum suddenly asked.
"You are a master", the slave answered. "But if you should fall into the hands of the enemy,
you too will be a slave and they will certainly mark you with a red hot iron "
"I don't want to fight against the enemy", the child quickly rejoined then added serenely, "I
want to make symbols on a clay tablet !"
That filled Ululai with anger. He looked round and then pulled the boy lustily by the ears.
Gungunum dared not cry but ran off his eyes filled with tears until he reached the gate
guarded by the bad-tempered dog that was permanently chained. That was where Pidur Libur
found him on arriving home. At first sight he was frightened : suppose the dog had bitten him?
Then he called Ululai,
"You wretched scoundrel, how dare you leave the child in danger ?"
He beat the slave within an inch of his life and actually thought to cut off his arms at the
elbows, a punishment fit for disobedient slaves. It was only at the request of his wife Nim-
Utumu that he finally came round and forgave the man.
Next day, to get even with him, Ululai informed Gungunum's father that the boy was always
Coaxing him to make clay tablets. The slave was dead sure that Pidur Libur would thrash his
son for making a fool of him by wanting to learn to scratch symbols on clay rather than learn
to wield arms and fight. To his great surprise, however, the great courtier the king's right
hand, was overwhelmed with joy and ordered the slave to fulfill Gungunum's wish at once.
Ululai made a tablet that looked more like a brick and a stylus like a stick to prod buffaloes
when wallowing in the mud. The child now spent the whole day long playing with the stick and
the brick to the great satisfaction of Pidur Libur, who having noticed his son's diligence one
evening brought home several real tablets and a stylus from the king's great scribe. One day
he even showed Gungunum how to hold the stylus between his fingers and how to press the
tip in the soft clav in order to get beautiful symbols like nails lying down.
Gungunum was a hardworking pupil and kept askinghis father to teach him more and
more. Pidur Libur, however, did not want to overwork him. There was time enough. For the
moment he was glad Gungunum liked to write. He was confident that he would now be able to
show his gratitude to his protector, the god Nabu. For Pidur Libur had started as a simple
scribe and eventually became king Samsu-Iluna's chief adviser. In the time of the wise
Hammurabi Pidur Libur had learned to write at the great school in Borsippa, in the temple of
Ezida that belonged to the god Nabu who had invented writing and was the protector of
writers. He was sharp and diligent. It took him three years to learn what it took others ten
years or even more to assimilate. God Nabu's high priest, master over all the teachers in
Borsippa, loved him with all his heart and when Hammurabi asked him for a smart scribe he
promptly sent Pidur Libur. That was how he became scribe to the king in residence in the
great palace at Babylon. That was how he came to know Samsu-Iluna and make friends with
45
him so that when Hammurabi passed away and Samsufluna ascended the throne, Pidur Libur
was chosen to be the great nubanda in charge of all the king's possessions, all his estates
and the whole country in time of peace while in time of war he is together with the king,
commander-in-chief of the country's military forces.
It was only in autumn, when the huge granite block off the Amurru mountain was brought
to Babylon for erecting an extraordinary monument in honour of the supreme god Marcluk,
who had brought king Samsulluna only victories in war, when Gungunum had completed his
thirteenth year, that Pidur Libur said one morning to Nim-Utumu, his wife
"Next summer, after the Akiti festival I'm going to place Gungunum under the care of Nabu
at Borsippa to teach him the sacred symbols."
Nim-Utumu went down on her knees and begged him not to take away the apple of her eye.
Pidur Libur lost his temper and kicked her. The woman screamed and pretended to faint and
then all day long she complained to her slaves that Pidur Libur was going to estrange her son
from her. Meanwhile her husband made no further mention of his plan and Nim-Utumu calmed
down. She thought that her wailing and tears had convinced him. She had her own plans
about Gungunum's future : to marry him off to some girl belonging to high society maybe even
one of the girls in the royal House of Women and then he might get to be governor in some
big city.

Then came the first morning of the month of Nisanu when the Akiti festivities begin and
last for eleven days running. The city of Babylon had countless terraces and temples,
unparalleled palaces and gardens with thousands of winding streets between dilapidated
houses made of reed and clay. It was surrounded by tall walls made of burnt brick wide
enough for two carts drawn by three mules to drive side by side and protected by a deep
moat three times wider than the wall and always full of running water from the Barunun. This
city now had to act as host to multitudes from all the four regions of the country. Gods from
various towns escorted by throngs of priests and believers came to worship the great Marduk
who was to decide the destinies of the people for one whole year. Since the gods
outnumbered the temples in this colossal city, the poorer people had to content themselves
with tents set up in gardens for the purpose.
Since on the first day king Samsu-Iluna escorted by Pidur Libur and other high officials left
for Borsippa whence he was to return with the god Nabu, Gungunum wanted to take
advantage and see and understand all the holy ceremonies of the Akiti festivities. Together
with Ululai he walked around till nightfall to get to know the strange gods.
The second day the city streets groaned with crowds of people. Gungunum knew that for
the time being there was nothing special to be seen. The high priest Urigallu had bathed in
the river before sunrise and donned his white linen vestment and had entered the sanctuary
of Marduk and had said a secret prayer. At least that was what an attendant of the temple
once told him since his father never wanted to talk of these things and said that there was
time enough to learn them later when he could understand them.
As a matter of fact neither did the third day bring anything new to the uninitiated. It was
said that three hours after sunset a silversmith, a carpenter and a weaver would enter the
temple to make two statuettes one of cedar and another of tamarind to meet the god of
Borsippa with. Gungunum wished to see the men go through the great gate at Esagil. He
thought that by seing the three craftsmen he would understand something
un-understandable. So he left home later accompanied by Ululai. There was still plenty of
time before the setting of the sun so he thought it worthwhile to watch the preparations that
were being made on the banks of the Arahtu canal to meet the holy boat. Ululai, however,
took him in the direction of the Emah temple in the wonderful garden of the goddess Ishtar
46
where thousands of sacred courtesans were soliciting passers-by because it was for their
sake that Ishtar preserved man and gave him to them. The white paths were teeming with
men of all ages yearning for free carnal pleasures to be had in the garden of the goddess only
during the Akiti festival. On the new-mown lawn, under trees, under bushes everywhere
daughters of joy some stark naked, others covered with translucent veils to make them more
alluring, were lolling about waiting some lying on their backs others crouching down and
making all sorts of obscene movements since they were not allowed to use language in their
soliciting.
Every time he saw a plump one with big breasts Ululai clicked his tongue. He had a wife at
home, one that Pidur Libur had bought for him a long time ago and she had borne him four
children. He was sick and tired of her and her overworked body. What he needed now was
women, skilled in lovemaking. The sun had not set yet but in the garden of love luring
shadows appeared. Gungunum stood amazed as he watched the figures of the holy
courtesans. He blushed and felt waves of blood squeezing his heart.
"Come on, Ululai, let's go to Esagil. Look, the sun is setting and we'll be late !", he said and
suddenly he if felt frightened.
"Let's stay on a while, master", the slave implored.
"There's time enough. We can't go away just like that..."
Gungunum could not see Ululai 's face but he understood and blushed harder. Yet he was
glad the slave insisted. His heart was beating harder than ever. Here and there under bushes
he heard moans and groans of pleasure. Ululai hesitated ; he wanted to have a good look and
burst out laughing.
Then at a turning of the path they came across a couple locked in embrace heedless of
the passers-by who themselves ignored them as if urged on by heavy thoughts.
"Look !" Ululai whispered taking him by the hand and trying to stop him.
Gungunum pulled his hand away went on. His knees were trembling.
Under an acacia tree with branches drooping to the ground like a transparent curtain,
Ululai caught sight of two courtesans. He mumbled hoarsely
"Here !"
Gungunum followed him almost in a daze. The branches stroked his cheeks reproachfully.
Both women were naked ; mother and daughter, servants to the goddess Ishtar. The mother
plump with belly and hips rounded like cushions was holding her big breasts in her hand and
speaking softly to her lissom, delicate daughter with boyish thighs and budding breasts
wrapped in her long fair hair like the skin of a lion's cub. As the boys approached the women,
the fat one lay on her back and laughing said
"A grift from Akiti..."
Ululai hurled himself on the woman like a starving tiger. The girl jumped to her feet. There
was a frightened smile on her lips. Gungunum was ashamed especially since the slave nearby
was panting and twisting. The girl came to, smiled, took him by the hand and whispered,
"My bower is over there. This is my mother's place".
The girl took him over, sat down and pulled Gungunum down on a multi-colored carpet.
He was trembling and felt beads of sweat on his forehead. He stood stock-still. The girl
understood his shyness and with a gleam of pride in her eyes said in a sultry voice
"Child, I'll make a man of you !"
She snatched off his belt, kissed him on the lips threw her soft arms round his neck and
lay down on the carpet entwining her legs round him. His heart was throbbing wildly as if his
whole body were all ablaze.
When they came out of the garden of the Emah temple it was dark. The white half moon
was high up in the black sky studded with stars. People in the streets were jostling against
one another as if it were daytime. Bare feet were thudding like frightened whispers.
Gungunum was so ashamed of himself as if he had committed some dirty misdeed. Ululai
whistled contentedly forgetting the evil spirits he was usually afraid of. He bent his steps

47
homewards also forgetting that they were supposed to go to Esagil to see the three
craftsmen. As they were nearing home Ululai suddenly burst into a hoarse laughter
"You're a man now, master !"
Gungunum made no answer. He dared not look into his mother's eyes that evening. He
went to bed and all night long dreamed he was in the garden of love among women and
voluptuous sighs.

Next day Gungunum left home earlier. Ululai smiled understandingly thus reminding him
of the garden of the goddess Ishtar. Gungunum blushed but guickly got over his
embarrassment. There were many things to be seen that day. He was overwhelmed with
curiosity. As a matter of fact the streets were swarming with people jostling against one
another around temples where two hours after sunrise the great purifications were to begin.
Gungunum went to Esagil to watch the great high priest make his exit out of the
sanctuary of the invincible god Marduk. He thought it would bring him luck. In the great
square yard the crowds were as thick as grains of sand on a beach. There were above all
strangers who had come from far away and who had never had the opportunity of watching
such a ceremony. Gungunum elbowed his way through the crowd and found himself in front
at the very moment the purification began.
A Kalu priest in a white robe, a towel on his shoulder in his hand a censer with burning
incense sprinkled the walls with holy water taken from the Buranun and Idigna rivers. The
holy water was carried in a silver vase by another priest, a younger one, while a third was
beating a Balaggu copper drum. The three of them were chanting prayers in harsh
frightening voices while the elderly Kalu passing by doors bowed low and rubbed the hinges
with the white linen towel. Then they went out through the sacred gate chanting and beating
the drum and headed for the abode of the god Nabu the wise. Only Gungunum and Ululai
followed them. The rest of the crowd stayed behind to wait for the luck bringing emergence of
the great Urigallu priest out of the sanctuary of the supreme god.
"We saw the Urigallu priest last year", Gungunum said apologetically to the slave who
was grumbling.
"There are more beautiful things to see over there".
Ululai did not answer. He could not understand why they did not stay where good luck
was in store for them. Neither did Gungunum realize why he acted the way he did. Anxiety
was gnawing at his heart as if he were in for some inevitable misfortune. He was restless. He
was seeking something but knew not what.
In the temple yard near the altar for minor sacrifices a white sheep was waiting; It was
being watched over by an Ashipu priest with a sword on his shoulder. On the altar there was
a vase with cedar oil. The moment the Marduk priests made their appearance at the gate, the
one with the sword cut off the sheep's head with one stroke and started to beat the balaggu
drum furiously until the last drop of blood drained off. Then the elderly Kalu took the vase of
oil ; the other priest laid the sheep's head on the altar and lifted the still warm carcass in his
arms. The old man then set about smearing the temple gates with oil, the sanctuary door with
greater vigour, the other priest meantime wiped the walls with the carcass of the sheep while
others roared out the proper prayers. They finally gathered the remains of the victim and
noisily proceeded to the outskirts of the city to throw them into the Buranun river.
Gungunum made a few steps to accompany them, then changed his mind. He kept
looking round walking here and there in the crowd as if he wanted to meet somebody. About
an hour later a group of priests brought the golden tapestry to decorate the entire temple of
48
the wise Nabu from top to bottom. The ceremony was a long one. Groups of priests some
playing lyres, others beating tymbals were making a deafening noise pierced by prayers
chanted by frightened voices like stifled sobs.
Before the decorating of the temple was over Gungunum beckoned to Ululai and they
both sneaked out. It was almost noon and time for the golden boat with the god Nabu and king
Samsu Iluna on board to arrive from Borsippa. There was hardly time for a snack.
Gungunum's mother, Nim-Utumu rushed them. She was afraid they would be late.
Both banks of the Arahtu canal were teeming with people. On the wharf there was the
table of gold on which the sacrifices of honey had just been offered in honour of the great
Marduk and on which others were to be made presently to the wisest of gods. All the high
priests, the great Urigallu at the head surrounded by high officials and counsellors of the king
were waiting on the wharf. The white sheep to be sacrificed were bleating in fear. On the
stone steps under a bower of palm tree leaves stood the wives of the higher-ups bedecked
with sparkling jewels, talking about insignificant things and worrying that the oppressive heat
might mar their beauty. Here, in the front row stood Nim Utumu with Gungunum.
Suddenly there was great enthusiasm that grew and grew in intensity. Both banks of the
canal were astir as thousands of voices pierced the sultry air. Thousands of arms were raised
in great excitement. The sacred boat clothed in gold appeared on the horizon. Gungunum
deeply moved and amazed watched it in aching expectation. Looking far off in the distance to
see the god's boat he caught sight of a little girl of about twelve years of age just a few yards
away standing in the women's row. Like everybody else, she was looking in the direction of
the coming boat. She was holding an elderly woman, presumably her mother, by the hand..
Gungunum could tell by the girl's sky blue dress studded with golden figures, the golden
necklace round her neck, by her long hair clasped at the back of the head by a blue ribbon
that went round her forehead, by the simple golden bracelets that adorned her arms above
the elbows that she was a maiden of quality. He could not see her face and yet he could not
take his eyes away.
Then just as the sacred boat arrived at the wharf the girl turned her head as if she had
felt his burning eyes. Gungunum was thrilled to the very roots of his being. The eyes he met
were blue with long dark lashes that gave them a violet tint. In them he saw a gleam of
softness mingled with a strange fire. When their eyes met there was, it seemed, a complete
change in the girl's countenance. The perk smile on her thin lips froze and her eyes gained a
tenderness gleaming with hope, promise, and a turbulent love.
Gungunum no longer cared about the ceremony he had year in year out anxiously
looked forward to. The boat stopped. The enthusiastic cheers of the multitude were drowned
by the chanting of the priests and the noise of all the instruments. He looked into the eyes of
the unknown girl absorbing their gleaming with an overwhelming desire. It was only when the
king came ashore followed by Pidur Libur that Gungunum thought it wiser to go up to his
father from where he could have a better look at her. While the nineteen sheep were being
sacrificed and the god Nabu was set on the cart drawn by high priests clothed in white,
Gungunum noticed his father talk to an old man who then went straight to the unknown girl
and caressed her.
"Who is the old man you were talking to a moment ago ?" Gungunum quickly asked.
"He is Ahnuri, son of Shamaiatoo, an old Ishakoo, that is, county governor who lives in
Eridu, a city very far away by the sea", Pidur Libur answered stroking the boy's head and
taking him by the hand and then walking over to have a chat with other men.
The cortege started. The chanting priests marched at the head of the procession then
came the cart of the god, next king Samsu-Iluna on foot followed immediately by Pidur Libur
with Gungunum by the hand, then came step by step the high officials of the city followed by
the multitude. When they reached the temple of Nabu they locked the god in the sanctuary
with pomp and ceremony. From there the king, preceded by the great Urigallu, bent his steps
towards Esagil. Gungunum was miserable. He had lost sight of the blue-eyed girl and lost all

49
hope of ever meeting her since women were not allowed to participate, not even as
spectators, in the ceremony in the temple of Marduk.
At the great gate the procession came to a standstill. Pidur Libur himself stopped near
the rugged gate-post. The king alone clothed in richly decorated vestments entered the
temple yard and humbly stood there waiting in the scorching sun. Some moments later the
great Urigallu came out of the sanctuary, stripped Samsu-Iluna of his heavy scepter,
expensive cloak, his royal miter and laid them on a chair in front of the great Marduk. He then
came back to the king, gave him a slap on the face and led him in front of the god, pulled him
by the ears and ordered him on his knees and confess his sins, While Samsu-Iluna was at the
feet of the supreme god Gungunum discovered Ahnuri of Eridu under the gate some yards
away. He was glad and wondered how he could approach the man and ask him about his
charming daughter.
The king reappeared in the yard together with the great Urigallu who was carrying the
signs of authority. Pidur Libur in his capacity as great nubanda, helped the king put them on
again. A moment of heavy silence followed. Deep anxiety took hold of all those present.
Samsu-Iluna himself seemed terror-stricken. In the agonizing silence the great Urigallu
approached the king slowly with long strides and fire in his eyes. The yard resounded with the
lapping of his bare feet on the pavement. He stopped in front of the king and unexpectedly
gave him a lusty slap on the right cheek a smack that echoed throughout the length and
breadth of the yard. The king's eyes filled with tears. Pidur Libur hurled himself at the king's
feet and shouted happily,
"He's shed tears !"
A burden was lifted off the chests of everybody. The multitude burst into cheers. Many of
them crawled to kiss the hem of the king's cloak. The king himself laughed proudly wiping his
tears with the back of his hand. The miracle had come true : he had shed tears which meant
that the year would be bountiful and the wars victorious.
Gungunum taking advantage of the general excitement stole up on old Ahnuri and taking
him by the sleeve asked
"Ishakoo, tell me what's your daughter's name ?"
Amazed the old man sized him up for an instant and recognizing him answered
"You are the son of Pidur Libur, aren't you ?... Aha... my daughter ?... You like her ?.., Her
name is Hamma !"
Gungunum blushed as red as a peony and dared not ask any other question but rushed to
his father's side who was nearing the exit following the king. Ahnuri shrugged his shoulders
and thought it would not be abad idea if the son of the great nubanda took Hamma as a wife
and he laughed contentedly.
After sunset Gungunum again accompanied his father to Esagil where another ceremony
was taking place. Little did he care about all these ceremonies for he was thinking of Hamma
all the time and wanted to get in touch with Ahnuri and ask more questions about her. He was
sure to meet him this time. The great urigallu high priest bound forty reeds into a sheaf which
he solemnly laid in a ditch especially dug for the purpose in the middle of the yard and then
sprinkled it abundantly with honey, milk and oil. A white bull was brought for sacrifice. King
Samsu-Iluna himself stabbed it to the heart with his own hand. Then a kalu priest came
holding a burning reed, gave it to the king who with, his own hand set the sheaf on fire. Other
priests immediately rushed to light their torches by the fire of the sacred sheaf. The courtyard
was suddenly filled with reddish lights and great shadows flitting on the walls all around.
Gungunum now ran here and there in search of Ahnuri of Eridu. But in vain. On coming home
late that evening he asked his father why the governor of Eridu had not come to the
ceremony.
"He had to leave for Eridu right after the king's confession", said Pidur Libur worrisomely
as if the question hurt him. "Three messengers came one after the other bringing bad news
from the south. Iluma-Ilum, king of the Land by the Sea is threatening to ravage our fatherland

50
by fire and sword. That is why king Samsu-Iluna ordered him home immediately to prepare for
the defense of our borders".
All of Gugunum's hopes were shattered. He cried his heart out that night. He fell asleep
hoping that he might see her again in his dreams. In vain. In the morning he woke up
depressed and life seemed meaningless to him. Instead of going to the holy festivities that
were continued he took Ululai's advice and went to Emah, the garden of love. But the sight of
women made him sick.
He yearned for Hamma.
On the seventh day, Pidur Libur took him to watch the priests clothe Marduk in vestments
of gold. Gungunum was bored to death even on the following day when he was destined to
see at close range how SamsuIluna shook hands with Marduk in order to be taken to Akiti.
Nothing pleased him any more.
When the Akiti festivities were over, Pidur Libur ordered Gungunum to prepare for his
journey to Borsippa to learn to be a writer. Nim-Utumu was frightened more than ever. Her
husband, however, calmed her down promising to have her go along with Gungunum to
Borsippa. Some years ago he had bought a house there near Ezida of Nabu which he had
been keeping tor religious solemnities. They were to live in that house until Gungunum
finished his studies at the school of the famous magician Gimulu.
Preparations lasted for almost two months. At last they decided on the day of departure.
Pidur Libur had a private talk with Gungunum. The father was very downcast.
"You're a man now, Gungunum, and you must know the way things are !" he said. "Iluma-
Ilum, king of the land by the Sea has crossed our borders with a large army and has occupied
our Eridu citadel. They slaughtered people and defiled temples. The governor, old Ahnuri was
savagely killed..."
"What about Hamma ?" Gungunum suddenly asked trembling with fear.
"What Hamma ?" Pidur Libur wondered not knowing who his son was talking about.
"Ahnuri's girl", the young man mumbled feeling ashamed and trying to control himself.
"I don't know", the father rejoined a bit upset that Gungunum should ask such silly
questions for who would think of a woman when so many men were being massacred ? "They
may have killed her or maybe some soldier took her as a slave. But now we must take revenge
on the dog near the sea. The wise paazu oracle today foretold victory to king Samsu-Iluna. So
we may start the war. Our gods will give us their support. The great Marduk is on our side,
and Shamash will allow us to wash the enemy's insult away in blood.
I shall soon be leaving at the head of my army and you must devote yourself diligently to your
studies. If I die and get lost in the country from which no traveller returns you stick to your
studies and then serve our king bravely and truthfully !"
Gungunum listened wide-eyed but did not understand a word. The one single thought in
his mind was that Hamma had perished. To him it seemed that the whole world had gone to
pieces.

In Borsippa he was long haunted by the memory of the charming girl. He felt that he had
known her time out of mind, that they had lived in the same house, that his destiny was her
destiny. If she is dead what point is there for him to go on living ? he often wondered and his
heart would skip a beat.
Little by little Gungunum was absorbed by day-to¬ day affairs and he eventually forgot
Hamma. His studies tired him especially at the beginning when he had to knead clay and
51
make tablets and styluses of reed for the advanced students in the school. The drudgery was
tantamount to slavery and it depressed him. To make matters worse the old priests were
grumpy. They hated indolence and punished any breach of duty by beating. He would have
gladly dropped out within a month if he did not fear his father's anger so much the more since
his mother discouraged him from his scholarly leanings .
After three months, however, when he passed on to the symbols of speech his thirst for
knowledge came back and actually turned into a passion for learning. It took him only one
year to learn all the simple words and symbols together with the different ways of
pronouncing them. In the second year he learned the groups of symbols, the common
formulas and the laws of compound words, while in the third year he mastered old and rare
formulas and then the science of numbers. In the meantime he was also initiated into certain
religious mysteries, he learned dozens of litanies for sacrifices on various occasions. He
even learned charms against certain diseases and a little of the science of prediction.
He was quick-witted and clear-headed and all his teachers were fond of him. After the
fourth year the great machu, the headmaster himself, told Pidur Libur that there was nothing
else he could teach Gungunum and when queen Barnamtara, Samsu-lluna's wife, needed a
sharp scribe Gungunum was chosen and forth with sent to the royal palace.
In the House of Women he found two scribes for routine duties. Gungunum's business
was to catalog certain old tablets that king Samsu-Iluna had brought as spoils from Sumerian
towns he had overrun and had given them to queen Barnamtara.
When Gungunum saw rooms full of tablets he was terrified at the thought that he was
supposed to read them all. Nevertheless he got to work. First he set aside the tablets with
ritual songs without looking into them since he had been nurtured on them at Borsippa. He
recognized them at a glance. It took several days to hang them on strings and put clay labels
on them marking the contents. He hesitated long over the tablets containing various magic
formulas and above all those regarding the interpretation of dreams. In the daytime he almost
never gave a thought to Hamma. But at night she always appeared in his dreams calling him,
scolding him. He once asked a wise shailu at Borsippa about these dreams but his
explanations did not satisfy him. He now tried to find the key to a true interpretation in the
clay tablets. After many days wasting his time he gave up since there were only general
meaningless formulas.
One day he came across a basketful of tablets that preserved tales about battles between
gods, about the creation of the world and of man, about the great flood, about the goddess
Ishtar's descent into Arallu, the land beyond the grave, and the exploits of Gilgamesh...
These tales gave him comfort. Reading them lifted him up into a new world where all
mysteries were solved. Unfortunately there were great gaps in the more interesting tablets.
Some of the tablets were broken, others were mere scraps while others still were missing. So
that the tales were often lacking in the more exciting parts. It was his business to complete
the sets since queen Barnamtara — although illiterate, like Samsu-Iluna himself — was
anxious to have a library like the one they had seen at the school of scribes in Sippar.
While Gungunum was dwelling in the world of legends his mother Nim-Utumu insisted on
his getting married. Pidur Libur thought his wife was right. He actually thought her plan was a
show of wisdom since he was now away on the battlefield and no one knew what destiny
Marduk or Inurta had chosen for him : life or death. For years Iluma-Ilum king of the Land of
the Sea had been raiding the country. He had invaded the Sumerian cities, plundered them,
desecrated their temples, massacred the people. Samsu-Iluna had tried to repel him but
Iluma-Ilum was always victorious for he had washed his weapons in the sea and a kalamachu
had predicted countless victories.
Samsu-Iluna swore by Marduk that he would never rest until he skinned Iluma-Ilum alive
with his own hands. For the time being however, the enemy had occupied the cities of Eridu,
Ur, Kutalla, Uruk and could not be driven out. The war was getting fiercer and fiercer but who
could tell how it would end ? How often Pidur Libur had stared death in the face. One ill-fated
day he might be left to rot on the battlefield. He would be at least glad to see Gungunum
52
marry and settle down before going back to war. However, they found it hard to agree on the
future daughter-in-law. Pidur Libur had set eyes on Babilitum, Bel-Ilani's girl but Nim-Utumu
was all for Nubta the highborn, rich and beautiful daughter of the widow Gaga. They finally
agreed to let Gungunum decide. Gungunum listened to their plan in open-mouthed
bewilderment. He had never thought of getting married. He asked them to give him time to
think it over, to get acquainted with the girls. The image of a reproachful Hamma surged up in
his heart.
That very night he saw her in his dreams. She firmly commanded him not to leave her but
to be patient. He believed in dreams even more than in the power of gods considering that
dreams are divine mysterious commandments that the frail human mind can not wholly
understand. He now felt that the image of the girl was actually that of his benefactress the
goddess Ishtar herself.
Ululai was always by Gungunum's side in the queen's palace, all the time helpful shifting
baskets about, wiping the dust off tablets. He wished that he might be master over the royal
House of Women for at least one month or maybe a high priest in the service of Ishtar among
the sacred courtesans. The following day Gungunum told him that he intends to get married.
Ululai laughed,
"Master, a woman is an evil spirit if you bring her into the house by marriage. Either many
of none at all for one alone is a nuisance !"
Gungunum smiled but was silent. His secret love hurt him.
Queen Barnamtara was fond of tales of olden times and was sorry to hear from Gungunum
that many tablets were missing so she gave orders that they should find the tablets wherever
they may be and bring them to her or at least have them copied. Gungunum consulted the
other two scribes but could find nothing. Nor did they understand what it was all about. They
were hard workers but only good at routine duties like writing letters. Then he asked the
king's great scribe who was famed for his learning and knowledge of magic. But neither did
he know anything. Then he went from temple to temple to ask the scribes acquainted with all
the mysteries. He finally came across an old scribe in Emah, Lulana by name, who knew the
stories. He had read them long ago in the library of the god Enlil at the holy city of Nippur. He
also said that there were many ancient unknown tablets in the library, tablets that no one
knew how to decipher because they were mixed up with all sorts of holy symbols that nobody
could now make head or tail of.
The news made Gungunum happy but on his way he dropped in at the temple of Ishtar
which unlike other temples was white inside as if snow covered all over with a golden stripe
near the ceiling. He approached the altar with the honey and oil he had brought to offer a
sacrifice of gratitude. While prostrating himself before the altar, murmuring the usual holy
words he suddenly heard a clear voice in his heart,
"Join the army and find Hamma !"
He got up in astonishment, looked around but there was no one in the temple. So it was
Ishtar herself, the goddess of love, who had commanded him to go because his union with
Hamma was desired by the council of the powerful gods.
All hesitation vanished from Gungunum's mind. That very evening he notified his father
that the goddess Ishtar had ordered him to go to war. Pidur Libur, who was a passionate
warrior, was proud to hear his son's wish. He was glad that Gungunum, like himself in his
youth, craved glory in battle against the enemy, the most beautiful glory for a true man. Nim-
Utumu, on the contrary, was against it and wailed bitterly that her son would perish on the
battlefield.
Next day Gungunum went first to queen Barnamtara and told her what he had heard from
old Lulana the scribe. Afterwards together with his father he went to the king. They both
kissed the king's feet and Pidur Libur begged permission for his son to go to war against the
enemy.
Samsu-Iluna stared at Gungunum for a while as though sizing him up to see if the young
man would make a good soldier and then said
53
 "You shall go to Nippur to write the tablets for queen Barnamtara's house ! That is her
desire and my command !"
They kissed his feet again without saying a word.
The king then clapped his hands, asked for a correspondence tablet and ordered
Gungunum to write a letter to the governor of Nippur :
"This is king Samsu-Iluna's command to the great governor Ush, son of Apia, in the holy city
of Nippur. I am well. May your heart be happy. On the day you read this my tablet give a warm
welcome to Gungurum, son of Pidur Libur, scribe in the House of Women, my messenger to
you. Let him immediately assemble all the scribes of the temple of Enlil to show him all the old
tablets, those about the brave Gilgamesh, those about the creation of the world, about the
descent of the goddess Ishtar and all the other valuable tablets in your possession. Bring
them forward and show them to Gungunum. Let the other scribes obey his orders and write
down what he demands and let them not commit errors. Let it be so !"
As he wrote down the words, Gungunum felt a lump in his throat and the reed stylus
trembled in his hand making funny crooked symbols on the soft clay. He seemed to be writing
down his own death sentence. Tears trickled down his cheeks. The king noticed the tears and
asked
"Why are you weeping ?"
"For joy, master", Gungunum .murmured.
"Then off you go with a light heart !" the king concluded.

The very next day after offering the proper sacrifices to the god Nabu and to the goddess
Ishtar, Gungunum set off on the holy journey escorted by Ululai who carried a basket full of
clothes and food. On reaching the Buranun river they found the royal boat manned by
twenty-four oarsmen waiting for them. The boat was loaded with valuable gifts for the temples
of Surappak.
Nipur was fifteen Accadian leagues away by the river. They navigated all day long with
sail lowered for the wind was blowing from the south. The oars steadily beat the turbulent
waves of the holy river. They stopped overnight at Dillat. They offered rich sacrifices to Gibil,
the god who watches over the streams together with his wife Nina, daughter of Ea, likewise to
Adad, god of the winds praying for a favourable wind. The sacrifices were benevolently
received and the following morning Adad sent them a cool wind which swelled the triangular
sail so that they reached Nippur by nightfall without having to stop over at Kish as usual.
Ush, the great governor of the holy city of Nippur, kissed the tablet with the king's seal of
clay seven times, ordered the scribe to read it, kissed it again and commanded his men to
fulfil king Samsu-Iluna's wish to the letter. Since Gungunum was the king's messenger and
offspring of the great nubanda Pidur Libur, he was welcomed as tile house guest of the
governor. Three days later, however, a new order came from Samsu-Iluna :
"Let the army of the city of Nippur mobilize and start out against Iluma-llum".
54
 Gungunum was guided in his work by the great scribe of the Enlil temple who knew all
about the tablets. The scribe showed him seven baskets full of ancient tablets which
contained the twelve cantos relating the exploits of the brave Gilgamesh, king of Uruk
together with his companion Enkidu. The tablets even held the story of the journey in the
other world and the one about the herbs of everlasting youth. In five other baskets were the
tablets relating the creation of the world and of man through the kindness and wisdom of the
great god Enlil who dwells in the holy city of Nippur.
Gungunum set about his job half-heartedly. He had hoped that his work here would be
over before the outbreak of war and that he could go and fulfil Ishtar's command for she was
the dearest of all gods to him. He now knew that that hope was also shattered. As a matter of
fact copying tablets was hard work. Time and again he had to ask the old scribe to decipher
ancient unintelligible symbols and words written one thousand years before.
After the great governor Ush left at the head of his army, Gungunum was gripped by a
melancholy that was deeper and deeper. He had nightmares that tormented him the whole
night long but which he forgot when he opened his eyes as if some unseen being wiped them
away.
Then he lost his- appetite. He could not even bear the sight of figs, pomegranates and
dates. The best fish fried in finest oil, once his favourite dish, now made him sick.
Soon he was laid up with a fever. An ashipu, the wisest of medicine-men performed charms
against evil spirits. Gungunum groaned in his sleep while in his dreams he often saw Hamma
holding Ishtar by the hand. The goddess scolded him for not obeying her command to go to
war even against the king's will for, after all, the king himself is but one of her servants. He
finally told the untiring ashipu what Ishtar ordered him to do. The priest then recited a special
charm and offered a white cow as a sacrifice to the goddess begging forgiveness. Ten days
later, after three months in bed, Gungunum was on his feet again. But he was only a shadow
of his former self.
Ululai who was as faithful as a dog to him one day told Gungunum there was a rumour that
the king of the land of the Sea had crushed the Accadian army and that king Samsu-Iluna had
fled the country.
"Maybe the gods have been kind to me, after all", he thought to himself. "They saved my
life".
Some days later one of the slaves of the queen's house brought a letter to Gungunum. It
was neither in a linen bag, nor was it sealed, just a simple tablet written in great haste. He
read it terror-stricken :
-"Let' Gungunum, son of Pidur Libur know : thus speaks Nim-Utumu wife of the great
nubanda to Gungunum, her child. I must inform you that Pidur Libur, your father who gave life
to you has perished in the war. The king of the Land of the Sea slew Pidur Libur with his own
hand in battle. His slave brought the tidings. Come back to Babylon at once. We need a man in
the house. The land is not properly tilled. The slaves are lazy if there is no master. Do not
linger. Make haste".
Gungunum gave answer by the same slave saying that he would certainly return as soon
as he finished his work for he could not leave empty-handed and disappoint queen
Barnamtara. He then offered the proper sacrifices in his father's memory and again thought
to himself :
"The gods have spared my life or I'd now be in the country from where no traveller
returns".
Although he was still weak, he began to work harder. He thought that, with the help of the
great scribe he would finish copying the much needed tablets in a month's time.
In the city of Nippur rumours brought more and more alarm. The countless fugitives
brought panic. Seven thousand Accadian soldiers had perished in the big battle together with
Pidur Libur while thousands fell prisoners in the hands of the enemy. King Samsu-Iluna had
fled with the remnants of his army. He had crossed the river and was now heading towards

55
Babylon. The enemy, however, approaching the Buranun river were setting towns on fire and
massacring people on their way to head the Accadians off and catch Samsu-Iluna alive.
Seven days later the great ishakku-governor Ush returned from over the river with two
thousand battered soldiers to stop the advance of Iluma-llum. The citizens were quickly
armed while the slaves were set to guard the walls and the gates to beat back the enemy.
Unfortunately the walls were only about seven cubits thick and scarcely high enough to keep
the enemy off.
And then came the catastrophe. Iluma-ilum's hosts surrounded the citadel and set the
houses and the crops on fire. Since Ush did not open the gates at once and did not rush
together with the city officials to hug the feet of the enemy king the battle started. In ten days
one of the gates was crushed. The enemy forced his way into the citadel. The fighting was
much fiercer in the narrow streets which were soon littered with dead bodies. The soldiers
mercilessly killed men, women, and children. By nightfall the city was subdued. The great
ishakku fell alive into the hands of the enemy.
Iluma-Ilum took possession of the palace belonging to the great ishakku in the garden of
which he held the victory feast. It began in the evening and lasted till daybreak. In the garden
lighted by plane — trees the king of the Land of the Sea sat at the table together with the
leaders of his army. On his right and on his left sat, stark naked and terrified, the two virgin
daughters of Ush, the great ishakku — governor. Daughters of other high officials of Nipur,
likewise stripped, waited on the victors who drank from heavy silver goblets. In front of the
royal table were brought over one thousand prisoners with chains round their necks, elbows
clasped at their backs most of them still bleeding from their still fresh wounds. Among them
was the great ishakku in chains like the others. Instead of his left eye there was a blob of
blood, drops trickled down his cheek and over his half-plucked beard on the top of his head
hair matted by blood. Later a new group of prisoners was brought in : the attendants of the
temples with the high priest of the god Enlil at their head. Gungunum was in their midst. The
temples were spared since Iluma-Ilum himself worshipped Enlil. The group of priests was set
aside to watch the proceedings and stand there in fear, trembling.
The victors drank heavily and threw their empty goblets at the wounded prisoners. Those
hit groaned with pain to the delight of the drinkers who burst into peals of defiant laughter
stroking their black slobbered beards. To enhance the satisfaction of the merry-makers
soldiers walked in among the prisoners lashing right and left or cutting them with their
scimitars.
Towards midnight king Iluma-llum whispered something into the ear of the attendant who
was standing all the time behind him, arms crossed, waiting for orders.
The man disappeared for a short while and came back bringing in an Accadian sofa
covered with expensive rugs and pillows. He set the sofa aside out of the glare of the torches.
Then Iluma-llum stood up with a strange smile on his bearded tanned face. He beckoned to
one of the virgin daughters of the great governor. The girl understood and lay down on the
sofa.
Iluma-llum hurled himself on her. All those present bowed with respect in front of the
performance, while the girl's screams filled all the obedient hearts with joy.
When he got up leaving the girl almost in a faint, Iluma-Ilum made for the great ishakku, the
girl's father, and with one quick deft movement of his thumb gouged out the man's right eye
and threw it haughtily in the face of another prisoner.
At dawn they began to kill the prisoners in front of the victors surfeited with wine but as
bloodthirsty as ever. The great ishakku was skinned alive and his skin was nailed to the
palace gate. Twelve other high officials of Nippur were treated likewise. Finally a group of
sixty soldiers set about stabbing the other prisoners. Slaves dragged the bodies out of the
city for dogs and crows to feast on while their heads were piled up in front of the king's table.
At daybreak, Iluma-Ilum cloyed with pleasure and drink withdrew to have a rest in his
palace and gave orders that the group of priests in chains should be imprisoned in the temple
of the god Inurta for the time being.
56
 Next day the king of the Land of the Sea proved to be more merciful. He sent Ush's two
daughters to Eridu for his House of Women. He allowed the prisoners who had not been killed
to kiss his feet giving them life but keeping them in chains. The priests were unchained but
Gungunum was not because he was a Babylonian. Since he was a scribe, however, a ransom
of five handfuls of silver was demanded within a month's time or else he would be killed
together with the other Babylonians caught in Nippur.
Gungunum was beside himself with joy being alive even if in chains. His heart was full of
hope that he might yet go back home. He felt certain that either king Samsu-Iluna, or queen
Barnamtara, or maybe his mother, Nim-Utumu, would send the five handfuls of silver if he
could only notify them, He begged permission to send Ululai who had got off with only a sound
thrashing to Babylon. He wrote a beautiful but sad tablet to king Samsu-Iluna himself :
"My glorious and magnificent master, offspring of the sky, luminary of kings, resplendent
as the sun, guide the powerful and fearful nourishment to the people, hero of our motherland
whom Anu, Enlil, Ea and Marduk have enriched with boundless mercy and justice to you thus
speaks Gungunum, son of Pidur Libur, scribe in the House of Women, humble dust and
servant who loves you. I must inform you, O resplendent master that the king of the Land of
the Sea has taken me captive alive in Nippur. The king of the Land of the Sea has put me in
chains and said "If your slave, Ululai, brings five handfuls of silver I will spare your life If Ululai
brings nothing within a month's time you will die like a dog", Thus spoke the king of the Land
of the Sea. My lord, please send me five handfuls of silver to save my life for I did not come to
Nippur of my own accord. You commanded me to do so and write down the ancient tales on
tablets in Nippur. I did as you commanded me. Now I am the prisoner of the king of the Land
of the Sea. Let not Ululai come back empty-handed. If he returns empty-handed the dogs and
ravens will devour me. Do not let me die in wretchedness. Send the silver to ransom me, O
master".
Ululai took the sealed tablet and was promptly off on foot along the banks of the holy river
of Buranun on the beaten path along which slaves towed boats upstream. Gungunum was
now at ease. Feeling confident he said to himself, "Nabu was merciful and spared my life".

57
6

The prisoners were all thrown into the pigpen at the bottom of the city garden. The
enclosure was next to the wall of the citadel where a thatch of reeds was put up to shelter the
pigs from the rain. The entire pen was rather small hardly adequate for the purpose and was
filled to capacity. As a matter of fact they never brought cattle from estates except for a
period of not longer than seven days before being slaughtered. Nobody ever cleaned the pen
so that with dung all over the place the stench was excruciating.
A group of thirty soldiers were on guard outside the prison gates. Only two men kept
watch inside in the daytime in one-hour shifts. The prisoners were tied in twos with chains
round their necks. At the beginning the guards changed according to schedule. Later on the
same guards seem to have been forgotten on duty. Food for the prisoners depended on
charity : dates, onions, bread, garlic, cucumbers, even figs and sometimes salt fish. The
guards took the best of the food, threw the leftovers inside and let the prisoners scramble for
them like famished dogs to the delight of all the guards.
Gungunum was chained to a rich merchant of Babylon who had come to Nippur on
business and incidentally fell into the hands of the enemy. He was fat and had a wound made
by a spear in his chest. He was wounded by a soldier just for the fun of it since the merchant
had humbly thrown himself on the ground in submission like a man who had never wielded a
weapon. The man groaned all day long and would not budge from under the thatch of reeds
where he at least got shade from the scorching sun. He was scared out of his wits at the idea
that he would finally be killed and told Gungunum that he would rather spend the rest of his
life in the pigpen than die and become a prey to the evil spirits in arallu, the other world, and
feed on mud and dust.
Gungunum humored him. The more his sufferings increased the more his confidence
grew. His heart told him that he must live.
One day the high dupsharu-scribe came to see Gungunum bringing him comfort and food.
He had taken to the younger man when working in the temple and now wanted to be helpful in
his misfortune. The dupsharu told him that king Iluma-Ilum had appointed a new ishakku-
governor over Nippur and then left at the head of his army towards Kish.Yet the great
dupsharu believed that the war would soon come to an end since Iluma-Ilum himself had
suffered heavy losses. Maybe he will not even take the citadel of Kish since its walls were
thick and high and were well defended.
From that day on the guards were kinder to Gungunum. They no longer beat him as they
did the others and even chatted with him taking him to be a magician who might become the
administrator of a temple if he survived. Gungunum now saw his opportunity to make
inquiries about Hamma. He lied that the great governor of Ahnuri of Eridu was his mother's
cousin and he would be glad to have news about him and his family for it had been ten years
since he last heard of them. The captain of the guards, a tail husky elderly man with a
deep scar on his lower jaw had fought in all of king Iluma-Ilum's wars. His name was
Ahushunu and was always happy to brag about his bold deeds. So it was he who gave
answer in a hoarse voice to Gungunum's questions,
"Eridu ?" he said proudly. "I was there. Ten years ago !... I was the first to climb up the
walls of the citadel... I killed three hundred men with my own hands. There was much spilling
of blood at Eridu and much loot!... I just kept killing and killing and I set the... I was the one
who set the temple of the god Ningirsu on fire !"
The guards and the prisoners all gathered round him listening with admiration. The
captain's heart was swelling with pride.
"You see this scar ? It was a wound I got at Eridu !" he shouted in anger as if he were
again feeling the sharp pain. But O boy, O boy ! did I get my revenge !... I scattered all the
dead bodies all over the field for jackals and birds to feed on..."
58
 Gungunum uttered the name of Ahnuri.
"That scoundrel Ahnuri of Eridu!" he roared. "Iluma-Ilum caught him alive and right away
had his arms cut off at the elbows ! Then he skinned him alive and tortured him for seven
days!"
Then Gungunum asked in a trembling voice
"Didn't Ahnuri have a daughter, Hamma ?"
The captain's face suddenly lit up.
"What a girl!" he exclaimed licking his lips. King Iluma-Ilum quickly put her to bed and
deflowered her. But he didn't kill her. He liked her body and placed her in his House of
Women..." .
"Is she still alive ?" Gungunum rejoined eyes bulging.
"She must be alive", Ahushnu answered. "In Iluma-Ilum's House of Women there are lots
of girls like grains of sand on a beach, they are all beautiful and have slaves to wait on them
and give them the best of food… The king loves women, he never kills them”.
Gungunum had heard enough. From now on his heart kept singing only three words :
"Hamma is alive !"
These words, however, suddenly upset all his plans. What point was there now in going
back to Babylon when : Hamma wasn't there ? What is his life worth without her ? He would
rather be a slave at her feet than a king far away from her. While the merchant he was
chained to was moaning under the thatch of reeds in the stinking mess, Gungunum was
daydreaming. He was again at the Akiti festival on the wharf of the Arahtu canal waiting for
the holy boat. Among the women, several yards away, her round shoulder, her round hips and
then her eyes with that soft warm look in which he discovered his own soul like a reflection in
a magic mirror...
He was sorry now that he had sent Ululai for the ransom. He was afraid that the slave
might come back with the silver too soon, that is, before he could think up a way of getting to
the court of king Iluma-Ilum. That was all he yearned for now : to get there. No matter how, all
he wanted was to reach the land that was blessed by her footsteps. He was sure that once
there he would meet Hamma as the goddess Ishtar, the protectress of their love, had
promised.
When the great dupsharu-scribe came to see him again, Gungunum begged him to
intercede on his behalf that he might go to the court of the king of the Land of the Sea. The old
man was astonished and thought that his sufferings had deranged his mind. Gungunum
insisted. He said that he had heard of the rich library of Iluma-Ilum which held tablets with the
most mysterious teachings. He would like to spend a period in that library, even as a slave,
only to be allowed to read those holy tablets. The great scribe was moved by his pleading. He
had never heard of such a thirst for knowledge. He promised that he would speak to the high
priest of Enlil.
Gungunum was happy. If the high priest puts in a good word for him king Iluma-Ilum will
certainly fulfil his wish. It was a strange change of mind with Gungunum; some days earlier he
was wishing for freedom from slavery and now all he yearned for was to see again the maiden
of Akiti. He had as yet not travelled in the world. All he knew about the Land of the Sea was
that it was far away, it had many marshes and wild animals but no canals. All this did not
scare him. His only happiness was to be with Hamma. He kept dreaming of her and when he
woke up he did not mind the groaning of the merchant he was chained to, nor did the guards
shouting bother him : he knew that the great happiness awaiting him would make up for all his
sufferings.
Three days later he got the good news that the high priest had spoken to the new
governor who promised to bring the matter up before the king. As a matter of fact Iluma-Ilum
was to return to Nippur soon. The war was over and he was on his way back at the head of his
army setting fire to the villages and crops.
59
7

Ululai arrived with the silver : five big handfuls from queen Barnamtara. He said that Nim-
Utumu was in despair. She had plucked out her hair, scratched her face and would not stop
weeping until Gungunum was in Babylon. Ululai told him that he had taken the silver to the
great Ishakku-governor who had weighed it and gave him a receipt-tablet. The governor,
however, has no authority to free Gungunum from slavery. Iluma-Ilum alone can decide. But
Gungunum must have patience. He will soon be free. Ululai also brought him some food but
half of it was eaten by the guards.
Gungunum's mind was now full of misgivings. Why had the governor taken the silver if he
had not yet spoken to the king? He scolded Ululai for having gone to the ishakku but said
nothing about his plan fearing obstruction. Ululai wanted to stay and serve him but the guards
drove him away. Anyhow, he would come several times a day to give him news about the
return of king Iluma-Ilum. Finally one morning he came brimming over with joy :
"Iluma-Ilum will be in the city in about three hours. From roofs of houses he can be seen
approaching in his silver chariot drawn by three stallions. People are standing on the walls of
the citadel to watch his arrival. You'll be free in no time. They say that he is in a bad temper.
But I have brought the silver so there is nothing to worry about, master, you're a free man
now. I sacrificed a cow to the god Nabu for you at the command of your mother, Nim-Utumu.
Gungunum was losing patience. His fellow-prisoner began to weep certain that his death
was drawing near. Gungunum comforted him but could not understand him. His heart now
seemed void of all fear of death. What he feared was that he might be set at liberty and thus
lose Hamma forever.
Hours hung heavy on his hands. Then he heard the shouts of joy of the multitude. Then
silence again and time passed even slower. Gungunum's heart was burning with anxiety. He
felt that at this very moment his fate was being sealed and his heart was trembling.
Suddenly the gate of the prison was opened with a loud clang. Gungunum breathed a sigh
of relief. Soldiers rushed in and chained the prisoners' arms at the elbows behind their backs.
That took Gungunum's breath away: "If we are being set free why are they chaining our arms
at our backs ?" The soldiers prodded the prisonerswith their spears and drove them out with
lashes of their whips as they slowly made their way through the street to the temple of the god
Enlil. In the main courtyard king Iluma-Ilum was sitting on his silver throne surrounded by
courtiers, soldiers and a multitude of Accadians. Gungunum said to himself : "Before setting
us free the king surely wants to enjoy the spectacle of seeing us branded with a red-hot iron!"
The prisoners, filthy and reeking of dung like pigs were crowded in front of the king.
Gungunum caught sight of the king's glowering face and bloodthirsty eyes and thought to
himself "He'll kill us now!"
A command was thundered out and the prisoners all prostrated themselves before the
king. Suddenly Gungunum heard close to him a thud as if a short curved scimitar, that kills
more quickly, were planted in between flesh and bone. The thud was followed by a cry of pain
and then by a death-rattle. The same thud was heard again this time followed by a louder cry
of pain.
Gungunum crouching face downwards knew what had happened. Iluma-Ilum wanted to
get revenge on the prisoners for his failure to take the citadel of Kish and thus appease the
bloodthirsty gods. That was why he brought the Babylonian prisoners in the temple
courtyard. Their blood must flow on the temple slabs. He felt like raising his head to see what
was going on but dared not fearing that a guard might strike him. His fellow prisoner was
sighing and weeping. Other prisoners were moaning more and more terrified waiting their
turn while the curved scimitar kept striking steadily with the same thud followed by different
cries of pain.

60
 Then there rose a commotion that for a brief moment interrupted the proceedings. Angry
voices rent the air among them one desperate plea drowned the others,
"The silver... paid... Gungunum... the ransom..."
It was Ululai who had elbowed his way through the crowd to king Iluma-llum's feet
presenting the tablet-receipt in protestation. Soldiers quickly seized him and in the twinkling
of an eye spears were stabbing him.
Gungunum raised his eyes a bit and through the hairy legs of the soldiers he saw Ululai's
body tossing about holding tight the tablet proving that the ransom silver had been paid.
All was quiet for a brief moment and then again the scimitar started slashing.
Suddenly his fellow-prisoner gave a yell and drops of hot blood squirted on Gungunum's
right cheek. Before he could realize what was happening a strong arm grabbed him by the
left shoulder lifting him up a bit. Gungunum caught sight of the flashing blade of the scimitar
that was dripping with blood. He felt a sharp blow in his chest and then a great pain as if his
heart had been wrenched out. The same arm pushed him aside face upwards. A blood-
soaked sandal trod on his face. He felt it flatten his nose. Then he felt his mouth fill with warm
liquid. Then darkness fell and his thoughts vanished like bubbles in the air...

The soul seemed to wander for a while in search of a new world. Pure consciousness was
taking shape as the traces of material life gradually drifted farther and farther into space.
Little by little the soul regained its limpidity. The movement increased its intensity on more
luminescent planes of consciousness. Space itself rounded off into boundlessness where
time merges into immobility. A sensation of whiteness took hold of the soul as the difference
between the material and spiritual world was thinning. Meantime consciousness of
imperfection grew and turned into painful solitude...

61
Chapter Four
SERVILIA

...Consciousness of solitude craved for pure existence. Emptiness was as yet boundless
and the soul could not find its way to perfection. An aching wait began for a destiny which
was drawing near and which one could not avoid.
Then the wait changed into an up-and-down zigzag unintelligible movement towards an
unknown goal. Space grew thicker and thicker. The soul writhed in. the clutches of a new
world steadily winding its way in search of a haven. Consciousness twisted and swayed like a
flame in the wind.
Then the movement suddenly ceased and conscious¬ ness seemed to grow dark as if
merging into the grips of a new life...

The seventh child was not greeted with much joy inthe house of Nigidius Saturnius,
Roman cavalier. The delivery was so difficult that the mother would have died in childbirth
had she not been assisted by the experienced slave, Atia. Nigidius was happy that his wife,
Lollia, had got it over with and offered a sacrifice of wine and incense in Fortuna's temple.
The child was named Axius after Axius Sophronius the dear friend of the family whom the
aged Caesar Augustus had appointed to be aedile that very year.
Axius was soon pampered by everybody. Lollia loved him because she had suffered so
much in giving him life and hoped he would remain her last offspring. Nigidius was proud to
have another son to preserve the family line. Of the six children his wife had borne him the
eldest one, Nonius, was a boy and he was worried about the future of his five daughters
although he was well off. He was gnawed by ambitions. He prided himself on being a
descendant of an ancient patrician family that had been impoverished. By hard work and
good fortune he rose to the rank of cavalier but he lacked the qualifications and competence
to play a role in public life. The gods had not endowed him with oratorical talent nor had he
learnt any grammar. He hoped that through Nonius he might acquire some fame at least in his
old age. He had seen to it that Nonius received a good education. The young man had been
taught by the most expensive teachers. And when Nonius will have acquired fame in Rome his
sisters, possessing rich dowries, might even get to marry senators. Axius increased these
family expectations. What Nonius will not be able to do for Nigidius, Axius will certainly
achieve.
Soon after he had donned his toga Nonius joined the legions of the proconsul Publius
Quintilianus Varus to fight against the Germans so that on his return, covered with military
glory, he might more easily achieve the honours due to him. Although Nonius had left under
the most favourable of auspices the whole family was sad and worried. They wanted more
news about their hero and so they moved to Rome in their house on Vicus Patricius. As a
matter of fact they had been planning to move to Rome for some time to give the girls the
opportunity to meet people.
Axius, however, stayed behind under the care of his grandmother, a pious matron, and of
a tutor, Myro, famous grammarian proficient in Latin and Greek and who had been especially
bought for a large sum. The grandmother was to instruct him in religion according to the
Roman tradition while the tutor's duty was to teach him the arts of writing and reading.

62
 At the age of ten he proved to be a gentle and obedient boy. He loved his mother, Lollia,
and was sorry to be separated from her especially in the beginning. He thought that he was
the black sheep of the family.
His grandmother's explanations did not satisfy him but on the other hand his new-gained
full liberty made him forget the separation. Their house in Antium was in the middle of a large
garden, not quite well taken care of, beside the sea, with a wonderful view over the city which
served the Roman patricians and wealthy citizens as a vacation resort. Nigidius had bought
the house and garden dirt cheap, had it renovated and bedecked with marble columns. It was
a lucky house. But little Axius liked the sea best for in its restlessness he sensed many
mysteries. Accompanied by his tutor and followed by a boy who carried the writing materials,
Axius would spend the whole day long outdoors through the shady paths and avenues. He
found special enjoyment in sitting on the sea shore hours on end writing and reading but
above all, eagerly listening to his tutor tell stories about the deeds of the gods. The foamy
whispers of the waves, the cool and soothing breeze mingled with the wonderful tales like
mysterious murmurs from another world. The gods were so much alive in his heart that he
actually expected to meet them one day. Time and again he thought he saw Neptune far away
on the horizon treading on the green waters, slashing the deep with his golden trident while
on the sandy beach washed by gentle waves he could discern the white and tantalizing
lineaments of the ever young Venus...
In the following three years Nigidius had come to Antium many times. But he was always
in a hurry and never bothered about Axius. He had embarked on certain enterprises and was
incessantly on the road. Lollia and the girls came over every year towards the end of summer
for a month before going to Baiae where in the autumn the upper classes got together.
One evening, however, just after the November kalends quite unexpectedly the whole
family arrived in Antium to the great surprise of Axius. They all seemed gloomy and worried
and hugged him warmly by turns even his father who was cold and distant by nature. Lollia
finally could no longer control herself, burst out crying and kissing him wildly shouted
"You are our hope, our one and only hope !"
Next day Myro gave Axius some reliable information of what had happened for his sisters’
whispers were highly mysterious. Myro had actually been informed by the slaves who had
escorted the family and who knew all about it. For several days rumour was spreading in
Rome that the legions of Varus had been defeated. Nobody knew who had brought the news
but it was spreading like wildfire in all homes and in all hearts. Then came the confirmation :
the entire Roman army was caught in a trap and massacred by the Germans. The whole city
was horrified. Rumours came thick and fast : the Germans were heading for Rome, the
Germans had crossed the Alps... Rumour had it that the king had locked himself up in a room
and was sobbing his heart out and knocking his head against the walls. The streets were
teeming with terrified crowds running aimlessly here and there and everywhere and
endlessly yearning for details. Many cursed Caesar Augustus. They said he was to blame for
the disaster. The defence of the city was reinforced. People feared that the general unrest
might lead to an uprising. The day before yesterday a sorrowful edict made the catastrophe
known to the people and they were requested to bear up under it with dignity. Nigidius's
family went into mourning. Nonius, the pride of the family was among those lost. Finally
fearing a rebellion they determined to leave Roma and settle, at least until things quieted
down, in Antium where they had Axius the one and only support of Nigidius's ambitions.
There was a complete change in Axius 's life from now on. Some days later Nigidius
himself told him how Nonius had found his death and called the child's attention to the fact
that the future of the family was now in his hands. Although he did not quite understand what
it was all about Axius felt proud.
The family did not stay long in Antium. As soon as they heard that things in Rome had
quieted down they went back this time taking Axius with them. Myro was at first glad but later
disappointed for Nigidius had hired a famous rhetor, Casius Orbilius, who was teaching
rhetoric to the children of wealthy Roman families, to perfect his son's education. So Myro
63
was relegated to the position of companion to Axius. Then since Axius was soft and dreamy
for a boy of thirteen a special athlete was employed to teach him gymnastics and wield arms.
Spring brought a more important event in Axius's life. In order to turn his wealth to
account and further his ambitions, Nigidius had the boy engaged to marry Chrysilla Autronia,
the ten year old daughter of Publius Autronius.
The engagement was meant to open the doors of the houses of patricians in favour of
Nigidius's daughters. Autronius, although poor, was related to several important families. He
himself boasted that one of his ancestors had been a consul three centuries ago. His relatives
helped him as much as they could. He scorned their help but accepted it. Autronius's
agreement to the betrothal cost Nigidius a loan of two hundred thousand sesterces free of
interest. Axius endured the ceremony with the proper dignity, his betrothed likewise.
Axius's importance in the bosom of his family increased after his engagement. He even
felt himself to be a man although Chrysilla Autronia remained a complete stranger to him just
as before. As a matter of fact he seldom had the opportunity of meeting her. He learned from
his sisters that she was arrogant and that she liked to speak Greek and that was why they
called her Chrysilla.
Axius's engagement, however, brought some happiness to the family. The following
autumn two of his sisters found husbands. One married a wealthy Roman cavalier, the other
took a senator's son.

Rhetor Orbilius soon told Nigidius that Axius was not very good at controversies but that
he was brilliant at suasoria which proved that he had a rich imagination. On the same
occasion the famous teacher complimented Myro on the elegance and purity of his
pronunciation of Greek.
Myro remained Axius's close friend of whom he grew fonder and fonder. Together they
wandered through the streets of Rome the city that Myro was well acquainted with but which
to Axius was a marvellous mystery. In the beginning they spent their leisure hours wandering
through the splendid gardens of Maecena which were fairly close to their house on Vicus
Patricius. On the lanes I shaded by plane trees and lined with statues Myro sometimes tried to
explain that the various gods were in fact the multiple representation of one all-embracing
divinity. Axius shook his head unbelievingly. There was a certain charm in multiplicity which
was lost if reduced to unity. Multiplicity makes for harmony. When you meet with a god or at
any rate with the manifestation of at every step, the world is richer and more delightful. How
dull life on earth would be if people did not continuously mingle with gods and know their
desires, their passions and commands. The pedagogue did not insist but foretold that Axius
would understand it all when he got acquainted with the philosophers.
Later on Myro taught him to go daily through Argiletum the narrow and crowded street
that links the Subura with the Roman Forum for there one could find most of the bookstores.
Placards bearing the titles of books were, hanging on columns while the open doors reeked
of saffron and cedar oil which protected the scrolls and volumes against insects. They gaped
at the famous men and occasionally listened to their conversation. Myro would sometimes
gladly have bought a new volume that he heard people talk about but he could not afford it ;
neither could Axius. To quench their thirst for knowledge they would now and then enter the
public library founded by Augustus in the temple of Apollo. There Myro head aloud Ovid's
remarkable Metamorphoses to the great delight of Axius.
Having heard that all the houses of important people had a library, Nigidius soon ordered
Myro to set one up for him, a library that was fitting for a person of consular rank. He thought
to himself that Axius sharp as he was, might get to be a senator or even a consul. The year
64
that followed was a happy one for Myro. He set about his job and visited all the bookstores
and collected about two thousand volumes to the delight of Nigidius who, although he never
read anything, bragged about his library everywhere he went. In the meantime, however,
Axius acquired a passion for books so great that he neglected his studies in rhetoric and
gymnastic exercises.
Before Axius's coming of age his remaining three sisters found husbands no less
remarkable than those of the other two. Nigidius now thought of having him join the legions of
Germanicus and do his duty to his fatherland as behoves a future senator. The emperor's
death upset his plans. He thought that sending Axius to war could be of bad omen at a time
when a great man passed away and was afraid of losing him as he had lost poor Nonius. He
consulted an Egyptian oracle in Alba and was told that Axius would live a long life and would
die in the bath. Still Nigidius hesitated. The following spring, however, through the good
offices of Autronius he obtained permission for Axius to go to war. Axius nevertheless,
lingered on for a couple of months and set off only in August. When he reached the foot of the
Alps he met messengers who told him that Germanicus had defeated the armies of Arminius
on the battlefields at Idifiaviso and Angrivar. Axius made a seven day stop over a small town
pondering over whether he should go on or turn back home. He finally decided to go home.
He did not want to make a fool of himself by putting in an appearance when the war was all
over and make people think that he wanted to partake of Germanicus's triumph.
He arrived home in November and found his father on his deathbed. His unexpected
return was considered to be a mysterious sign of the gods who had not let Nigidius die before
seeing his son again. The old man gave him some advice. He left Axius a fortune of several
million sesterces to take advantage of and go into the service of the republic, to persevere,
be energetic and enterprising. Axius solemnly promised to follow his father's advice. He set
forth certain grandiose plans for the future which filled the dying man's heart with happiness.
The earthly remains of Nigidius were transported to Antium where they were buried in a
small mausoleum that the deceased had had erected a long time ago. Lollia decided to stay in
Antium there being no point now in going back to Rome. Axius, too, spent almost the whole
winter in Antium having talks with Myro about death and gods. The explanations of the
philosopher slave did not satisfy him so he made up his mind to study philosophy and find out
for himself the answers to the questions that often tormented him. In March he went to
Rome for the sole purpose of studying philosophy. The capital was swarming with
philosophers of all kinds. Even in taverns there were epicurean vagabonds preaching the
philosophy of pleasure richly rewarded by courtesans who in this way acquired more wealthy
and generous patrons. Axius incidentally talked with some of them. Each of them glorified a
different wisdom and promised a different pleasure. The various confused views frightened
him and he postponed his philosophical interests.
Furthermore, Rome was now focusing attention on the triumphal welcome of Germanicus
set for the end of May. Everywhere everybody was talking about the great hero with an
enthusiasm that quickly seized Axius himself. Preparations were being made for a
magnificent welcome. Two praetorian cohorts were sent to welcome the hero. They left
without even waiting for the command. The day before the arrival thousands of people set out
on all roads the sooner to greet the man who had saved the honour of Rome. Axius and Myro
were among the most enthusiastic. When they got home that evening, however, they were
rather tired. The following morning, the weather being wonderful, Axius again went out on Via
Lata up to Porta Flaminia and there waited for two hours until the cortege was in sight. Then
he walked alongside the triumphal chariot drawn by four white stallions amidst the excited
multitude that sang, danced, sweated and jostled one another, he turned again on Via Lata
and made his way through Saepta Iulia and Iseum and Serapeum and actually passed through
the triumphal gate. Here he broke away from the procession and went down Vicus
Argentarius hoping to get to Forum Romanum quicker to watch the arrival in front of the
temple of Jupiter. The street was teeming with people jostling against one another. Axius
succeeded to elbow his way almost to Career Mamertinae where the jostling was at its worst.
65
People were pushing, twisting, shouldering their way ahead others trying to turn back
shouting, swearing. Many women fainted. After a desperate struggle with his elbows and
shoulders Axius managed to break away from the madding crowd. As a matter of fact
Germanicus must have reached the Capitol judging by the loud cheers that rang throughout.
With difficulty Axius made his way round the Capitol and the Palatine and managed to get
home to Vicus Patricius late in the afternoon. His purple-hemmed toga was torn and dirty ; he
was black and blue all over.

“Military glory is not won by watching the triumphs of others but by fighting !" Axius said to
himself the following day feeling ashamed that he had mixed with the multitude thirsting for
public display.
He felt no calling for a military career. He wanted something else but soon realized that he
had no inclination for anything in particular. His interests were vague and confused. It
seemed that something was always lacking and all sorts of strange questions were cropping
up in his mind.
And yet, considering that a young Roman cavalier must not be idle, he asked Myro, whom
he considered to be his friend, for advice.
"Don’t do anything, master", the slave answered. "It is the business of a Roman cavalier to
live, to enjoy himself and to meditate. It's the most beautiful kind of life".
“I'm bored stiff, Myro, I'm going to commit suicide if I don't find something to do or at least
some purpose in life !" Axius murmured sorrowfully.
“Philosophy alone can give meaning to life and to the world !" said Myro.
Axius devoted six years to philosophy. He began with the emperor's friend, Seleucus a
famed epicurean who sold his learning at a high price only to the offspring of wealthy
patricians. He charged Axius over fifty thousand sesterces. Axius finally got fed up with his
fanciful lessons and turned his back on him. He met an elderly Greek stoic, a likable fellow,
brought him into his home and kept him there for three years believing that he now had found
the road to wisdom. He then met the freed slave girl Thesmina. He fell in love with her and
adopted the hedonistic theories of Aristion who was the courtesan's nomenclator and who
boasted that he was the disciple of Aristippus of Cyrene. Axius soon got sick and tired of both
philosopher and girl. He finally went to Athens the homeland of true philosophy and took Myro
along with him. He attended the lessons of Chrysippus for several months and then went back
home disappointed. It seemed that the harder he tried to understand the greater grew the
emptiness in his soul.
He went to Antium to see his mother.
"Don't forget you are engaged to Chrysilla Autronia !"Lollia said.
His mother's words cheered him up. He considered that she was right. He will find
happiness and peace of mind in marriage. He was now twenty-four years old.
On his return to Rome his first thought was how to renew relations with the Autroniuses.
He felt ashamed for having neglected them. He had not even called on them in two years.
Autronius must be angry with him although Nigidius had bequeathed him a handsome sum.
However he did not feel too much to blame. His fiancée was almost a complete stranger to
him. At any rate she had no attraction for him. She had always seemed cold, arrogant, and
hypocritical. He had always said to himself that there was time enough to live with her. In the
meantime he must get to know life. And since in married life he intended to stick to the age-
old Roman virtue of loving only one's wife, the mother of his children, he felt entitled to taste
of the joys of love before getting married so that no other woman might be able to tempt him
afterwards.
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 The nomenclator announced his arrival and showed him into a modest atrium where
Autronius astonished and reproachful was waiting :
"I thought you had forgotten your fiancée for the sake of philosophy !"
"I have only been preparing to be worthy of respecting her all the more !" said Axius with a
bland smile that quickly dispelled the old man's sullenness.
In the vestibule a slave was holding a sculptured wooden casket in his hands. Axius met
Autronius's puzzled look with the explanation :
"For Chrysilla..."
There was a flash of joy in the old man's eyes but he quickly controlled himself. Taking
Axius by the arm he said with feigned indifference
"Chrysilla is in the garden with her mother. Let's join them !"
Autronius's house was on the corner between Clivus Marmuri and Vicus Longus
surrounded by a small garden very well taken care of. A hexagonal pavilion with thin marble
columns and white steps was the owner's pride since it looked on to a beautiful view towards
the Caesars' Forum and the Capitol. A colonnade of statuettes, several plane-trees and a
veritable carpet of flowers adorned the garden. Behind the pavilion there was a swimming
pool in the middle of which a frightened nymph was in vain trying to ward off the thousand
drops of water sprinkling her all over. Some slave girls were mowing the grass singing
monotonously while the hirsute German gardener was trimming a bed of red flowers.
The two men walked up the white winding path towards the pavilion. In the distance
Axius discerned two silhouettes. While Autronius was praising the gardener, the young man
was gazing at the figure in white stretching out her hand towards a doe that drew near her
and then ran off. He recognized the young lady. It was Chrysilla. Autronius started to tell
Axius how the doe had been brought up by Chrysilla who had received it at Tusculum from the
administrator of a senator, a relative of theirs, in whose villa they had spent last summer as
house guests.
"Axius is here !" Autronius shouted from a distance interrupting his story.
Both Chrysilla and her mother were thunderstruck recognizing him. The girl shook off her
fingers some blades of grass with which she had tried to bait the doe. Autronius told them in
many words how astonished he had been when the nomenclator announced the arrival of the
wandering fiancé, how he could hardly believe...
Axius smiling was eyeing Chrysilla who kept her eyes glued to her father's face aware
that she was being stared at and smiling somewhat in contempt. She had large dark eyes and
very long eyelashes, a small mouth and thin lips. Her white tunic showed off her slender
waist. When Autronius stopped talking, Axius took the casket out of the slave's hands and
offered it to Chrysilla murmuring
"Your beauty needs no adornment. But please accept this as a token of my admiration"
The girl accepted the casket, took out the jewels and thanked him with a listless smile.
They all chatted for a short while. The atmosphere was heavy. Autronius finally pretending he
had some business with the gardener took his wife by the arm and left the two young people
alone. After a brief silence Axius said that he was now fully prepared to settle down and live a
serious life and that he wanted to fulfil his old and pleasant obligation of taking her into his
own house and making her happy and that although he was not well acquainted with her he
knew that she would make a respectable, loving, and faithful wife. Chrysilla listened with,
appropriate shyness eyeing him searchingly as if she wanted to embarrass him. She liked his
being well-dressed and she liked the tender look in his eyes in which she sensed mysteries.
And yet she wanted to punish him for having neglected her such a long time. As a matter of
fact she considered herself superior to him since she was a member of the nobility and she
was anxious to preserve her superiority in marriage as well. She answered in a calm, cool
voice larding her speech with Greek phrases to show off her refined education.
Axius was dissatisfied. When he got home he made up his mind to walk out on her and
find himself another bride. On second thoughts, however, he considered her arrogance the
very reason why he should marry her. He would tame her eventually. She was right in being
67
arrogant. That's how a Roman woman should be. So far he had met only women who, because
of his wealth or his good looks, were only too glad to fall in his arms. Her reserve was an
asset.
Axius set the day of the wedding in agreement with Autronius. Till then he called on
Chrysilla three times. He fell in love with her and longed to hold her in his arms .
Old Autronius insisted on giving the bride away in the temple of Jupiter where he could
offer the sacrifice of fire according to custom. They had chosen the temple of Jupiter Stator
on Velia, close to Via Sacra. It was a small very old temple. They say it was built three
centuries ago by the consul Attilius Regulus. It had six white columns facing the Capitol with
the faggot of lightning streaks on the front of the building. In a small niche was the statue of
the great god sitting. The statue was painted red like that of Jupiter Capitolinus.
Axius was at home waiting for his bride. Lollia had come to supervise the proceedings
and enjoy herself. The whole household was astir.
The slaves, in holiday attire, were cheerfully rushing about their chores. Rumour had it that,
in honour of Chrysilla, their master would give them all their freedom.
In the atrium, Axius was pacing around the square impluvium more and more
impatiently. His footsteps were loudly lapping on the shiny well-oiled flooring. The pond of the
impluvium mirrored the very blue sky. Agile slaves had kept Axius informed when the
procession started from Autronius's house and when it arrived at the temple. But now it
seemed an eternity since he had no news about the ceremony at the temple. He thought that
the gaping slave must have forgotten all about his duty to keep him informed. Axius gnashed
his teeth in anger and swore he would have the slave flogged to death. That very moment the
Greek slave made his appearance in the vestibule and panted out his message : "They have
started !..." and dropped dead of exhaustion.
Axius cheered up. He walked over to the vast peristyle propped up by four rows of
Corinthian columns. At the loottorn of the peristyle, in the oecus there was the altar bedecked
with flowers surrounded by marble statues of ancestors and burnt clay images of the Lares,
the household gods. Lollia was not around. He found her in the triclinium where a group of
slaves were getting the nuptial feast ready. He told her that the cortege had started and,
since there was time enough, he went back to the atrium and resumed his pacing round the
impluvium.
At last he heard a hubbub that grew louder and louder in the street. From everywhere
slaves rushed out to greet the bride. Axius, leaning on a column waited for his mother. They
went out together.
The street was teeming with people. There was a great multitude of curious onlookers
and beggars come to watch the spectacle. Freed slaves of the household gathered the
slaves, flowers in their hands, in a semicircle.
The nuptial chariot stopped in front of the gate. Chrysilla in a white peplum, a vervain
coronet on her head a silver veil clinging to it, descended like a goddess in full splendour. The
slaves went down on their knees face downward. The bride stepped on the petals of white
roses only. Autronius took her by the hand and led her first to Lollia who kissed her on the
forehead.
In the peristyle the crowd was immense. Everybody was trying to get closer to have a
better look.
The high priest of Jupiter had himself come to officiate at the marriage ceremony. His tall
cone-shaped sheepskin hat towered above all those present as he dropped grains of incense
over the flame on the altar murmuring unintelligible words in an archaic Latin. The bride and
groom tasted of the sacred pastry and from the same cup they drank of honey-sweetened
wine and received the blessing of the high priest.
Then Axius together with his bride sat on an improvised throne covered with lambskin.
His arm trembled as he put it round her warm waist. He gazed on her with deep yearning. By
now Chrysilla had taken her veil off and seemed more beautiful. In the smile on her lips and in
her eyes he felt a mysterious call.
68
 "Chrysilla", he murmured passionately, "I love you!"
The bride closed her eyes as if trying to hide her shyness. Axius did not understand the
gesture and was hurt for a moment. Then he felt her warm trembling hand caressing his arm
and was intoxicated with happiness. He slipped his fingers over her round hips and
could hardly control himself.
People began to congratulate them...

In a year's time Chrysilla gave birth to a boy they named Nigidius after Axius's father.
Within another two years she gave birth to another boy, Balbus and then, before the year was
over came a girl, Saturnina. Then three years elapsed and Marcus, another boy was born.
Axius was happy. He idolized Chrysilla in whom, he would say, he found the meaning of life.
Her fecundity seemed to be a special favour of the gods all the more so since after each
childbirth Chrysilla was more beautiful. He felt that he was loved. It was a feeling which he
enjoyed very much since he saw his wife as a superior being. He was actually obsessed by
his love, actually tyrannized by it and could not even think of loving other woman. As a matter
of fact, on the very first night she made it clear that she did not want to be shared with any
other woman as she will not share him with any other man. Axius then swore everlasting
faithfulness without attaching any importance to the idea since he was aware that love vows
were made to be broken. He soon came to realize, however, that Chrysilla really meant what
she said and expected him to keep his promise. She kept an eye on him with passionate
jealousy. When she was pregnant with Saturnina she killed a blonde slave girl with her own
hands because she thought the girl loved Axius in secret. There was, however, no point in her
being jealous for Axius truly did not even dream of other women.
There was only one thing that marred their happiness. Chrysilla, also urged by her father,
was unhappy because Axius did not want to enter public life to gain honour and glory. They
often quarrelled on this account. Axius was absolutely against it. He said that he did not have
enough energy to guide others when he needed a leader to guide him. He said that glory
offers more danger than satisfaction. He gave Germanicus as an example and asked his wife
if she envied Agrippina's lot.
For many years Chrysilla kept hoping against hope that he would come round. She got
into the good graces of the elderly Livia Augusta who became very fond of her and who often
wanted to intercede with emperor Tiberius on Axius's behalf. At last a splendid opportunity
turned up. A delegation of Jews had come to Rome with a complaint against the Roman
procurator Pontius Pilate who for six years had been ruling Judea with a heavy hand. Consul
Camillus Scribonianus, an old friend of Autronius's before receiving the delegation, called
Chrysilla and asked her if Axius would like to go to Jerusalem in Pontius's stead. He wanted
an answer on the following day. Chrysilla pleaded, wept, threatened... All in vain, Axius was
adamant especially since it was a question of taking the place of a friend of his deceased
brother Nonius.
Chrysilla finally gave in and never said one word about public life any more. Perfect peace
was restored in the household. Axius yearned for nothing. Chrysilla's love and that of his
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children gave him a life of complete satisfaction. In order to avoid idleness he took great
interest in his house in Rome and his estate in Antium, restoring and decorating. He never
went to his estate in Patavium. It was too far away and he thought of selling or exchanging it.
Books took up the rest of his time. Many bibliophiles envied him his rich library. He had freed
Myro from slavery and, to the former slave's happiness, appointed him librarian. Some of his
friends thought he was soft and lazy and scorned him behind his back as a typical example of
Roman decadence. Others, however, said that he was wise and knew how to live for the well-
being of his family and of himself.
One day a crafty book-seller offered Axius, in strict confidence, a volume in which he said
a Greek philosopher of Alexandria revealed the contents of the forty two hermetic Egyptian
books together with the teachings dictated by Hermes Trismegistus himself to the high
priests. It was through these teachings that they mastered the mysteries of life and death.
The volume aroused the curiosity of Axius who bought it on the spot for three thousand
sesterces.
He now began to read for he had a strange feeling as if the innermost recesses of his
being had been stirred. As he read time and again he seemed to meet with thingsthat to him
had been latent, things that he had once dreamed of but had forgotten when he woke. And yet
he was dead certain that he had never even heard of these things in his life.
He finished the book in three days and passed it on to Myro in order to put his own
impressions to test. Myro, however, found nothing remarkable. On the contrary, when Axius
asked him his opinion the freed slave said that the author cannot be a philosopher since he
crowded together all sorts of superstitions and miracles that only naive people would pay any
attention to. He believed that the book was only meant as propaganda for the cult of Isaiah.
Myro's opinion struck Axius as an insult to his most cherished ideals. He shouted, then lost his
temper and even threatened to have him flogged. The librarian was frightened and begged
forgiveness for he had got used to speaking openly whenever his master was gracious
enough to listen to his opinion. Axius quickly calmed down and was ashamed of his
behaviour. He himself could not understand what had come over him.
Some days later he set about rereading the mysterious book. As he opened the volume he
had the strange impression that he was caught in its mysterious meshes. He was all alone in
the library. Dusk had fallen and the light was dim. He was reading about the judgement of
Osiris when all of a sudden he heard a voice which made him jump to his feet as if it had come
from the very unknown. depths of his soul
"Master..."
In front of him, near one of the columns that separated the library from the atrium, there
stood a young slave girl in a shabby green tunic, her arms bare, brown woollen sandals on
her feet, her blonde hair in braids. hanging down over her back.
"What do you want ? Who are you?” Axius asked in amazement as if he had seen a ghost.
"Servilia..."
"Servilia ?" Axius blurted out in still greater amazement.
"I am mistress Chrysilla Autronia's slave”
"But... I've never seen you around", he said puzzled.
"I've only been in your house for three days, I was reared on your Patavium estate and
was taught how to serve my mistress whenever she wants to adorn herself".
The slave girl spoke in a soft voice that was trembling with excitement. Yet her speech
was clear and hurried as if she were repeating a lesson learnt by heart. While she was
speaking her wonderful eyes were riveted to the eyes of Axius who was more and more
greedily drinking her in. Her eyes were green and deep like a whirlpool and flashed out a
bewitching light.
"What do you want ?" Axius retorted. His voice was harsh as if trying to ward off the spell
that was taking hold of him.
With downcast eyes as if she had committed some offense, her full moist lips whispered
slowly, humbly :
70
 "Chrysilla Autronia informs you that..."
"All right ! Get out, get out", Axius yelled not waiting to hear her out, feeling that if she
stayed an instant longer and if he heard her voice he might lose control and take her in his
arms.
The slave scared by his harsh voice slowly lifted her eyelids and met his eye then turned
around and headed for the atrium. As she was leaving, Axius watched her sway her alluring
hips. He gazed at her tender bare calves that shone in the dim light of the dusk. A choking
fear suddenly seized him. Servilia's departure made his heart ache. He felt that if he could no
longer see her eyes or hear her voice the whole world would go to pieces leaving him alone
crushed among the ruins. He then unwittingly murmured entreatingly ;
"Servilia..."
She stopped and turned her head round and looked back. There was a gleam of joy in her
eyes that she quickly stifled as she answered humbly,
"Master..."
That very instant Axius gave a start as if waking from a dream. Controlling himself he said,
"Nothing... Go !"
Servilia vanished from sight. In the heavy silence Axius could still hear the rustling of her
soft sandals on slabs. In the library a scent of perfume wafted through the air as if traces of
her soul had been left behind to tempt him.
It was only later that he came to and wondered how he could have lost his head in front of
a slave girl. Hitherto he had looked on all slave girls as mere working women. Was it possible
that a slave girl of all women should shake his love for Chrysilla and maybe even shatter the
very happiness of his life ? He laughed to himself, shrugged his shoulders in contempt and
thought that it was a stupid accident meeting this Servilia. But the contempt quickly vanished
and tenderness set in
"Servilia,.. What a strange name and what a strange look in her eyes!"
His heart began to throb as if in expectation of great joy. He thought he saw Servilia again
in the same place. She seemed to have come back and he heard her soothing voice. He
remembered not even having heard her out. He was sorry.
Wishing to drive the regret out of his soul it occurred to him that Chrysilla must have had
something important to tell, him. How could he have been so rude to Chrysilla just because an
unknown slave girl upset him maybe by casting a spell over him ? He must go to Chrysilla and
see what was it she wanted.
He placed Hermes Trismegistus's volume of mysteries on a shelf and went over to the
atrium. On his way he was thinking of making his peace with Chrysilla but realized that he
desired Servilia and that that was the reason why he wanted to see Chrysilla. The thought
seemed to be an insult and he tried to drive it away but it kept coming back like a pestering
fly.
He found Chrysilla in the company of the slave girl who was now relating how her master
had driven her away for no reason at all. The moment Axius caught sight of her he seemed to
calm down. But his heart was throbbing with excitement. He walked up to Chrysilla trying to
avert his gaze from the slave girl whom he could not help glancing at and whose eyes he felt
were riveted on him. Chrysilla gave him a tender loving reproachful smile,
"For goodness' sake, Axius, you didn't even want to hear Servilia out !?"
Hearing the girl's name Axius was again flustered especially since that very instant he met
the green eyes of the slave girl who was standing behind Chrysilla. Her eyes were so deep
and so luring that he found it painfully difficult not to forget that his wife stood between them.
He said something tormented by fear that Chrysilla might notice his discomfiture. And yet,
while speaking he could not take his eyes away from Servilia who had by now withdrawn near
the door standing motionless with a stoop, her arms hanging downwards, her head drooping
sadly. Axius felt her fiery eyes watching him all the time as if she were guided by some
supernatural power. While in his heart he was caressing her, his face was twitching with the

71
effort he made to stifle the yearning that revolted him. Chrysilla noticed his wry face and tried
to comfort him by throwing both arms around his neck and murmuring :
"Never mind, darling, don't be angry with her".
Her gentle words suddenly annoyed him all the more as if she had discovered the secret
he was so strenuously trying to hide. He blushed, the veins of his temples swelled and he
roared in a hoarse voice as if an unseen hand were trying to smother his words,
"Get out !... Get out !"
Servilia went out. While she was closing the door Axius repeated his command but in a
different voice, a voice that had a touch of supplication
"Get out! "
When she had vanished from sight he suddenly felt so lonely as if he had lost his soul.
Chrysilla's kiss meant to calm him down, burnt like an insult.
"Why are you rude to Servilia", Chrysilla whispered. "She's such a nice girl. I love her as if
she were my sister. She's scarcely been here for three days and we seem to have been
reared together. In fact your favourite freed slave brought her to me as a surprise. On our
wedding day he sent word to Patavium to have a slave girl trained in all the skills that make a
good maid¬servant... So they chose Servilia who was a child at the time. The freed slave
wanted to offer her as a gift on our tenth wedding anniversary. He would have brought her a
month ago but she was late in getting here and then Myro kept her hidden for a couple of days
to have a rest and then to try her out and dress her properly before he showed her to me".
While they were talking she stealthily led him to a couch on which they sat down together.
She cuddled up to arouse him and drive his anger away. Axius gladly listened to her
explanation about the slave girl but her caresses annoyed him as if enduring them was an
offense to the other woman.
"There's such a strange look in her eyes" he said softly as he freed himself from her tight
embrace.
"It's only your imagination", Chrysilla murmured in a voice slightly vexed at his paying no
heed to her caresses. "After all", she continued, "why make such a fuss over a slave ? If you
don't like the looks of her why don't you have her flogged. Her screams and shrieks will ease
you of your trouble".
"No, no !" Axius answered almost in terror. "It would be an injustice to have the girl
flogged without her being to blame !"
"Then tell me what you wish and this very day I'll send her back to Patavium. I don't want
her simply being present to annoy you", the woman added standing in cold pride.
"No, that won't do either !" the man defended himself even more terrified. "Why should I
deprive you of a good slave just for a stupid whim of mine. No, that won't do ! As a matter of
fact, I'm not feeling too well and maybe that's why the merest trifles upset me".
It actually occurred to him that he might be ill or under a spell. However, he was ashamed
to admit his fear of magic. Such a confession would be beneath the dignity of a man of his
philosophic standing. Superstitions are good only for simple illiterate folk.
"Anyway, I must go to Antium where something seems to be the matter for my mother has
sent a message asking me to go over", he added after a brief pause.
He was lying. Nobody called him anywhere. The thought of going away had just occurred
to him. He certainly could not tell Chrysilla that he felt that a slave had cast a spell over him so
he must talk it over with Lollia who knew all about spells and charms and she might
recommend some herb or remedy to cure him.
Hearing that he was unwell, Chrysilla suddenly forgot her wounded pride and begged
him not to go lest he should get worse. Better send the freed slave. Axius got confused and
dared not look into her eyes.
"All right, all right... Let's wait and see !"

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5

The evening air was warm and cheerful. Axius set out on Via Suburbana which was so
crowded with noisy people that he could hardly make his way through. Under porticoes
courtesans dolled up like cheap prostitutes were making obscene gestures soliciting
passers-by. For a moment Axius felt like going in to one of the courtesans and in her bed drive
away the haunting figure of the slave girl. The thought, however, quickly vanished of itself as
irreverent. The jostling crowd and above all the faces annoyed him. He suddenly turned into a
side street made his way towards the Circus Maximus, turned right towards the Forum
Holitorium behind the Capitol and found himself on the banks of the Tiber.
He wandered about aimlessly like a lunatic, thinking, pondering as if his thoughts were all
that ever existed in the world. He tried to make out why he was upset by a simple slave girl.
He just could not understand it all. Servilia was not more beautiful than Chrysilla and not even
more interesting. But there was a strange glint in her eye or at least so it seemed to him. He
despised himself for his weakness and wished he had chosen a more active life. It would have
spared him this awkward predicament. A thought flashed through his mind : "How about
running away with Servilia and starting a new life, a real one ?" He instantly drove the
temptation out of his mind.
After all he could not walk out on his wife and children and lose face in front of all people. On
second thoughts suppose he went to bed with the luring slave girl just once, only to quench,
the fire in his heart. But that would cause Chrysilla undeserved humiliation something she
would never forgive. He would never degrade himself by yielding to such temptation. Even his
wandering now over the streets of the city seemed disgraceful shunning people as if he were
a leper.
"I must go away !" he mumbled as if trying to shake off fetters. He got home late, went to
bed wondering where Servilia was sleeping. He saw her in his dreams all night long. He
thought they were alone in the world just the two of them joined in divine happiness.
He was all in a flurry when he woke up. His heart was aching to see Servilia. He tried
hard not to think of her and promptly made for the library. But instead of going straight there
he passed through all the rooms as if guided by a power stronger than his will unwittingly
hoping against hope that he might catch sight of her. When he realized what he was doing he
was ashamed of himself and yet, as he crossed the peristyle, he could not help glancing right
and left. He found Myro in the library but did not say a word to him. He took the mysterious
book believing that its magic will dispel the slave girl's charm but was unable to make head or
tail of what he was reading. Between the lines he saw Servilia's eyes smiling reproachfully.
At long last around four o'clock he called Myro to tell him that he must set out for Antium
at once. He hastened to take his leave of Chrysilla happy at the thought that he might yet get
to see Servilia. Chrvsilla, however, was alone. He stretched the conversation out hoping the
slave girl might show up. But his hope was not fulfilled.
A chariot was waiting for him in front of the house. Axius got in. The driver cracked his
whip, the mules were off in a flutter. When they got to the big circus they turned into Via Appia
and went on for a while between the funeral monuments. The mules galloped on as time and
again the Gaulish slave lashed them across their backs. Axius kept turning to look at the city
resplendent in the sunshine with its palaces, gardens, arches, porticoes crowded on hills that
grew smaller and smaller as they departed. The farther away they got the deeper his heart
ached.
His mother, Lollia, who had grown sadly old was glad to see him. On his arrival he
immediately told his mother what it was that had upset him so powerfully. The old woman was
terrified. She was certain that the slave girl had cast a spell on him. She promptly sent for an
old hag who knew all about magic and charms. That very evening in a secluded spot on the
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brink of a cliff by the sea the witch built a small altar of old bricks on which she sacrificed a
black chicken, melted a wax heart on the dying embers, charmed a broken-lipped amphora
poured water into the vessel, added who knows what herbs, then, exactly at midnight she
bade Axius take three sips of the bitter potion to make him loathe the charms of the cursed
slave girl.
Axius had originally planned to stay in Antium a couple of days. The following morning,
however, despite all the magic he was on pins and needles. Lollia asked him if the witch's
potion had worked. He lied, "Yes". He moped about all day long. What else could he do ? That
night it occurred to him that what he needed was a long journey to get away from his troubles.
He had long been contemplating a journey to the East beginning with Greece, then on to Asia
Minor and Egypt but had kept putting it off out of sheer laziness. He now thought that such a
journey would cure him of his illness.
On arriving in Rome Axius lost no time in putting on his toga and called on the consul
Paulus Fabius a childhood friend of his father's who had always been kind to him. Fabius had
long known of his intentions to travel in the East and had actually urged him to do so. The
consul quickly wrote a letter warmly recommending Axius to all legations and procurators in
the eastern provinces.
"If you had told me earlier of your decision to make the journey", the consul added, "I
would have got you a letter from Tiberius himself for my term of office will be over in a couple
of months. And since you are determined to set out at once you had better accept my
recommendation before you change your mind and stay at home".
The consul patted him on the back and wished him god speed.
Chrysilla begged to go along with him. He was adamant to her prayers. As a matter of
fact, in his heart of hearts she bored him and he blamed her for having to avoid Servilia.
Chrysilla insisted, implored, wept. Suddenly Servilia came in uncalled. Axius had not seen her
for three days. His face lit up with great joy. His eves caressed her. He wanted to hear her
voice. But Chrysilla was groaning and wringing her hands. It was driving him mad and he
bellowed out like a mad man,
"The flogger !... call the flogger !"
Servilia scared out of her wits ran out and brought the flogger in.
"Twenty strokes of the rod to Servilia !... this very minute !" was the command.
The slave girl turned pale. Chrysilla stopped her weeping, flung herself at his feet
shouting,
"Axius forgive her!... Axius... She's never been flogged before !"
The flogger glanced at his master who was standing stock-still his face savagely twisted
out of shape, grabbed Servilia by the arm and dragged her out. Axius followed them as if he
wished to supervise the proceedings. Chrysilla followed him weeping and begging him to
forgive Servilia. He did not even hear her.
In a corner of the garden under a tree the flogger snatched Servilia's tunic off leaving
her stark naked. For an instant the girl forgot her fear and covered her breasts with one arm
her abdomen with the other. Axius watching just a few paces off went out of his mind. Her
body was white and tender and trembling. Her long hair covered her back like a golden cloak;
her small breasts had rosy nipples like two drops of blood. The flogger tied her hands to the
tree. Chrysilla was crying and tearing her tunic hanging on Axius' s arm begging him to
forgive the girl. Axius, seemingly had turned into stone. Eyes bulging, breathing heavily he
stared at the white body with slightly rounded hips, the tender belly and delicate legs that to
him meant the whole world.
Then suddenly the flogger swished his rod and struck.
Servilia let out a sharp scream that pierced Axius's heart. That very instant the girl's
terrified eyes met his eyes and the slave girl ceased screaming as if she no longer felt any
pain. But large drops of tears kept welling up and streaming down her pale cheeks revealing
the pain of the flesh. Close by Chrysilla kept groaning and sobbing :
"Forgive her, Axius, forgive her !"
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 After several strokes, Axius awoke as if out of a trance and mumbled :
"Enough !"
He then dashed into the house, hid himself in a dark room and cried his heart out.

That same evening Axius, accompanied by Myro and two slaves set out for the East. Had
he lingered on nothing could have held back his love for the bewitching and terrifying Servilia.
They travelled as far as Brundusium in complete silence. They boarded a trireme for
Corinth. Myro was his guide. The Greek scholar was happy to have this opportunity to visit his
homeland and on the way from Rome to Brundusium he drew up an itinerary of six months for
Greece alone. Aboard the ship Axius could no longer hide his anguish. As a matter of fact
Myro in his capacity as Axius's scribe and secretary, knew all his secrets. Axius had confided
his troubles to Myro who advised him to consult Pythia at Delphi.
"There are mysteries that even philosophers can not explain. The gods alone and their
initiates can do it". Myro added apologetically that he of all people, a staunch believer in the
powers of science should advise him to have recourse to despised popular beliefs.
The trireme made a stop-over at Delphi. Axius was filled with doubt as he got off. He had
to wait seven days until his sacrifice was accepted. Then he himself saw the aged priestess
solemnly drinking water from the sacred well and chewing laurel leaves as she seated herself
on the gold tripod right over the opening whence intoxicating vapours rose. Pythia in a trance
mumbled snatches of meaningless words.
The prophets all around her carefully made notes on their brass tablets. Next day he
received the advice of the god : "Beware of the power of your own hands !"
Axius could make neither head nor tail of Pythia's answer, but at any rate his heart was
now at ease. He wandered all over Boeotia crossed over to Attica and spent three months in
Athens.
Myro having noticed that Axius was again depressed advised him to go to Oropos to the
temple of Amphiaraos. Axius fasted one whole day, sacrificed a bull, slept all night on the skin
of the sacrificed animal in a room next to the god's altar and in his sleep Amphiaraos truly
appeared but all he said was, "Eros is the supreme god".
That puzzled and upset Axius all the more. He thought that it all meant a disapproval of his
parting with Servilia. Myro then suggested that he go to the most ancient and most famous of
temples Asklepieion in Epidauros where for centuries countless miracles had been done.
When he got there he found the temple surroundings swarming with sick people who had
come from all parts of the world. By the time his turn came he got sick and tired and gave up
the idea of appealing to the god for help. He said to himself that the only remedy was oblivion
and oblivion requires absence.
In late October he reached Alexandria. He had planned to stay here for a longer while. At
first he liked the town for its hustle and bustle which seemed like a second home. But he soon
got tired of it. Here at the crossroads of Europe, Africa and Asia with variegated crowds of
gods and races and swarms of luxurious courtesans who stood in for the wives, mothers, and
sisters of the thousands of travellers Axius was constantly reminded of the love he yearned
for.
Ten days later he started up the Nile, made a stopover at Heliopolis and went on for a
longer stay in Memphis. The consul's letter of recommendation opened all doors to him and
he was welcomed everywhere. He was free to go anywhere and see anything he liked. He
went to the tombs of the Pharaohs and scratched his name on the pyramid of Keops and on
the Sphinx's head. However, he felt more at home in the ancient city among the ruins that the
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earthquake of six years ago had multiplied and scattered all over the city. He actually did not
feel like leaving. From the very first moment he felt that he had been here before. This
impression was all the stranger since it made his yearning for Servilia overpowering. Among
the huge broken columns lying about he seemed to see like an ethereal gleam her bewitching
and reproachful eyes. He was tormented by twinges of conscience : why did he have her
flogged ? Each stroke of the rod seemed to have cut his heart. Sometimes he seemed to hear
the swishing of the rod and the fleshly sound as it struck the maiden's body. He would wearily
lean on some age-old wall. Mysterious fluttering filled the air in which fine grains of sand were
whirled about by the wind and wafted like small white clouds.
This everlasting loitering among ruins got on Myro's nerves. Several times Axius made
plans to go back home to Rome and in a fit of sincerity he bluntly told Myro that he could no
longer live without Servilia the only alternative being suicide.
One month later they embarked on an Egyptian ship and started southwards. He still had
the impression that he had visited these places before. His wish was to go on without
stopping at Thebes. Yet he lingered on at Abydos for ten days despite the advice to the
contrary of the sailors. Here he felt very well seeing Servilia in his dreams all the time. He
even saw her once as an Egyptian princess.
In Thebes the magic slackened. He found no interest even in the lane of sphinxes. He
quickly crossed the river to the two giant statues of Memnon wishing to hear the voice of the
oracle, the voice that came from a colossus since the great earthquake had visited the place.
He pitched his tent nearby. There were hundreds of people of all races waiting just as he was.
It was only the third day early in the morning that the granite colossus began to really sing. It
first sent out shrill sounds like a hoarse pipe. Then followed a pause till sunrise next day when
it started a new song with strange modulations mingling with the gentle breeze of the Zephyr
like the lamentation of a beaten man. Finally after a short pause a woman's voice was heard.
Axius trembled : it was Servilia's voice. He crouched down close to the foot of the giant statue
stayed there all day long yearning to hear the oracle again. But the colossus remained silent.
They continued their journey up the Nile to Elephantine where Myro was impressed by the
magic fountain that gave healing water. They went on to the island of Philae to see the famous
temple of Isida. But Axius was no longer interested in anything. The song of the giant statue
kept echoing in his heart like a stern commandment. He was anxious to go back home.
In Alexandria he was more at ease. It would be a shame to go back to Rome after one
year's absence and not have visited Asia. Fabius's term of office had come to an end so that
his recommendation was no longer valid. On the contrary it would sooner be a disadvantage
since everybody knew that Fabius and one of the new consuls, Marcus Servilus, were at
odds. So he decided to visit only Palestine where he knew Pontius Pilate the procurator of
Judea.
He crossed the sea over to Caesarea and went on straight to Jerusalem, a long and
tiresome journey, above all through the Saron desert. In the distance he caught sight of the
Antonia tower, the residence of the imperial procurator. It was heavy like the fist of a
gladiator.
Pontius Pilate gave him a warm welcome. The procurator was a man in his mid-forties
with harsh features his hair just beginning to go grey. He introduced Axius to his wife Claudia
Procula who was his junior by almost twenty years. She was gentle and had dreamy eyes.
The procurator talked to him about Nonius who had once been his comrade in arms, how
he had saved his life by a miracle. Then he began to complain of difficulties in governing. He
felt like an exile and his most fervent desire was to be moved to another province. He hated
and despised the people of Judea. Their superstitions aroused his indignation.
"They are quarrelsome and unruly. Twice they complained to Caesar against me", Pilate
said gnashing his teeth.
Axius nodded approval. He knew about one complaint when Scribonianus had offered
him the position of procurator. If Pontius only knew !

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 Then to prove how mad these people were the procurator said that only two weeks ago
they had come to him noisily demanding the condemnation of one Jehoshua for committing a
sacrilege against their invisible god. The accusation had seemed to be a false one to him, yet
in order to get rid of them and especially to avoid another complaint against him in Rome that
he was favouring an enemy to the emperor, although being such an enemy was rather
shameful than dangerous he granted their wish and had Jehoshua crucified. Meantime,
however, Jehoshua's friends spread the rumour that he had risen from the dead and had
ascended to the sky to join the other gods. Those who demanded his death are now
frightened lest the people at large should learn of his resurrection and ascension and are
asking for the condemnation of the dead man's friends as well.
"The interesting thing, however, is that Claudia herself believes the story about the
resurrection !" Pilate concluded with a hearty laugh.
"That's right, I believe it !" Claudia Procula murmured looking confidently into Axius's
eyes.
"I saw him! There was so much kindness in his eyes as I've never seen before. He was
the god of kindness come down on earth."
Shivers were running up and down Axius's spine as he answered, "All miracles are
possible".
He told them about his trouble with Servilia. Claudia was understanding and kind and
advised him not to hesitate any longer but to obey the commandment of the gods. Pontius
Pilate, however, was harsh and scornful
"It would be a shame for a Roman cavalier to forsake his highborn wife for a wretched
slave girl ! Servilia must be killed without delay and then the diabolical spell she has cast on
you will vanish !"

The closer he came to Italy, the longer the journey seemed. The couple of days from
Brundusium to Rome were an eternity. The voice of the granite colossus was again singing in
his heart like a stern command.
He arrived unexpectedly. The nomenclator was thunderstruck and could hardly
recognize him. True, Axius had lost weight and his cheeks were heavily tanned, while his eyes
were larger and had a mysterious gleam in them like a revelation.
The slaves of the household all rushed into the atrium noisily expressing their joy at the
home coming of their master after such a long journey. The unusual uproar immediately
attracted Chrysilla. She caught sight of him from the peristyle, broke into tears and rushed to
him, hugged him vigorously feeling his hands as if to make sure it was really him. The slaves
withdrew. The two of them remained alone.
"Axius, my love, welcome back home ! You didn't even send word" she murmured
kissing his cheeks and hands, weeping and laughing at the same time.
Axius stood motionless looking right and left ; he had been looking for somebody ever
since he crossed the threshold of the vestibule somebody he expected to see among the
multitude of slaves. Then in a worried hoarse whisper he asked
"Where is Servilia ?"

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 Chrysilla overwhelmed with joy heard the question as in a dream and yet it wept straight
to her heart like a dagger. She cut her effusion of love short and looked into his eyes. She saw
the strange gleam there and withdrew instinctively. Axius still covered with dust from the
journey, his face dirty, a three day stubble on his chin looked like a barbarian with a soul
overcome by some terrible mystery which his burning eyes betrayed. Chrysilla understood.
Like a flash the look in Axius's eyes brought recollections that now revealed their meaning :
his unreasonable hatred of Servilia, the flogging, the journey. Axius's question echoed in her
ears as though he had been repeating it over and over again and in it she felt there was a
danger as if her very life was at stake. His. anxiety made it easy for her to give him the
suitable answer.
"Servilia ?" she murmured with contempt as sharp as a sword.
She tossed her head haughtily, eyed him from top to toe, narrowed her eyelids and gave
him a loathsome smile. She was wearing a saffron coloured tunic that set off her slender
waist and made her look taller. She added
"Hmm!”
She then turned her back on him and made for the oak door of her rooms. In the dark
opening of the door the outline of her yellow figure spelled danger.
Axius stood stock-still with the same question in his eves
"Where is Servilia ?"
Finding himself all alone his anxiety turned into fright. Why didn't Servilia show up ?
Maybe she is no longer here ? Why didn't Chrysilla answer ? It was only now he recollected
that Chrysilla had said something. Her voice now frightened him. He saw her again turning
her back on him, it seemed deliberately. That very moment a violent pain shook him as if he
had been stabbed in the chest with a dagger.
He darted desperately after Chrysilla ! In the cubicle at the foot of the double bed lay
Servilia tossing about breathing heavily. Nearby stood Chrysilla with cold eyes, clenched fists
satisfied watching the slave girl in her agony. Hearing Axius's footsteps she turned her eyes
to him and said defiantly :
"There's your Servilia!”
Howling with pain, Axius hurled himself on the slave girl in whose breast a small dagger
with an ivory hilt was still sticking
"Don't die, Servilia, don't die!" Axius cried taking her head in his hands and looking deep
into her eyes that for one whole year had lived in his heart hoping for eternal love.
A ray of joy flashed over Servilia's face as her green eyes met his and kindled a flame of
infinite happiness, Axius, however, kept repeating the words in a torpor as if he believed that
they could keep her alive
"Don't die…!”
Then he touched the hilt of the dagger. He got scared and snatched it out of the wound
certain that he would thus save her life. On Servilia's green tunic there oozed a red spot of
blood that quickly turned black. In her glassy eyes there still lingered for an instant a weak
flicker of happiness then it went out.
Axius repeated her name again and again more and more hopelessly then collapsed on
her breast sobbing bitterly. Some moments later he heard Chrysilla's voice and jumped to his
feet. He now realized that she was the one who killed the girl and for an instant flew into a fury
squeezing tight the hilt of the blood-stained dagger. The woman defied him with a calm that
crushed the very roots of his anger. Anyway, he thought, there was no point in doing anything
about it now.
He wobbled out in a daze. When he found himself in the trepidarium and discovered the
slaves vying with one another in preparing his bath he suddenly remembered
"True... I must have a bath. I must wash off the dust of the journey and I'm dead tired..."
A brownish skinned slave obediently rushed to help him undress. Axius was taken aback.
He smiled sadly and waved the slave away. He did not need him any longer. The warm water
was gently rippling in the pink marble bath. Axius looked at it in amazement as if this was the
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first time he had ever seen it or the world itself. He felt the ivory hilt in his left hand and let go
of it as if it terrified him. The dagger dropped on the shiny pavement and rattled as it tossed
about several times like a beaten snake and finally slipped into the water and sank to the
bottom of the bath. Axius then forgot everything.
In his mind thoughts contended hopelessly exterminating one another in chaotic
befuddlement. In his soul, however, a painful feeling took shape : the vanity of it all. . .
He shrugged his shoulders, trembled and started to undress in great haste. He climbed
down the five steps. The warm perfumed water caressed his legs like the embrace of a loved
woman. When he sank completely into the water he was so relaxed as if nothing had
happened.
Fumbling about in the pool he came across the dagger that had been waiting there. He
picked it up out of the water and gazed at it in bewilderment wondering how the dagger ever
got there. The blade was so clean and studded with shiny drops of water like diamonds. Then
suddenly he remembered. Quickly and calmly he slit his wrists ; first the left one and next the
right one. Then he set the dagger on the edge of the pool. He stretched his legs and leaned
backwards on the marble steps and rested his head on the top one. He felt the blood flowing
and said to himself that the water must be getting red but he did not look for his eyes were
turned upwards and he could see nothing.
Later on he heard a strange splash and thought it was the dagger that had slipped into
the water as if it were alive and kept tempting him.
Then his mind was overwhelmed by one single thought : Servilia. Twinges of conscience,
regrets and snatches of memories whispered that he had lost the chance of a lifetime. It will
never come again.
He was overcome by heavy exhaustion. His eyelids seemed to be made of lead and
pressed heavily against his eyeballs. His thoughts wandered aimlessly. A yellowish gleam
lingered in his eyes weaker and weaker, more and more blurred. He felt his consciousness
thinning and thinning until all was darkness...

The soul freed itself from the grip of matter and soared dizzily towards what seemed to be
a definite goal that lured it on but which it could not reach. All traces of life got lost in the
boundless void. It then wafted between the two worlds. The weak flicker of pure existence
brought urge and hope. The soul wavered between the infinitude of the past and the infinitude
of the future...

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Chapter Five
MARIA

…The wavering of the soul seemed to be a flicker with no beginning and no end.
Transparent pictures of other existences past and future flitted through consciousness.
Imperfection took shape in the soul as a painful new urge.
Suddenly a dizzy descent followed and the gates of time opened. The descent was in a
straight line along the margin of a world. The soul felt that it must sink into this world and yet
it glided down fearing that it was not the right moment.
Then there appeared a breach in the wall of this unwanted world through which the soul
made its entrance guided by a supreme predestination. Space kneaded forms of matter in a
continual change. Consciousness fretted under the surrounding pressure, it writhed and
thinned until it finally merged with shapeless matter...

They baptized him in the monastery basilica the day after his birth and he received the
name of Hans together with the blessing of the abbot. He was a frail child and a slow worker
and everybody illtreated him.
When he completed his thirteenth year one Sunday in spring his father took him by the
hand and they set out together on the winding road that led to the village of Odenhain on the
Wischnitz river to the Lorsch monastery the crenelated walls of which could be seen from far
away.
Hans knew the way. He had tended the cattle and led them on this road time and again to
graze in the glades of the beech woods that surrounded the monastery. But he had never
been so excited as he was today. For weeks everybody at home had been talking about this
Sunday. They all taught him, frightened him or encouraged him. Even now on their way to the
monastery his father was teaching him how to kiss the abbot's hand and how to answer all
questions with due respect.
The gate of the monastery was open. There was a multitude of beggars and sick people
on the drawbridge waiting for the Sunday alms always richer than on week-days. The
gatekeeper, a lay brother, knew Michel Boeheim, the peasant, who worked on the land of the
monastery and was an honest man and a good Christian. He gave the peasant his hand to be
kissed and in a friendly manner asked him how he was. The peasant told him in many words
that he had brought Hans to the monastery to make him a monk. The gatekeeper, himself a
peasant's son, very proud of this cowl shook his head gravely, was silent for a moment with
the air of a wise man, then said that gone are the days when anyone could become a monk
just like that and that he did not think the abbot would receive Hans in the monastery.
However, as a token of good will he advised the peasant to speak first to the cellarer who was
the real master of the monastery, more powerful than the abbot himself. Everything depended
on him.
Primin the cellarer was a fat clean shaven red-headed monk. He was in charge of the
provisions in the monastery. He was always jittery shouting at people. He was now having
trouble with some lay brothers in connection with the distribution of the alms. Catching sight
of Michel Beoheim to whom he always spoke kindly this time he bellowed out

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 "What is it, Michel ? Don't tell me you too have come for alms like the other beggars and
invalids ? Shame on you, Michel ! Shame on you ! It looks like Satan is leading everybody in all
sorts of temptations!"
In answer, the peasant rushed head bowed low to kiss the monk's fat hand, saying to his
child
"What are you waiting for, Hans ? Kiss the holy man's hand".
Michel's humility disarmed the monk to the extent that he condescended to caress the
boy's
cheeks and freshly combed locks, mumbling :
"What is it you want, Michel. Come on, out with it. Don't you see I have no Sunday, no
holidays like all other Christians ?..."
Michel Boeheim began his story. It was a long one : God had given him fifteen children, life
was hard, many misfortunes had befallen poor people, it was now time to give some thought
to the soul with hope... It was only when he got on Primin's nerves that he came to the point :
"My wife and me we talked it over and thought it would be best to give Hans to God so
that he may pray for us and make sure that his parents and brothers would have a better life
in the other world. As a matter of fact he is a good boy he has always been good and obedient
ever since he was born just like any servant of the Almighty should be. Time flies and since
the Last Judgement is due in seven years we hope to have someone to defend us when we
meet our Saviour us being so full of deadly sins".
"What Last Judgement do you mean, stupid ? Are you crazy or something ? How do you
know the end of the world is drawing near ?"
"Well, forgive me, your holiness, everybody's talking about it down in the village — the
peasants, I mean. It'll soon be one thousand years since the Saviour came down on earth and
this wicked world must perish and the judgement of everybody must begin — that's what the
Holy Scriptures say. We, the common people cannot read or write but there are signs of the
end, signs that even the blind can see : everlasting wars, pestilences, famine and poverty,
man killing man the way they say things were in pagan times..."
There was so much belief in the peasant's eyes that the monk was content to chide him
kindly telling him not to spread such stupid and wicked rumours which only devils whisper to
men in order to tempt them and lead them to perdition.
"How old is the child ?" he asked eyeing the boy carefully.
"Answer, Hans," his father urged him. "Don't be ashamed ! Answer like the good boy that
you are".
"I was thirteen on Easter Sunday", Hans said in a warm voice looking straight into the
monk's eyes.
"Do you really want to be the servant of God and of God alone ?"
"It is the wish of God and of the Holy Virgin", the child answered with a gleam in his eyes
that startled the monk.
Then Michel drew closer and whispered in the monk's ear :
"He has many times told his mother, he wouldn't dare tell me because I never listen to
childish nonsense ; he said that he had seen our Lord Jesus Christ in his dreams. Jesus was
clothed in a long white robe, a crown of rays on his head. Pie had the marks of the nails on His
hands and feet and He caressed his cheek and said :
"Follow me !" And the child started but woke up..."
The monk crossed himself ; what he had heard was a miracle. He made up his mind to
accept Hans as a lav brother and use him for manual work. There was after all greater need
for craftsmen in the monastery than for scholars. He had some doubts considering the boy's
debility. But on meeting the strange glint in the boy's eyes and on hearing Michel's words, the
monk got scared. His duties did not make for a life of devotion free of sin and he lived in grave
fear of God's punishment and the Devil's temptations.
"All right, all right, let's go to..."

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 He started without finishing the sentence bending his steps towards the basilica Michel
and Hans on his heels.

On entering the basilica, the monk stopped for a moment questioningly raised his eyes
skywards as if seeking advice, glanced round, at the portal, at the seven rows of windows of
the main tower, at the black cross with its thin arms. Then having made up his mind as if he
had received a command from above he quickly entered the atrium, dipped his fingers into
holy water
and crossed himself. He passed through a side door along a corridor and reached the abbot's
house.
The lodging consisted of two small rooms and some monks' cells. The abbot was on his
knees facing the altar deep in prayer. He did not notice the entrance of the three and yet the
monk distinctly heard the words "Benedictus qui venit in nomini Domini !" and trembled with
fear as if some heavenly miracle had come to pass. He went down on his knees and mumbled
in awe :
"Father, a holy child has come in our midst..."
Michel also knelt whispering to the child :
"Come on, Hans, kneel down like a good boy show his holiness how devout you are".
The abbot went on with his prayers as if he had heard nothing. When he was through he
turned his head questioningly. With his white beard and flashing eyes he looked like some
holy wandering hermit lost among common people. Hans seemed to have met him before. The
child approached, kissed the old man's hand and said pleadingly :
"Father..."

The one year long noviciate was as tough as a deadly sin.

The temptation of silence and solitude lasted for seven weeks. Locked up in his out of the
way cell he could speak to no one but to God. A mute monk would take him early in the
morning to the chapel of novices where on his knees he had to listen to a long mass followed
by unending sermons. Then back again to the solitude of the cell where hardly a handful of
grey sunrays could penetrate.
During the first days of his noviciate Hans was tormented with a feeling of revolt. His
knees ached and the silence and solitude aroused recollections of life outdoors noisy,
cheerful and full of variety. He was tormented with regret and the wish to escape. He felt as if
he were buried alive in some age-old crypt. After a while recollections grew scantier and his
soul accepted
resignation enriched by the wait for a revelation that must come and that he deserved. He
began to wish for some sign from another world, a holy vision to steel his heart. He would
pace up and down in his cell like a cage murmuring endless prayers. The wooden bed and
pillow had hardened him. There was also a small rickety table and a stool in the cell. On the
wall at the head of his bed enclosed in a worm-eaten frame there hung an icon of the Holy
Virgin. He would stand in front of the icon more and more often as if it were a living being. The
scratchy drawing showed the beautiful head of a woman with a gentle look in her large eyes
full of mystery. Her . eyes haunted him all the time whenever he paced around in the cell as if
they followed him appealingly and caressingly. He seemed to have met those eyes a long time
ago, that they held the mystery of revelation he longed for from the very depths of his soul.
He no longer felt lonely. The eyes of the icon followed him everywhere, they lit up his
soul in the pitch-dark nights as he lay on his wooden bed. In his prayers he always appealed
to the Holy Virgin. She was his guardian angel.
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 When the seven weeks of trials were over they moved him among the other rowdy
novices which was tantamount to purgatory. Their worldly palaver questions hurt him to the
quick. They knew no piety or devotion. His diffidence soon became the butt of their jokes.
School began : reading, writing, arithmetic, singing, religion.
The cellarer had recommended Hans to the master of novices as a saint who had spoken
to the Saviour. The master had his doubts about mystic visions.
They had become quite frequent lately and were shaking the foundations of the true faith. But
since Hans was obedient and hard-working he took to the boy contrary to his habit of
scolding the novices to rid them of their worldly thoughts.
Hans, however did not care for study. His secret love for God drove away all other
desires. The only subject he liked was singing. The sad melodies seemed to bring back
memories of another world. Nevertheless he worked hard at reading and writing. He wanted
to know Latin so that he might find out for himself from books and not from others all about
the lives of the saints and thus have a guide in life. As for arithmetic, he was often punished
together with the other novices for not learning the mysteries of addition and subtraction.
Hans was the only one who wept like a girl to the astonishment and contempt of his
classmates. For all his sufferings, however, he found consolation in the eyes of the holy icon
in his cell of silence. He did not want to leave the cell and asked permission to remain there.
Cellarer Primin made an exception in his case and approved.
As a matter of fact the cellarer prided himself on being Hans's protector. He would help
the novice whenever he could and kept thinking of what name to give him consulting the
elderly monks. Some suggested Chrodegang in memory of the saintly first abbot of the
Lorsch monastery of two hundred years ago. The master of the novices considered to be the
most learned of all was also consulted and he insisted on the name of Lollus. It was the name
of the highly honoured abbot of yore who first said Mass in the new basilica in the presence of
emperor Charles the Great. The cellarer hesitated and finally decided on Adeodatus after the
name saint Augustine gave to his own son.
On the Sunday before the ceremony of the solemn vow the cellarer invited all the
members of Michel Boeheim's family to the monastery to take their leave of Hans saying :
"From now on Hans is dead to you ! He now belongs to God and to us."
Deeply moved and embarrassed, the peasant mumbled something about the support they
would have from Hans in the other world. But the child's mother burst into sobbing that rang
throughout the basilica. Hans as white as a sheet, a smile of resignation on his lips kissed
each of his fourteen brothers.
The ceremony then took place with magnificent pomp. The abbot himself, although ill,
officiated and even delivered a special homily citing examples, for the novice now entering
monastic life, of virtues of great monks and reminding him of the three indispensable virtues
of those who really want to serve the Lord's church : stabilitas, conversion morum,
obedientio.
When the ceremony was over, cellarer Primin, moved to tears, embraced the young
brother murmuring :
"Adeodatus, please pray for me, for my soul is heavy with errors !"
In late summer the great plague that had visited Italy reached the Rhine valley spreading
death and terror. The village of the monastery was deserted ; people who had not been able
to flee north perished in less than two weeks. Unburied dead were rotting on streets and in
houses. Monks who had gone to the village to nurse the sick never came back. Others dared
not leave the grounds of the monastery. Then Adeodatus volunteered to bury the dead setting
an example that gave heart to others. Michel Boeheim's whole family perished ; Adeodatus
wept as he buried his parents and brothers.
All alone in the world, Adeodatus now felt nearer to God. In the company of the other
monks, in the dormitory, in the refectory he thought he was a stranger. He asked for a special
cell next to the torture chamber. He took his icon of the Holy Virgin with him. That night when
he saw the icon in his cell he was seized by a happiness so great that it frightened him. The
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Devil's temptation distressed him. He wished for a harsh punishment. Next day, early in the
morning, he went to the torture chamber and asked a brother to punish him. He had to plead
hard and long before his wish was fulfilled : fifty lashes on his bare back. His back was black
and blue. The pain quieted his blood down. He was content as he went back to his cell, fell
down on his knees in front of the icon and wept
''Holy Virgin, have mercy on..."

Primin the cellarer considered that Adeodatus was too holy to go on to higher studies and
that elementary schooling would do. The master of novices, however, was of a different
opinion and with the approval of the abbot directed the young monk towards higher
education to study the liberal arts, grammar, dialectics and rhetoric on the one hand and
arithmetic, geometry, music and astronomy on the other.
Adeodatus devoted himself diligently to all the subjects. His thirst for knowledge grew as
he progressed in Latin. The master of novices, himself a passionate scholar, encouraged him,
chose the right books and even introduced him into the monastery library. It was a vast hall
with open bookcases of wood darkened by time on the shelves of which stood various dusty
volumes bound in leather written on parchment with heavy letters. The master told Hans that
the library had been founded by the first monks all of them great scholars who under the
abbot's orders copied borrowed manuscripts night and day. Now, however, the thirst for
knowledge had been waning for the last hundred years and the library was rather deserted. It
was only the master and the aged librarian who would thumb the forgotten books.
In three years time Adeodatus read many Latin volumes but steered clear of the Greek,
Hebrew and Arab ones which he could not understand. But his curiosity was most of all
stirred by the story of Siegfried especially when he learned that the hero had been buried in
the Lorsch monastery and the place where he had been villainously killed was nearby. He
asked the librarian for more details. The old man was at a complete loss. The master,
however, told him that the volume was a copy after a collection of legends commanded by
Carlus Magnus. He showed him on the right of the altar the black cross on a slab under which
lay the earthly remains of the brave hero between the graves of the two emperors Louis the
Pious and Louis the Younger. He promised to take him one day to the place where the great
hero had perished.
After numerous postponements the day finally came when the master started out together
with Adeodatus upstream on the riverbank through the woods that shaded the low hills.
Adeodatus's heart was throbbing like mad. While the master was telling him stories of far off
times he was thinking that this was the first time in years that he found himself in the midst of
nature. It seemed that here the spring sun was more cheerful, the birds sang more beautifully
while the rustling of the leaves was like a temptation. He remembered the days before he had
donned the cowl how he used to graze the cattle cheerfully with other boys of his age. He
thought he saw Margaret Hippler, the little girl, losing her cows in the woods and wailing
away until he ran to find them.
They reached a brook and turned right. The hill was rather steep and the fat master was
panting and kept wiping his forehead and bald head with his sleeve. They stopped by a spring
surrounded with stones like a well. The master sat down exhausted and rested for a short
while and then explained :
"You see that place over there ? That's where Siegfried went to quench his thirst. And
there's the old lime tree where he hung his weapons. This is where Hagen stole in, took his
spear and struck Siegfried in the back. There's where Siegfried broke his shield ; he
staggered on a few steps with the spear stuck in his back and over there he gave up the
ghost..."
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 Adeodatus was thrilled. He had been here before but all he knew about the place was that
the spring was supposed to be a magic one and he had seen girls from Odenhain come there
at daybreak to take water that they would offer to men whose affections they yearned for.
The master smiled.
"That's how people are. They forget their heroes and keep changing the legends about
them".
Once back in his dark and silent cell, Adeodatus had a guilty feeling but could not
understand why. He begged forgiveness of the holy icon but at night tie dreamed only of
heroes in arms killing one another for the sake of women.
He now made a point of frequently going to the lime tree glade as though he were looking for
someone. He would often daydream, turn the trees into human beings while the rustling of the
forest rang out shouts of joy or stifled sobs.
Then one Sunday on his way back to the monastery at dusk he met a woman on the path.
He lowered his eyes not see her. But he felt that she had stopped. He heard her voice as she
came up to him.
"Hans !"
He knew the voice. He wanted to pass on and yet he found himself standing stock-still. In
spite of himself he raised his eyes. It was a girl of about seventeen. Her brown eyes were full
of joy as she looked at him. Her thick flaxen braids were running down over her shoulders and
over her rotund breasts bulging out from under her tight blouse like two apples just beginning
to ripen. The sight of the girl's breasts set his heart wildly throbbing and his blood boiling.
"Don't you remember me ?" the girl said smiling in amazement. "I'm Margaret... Hippler's
daughter... Don't you remember when my cows used to stray off in the woods ?"
Adeodatus did not hear a word. His eyes were glued to her tantalizing breasts and moist
lips which as she spoke and smiled seemed to scold him and invite him. He tried to lower his
eyes and smother the burning temptation. In vain. The girl kept on twittering :
"You know, Hans, four years ago when the Black Death came we ran away and stayed in a
region of mountains and woods for two years. It was tough but then we came back home. And
now father wants to marry me off to Wendel, remember him ? People in the village say
that you are a real saint, honest, that's what they say. They say you even worked miracles.
Well, if I get married, you know, Hans, well..."
The monk realized that he was losing control of himself. If he listened on to her voice one
moment longer, if he did not take his eyes off her breasts he knew that he would grab her in
his arms and smother her with kisses. He made a supreme effort closed his eyes tight and
mumbled hoarsely in despair :
"Get thee behind me, Satan !... Satan !... Satan
He ran off like a madman, eyes closed, scared out of his wits to get away from the magic
of perdition. He dared not even look back lest he should fall into temptation.
In the silence of his cell he struck his chest with his fists imploring, the Lord to help him
against the Devil who was trying to shake his faith. While he was praying, however, in his
heart of hearts there lingered on the regret that he had not at least kissed her. He raised his
eyes in amazement to the Icon of the Holy Virgin but she seemed to reproach him for not
having kissed the girl.
He felt lost and deserted. For many nights he cried his heart out not knowing why : was it
because he had not taken the girl with the tantalizing breasts in his arms ? or was he afraid
that he was on the brink of perdition ?
He stole the book of heroic exploits and love from the library and when no one was
around he threw the volume into the kitchen fire.

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4

That calmed him down. He said to himself that all his restlessness had been caused by
books which had been leading him to temptation and sin. Whoever lives for Jesus needs no
learning; all he needs is faith. Whoever is truly devout keeps clear of anything that can shake
his faith. That was exactly what the other monks who scorned the library used to say.
Several weeks passed and the memory of Margaret vanished like a dream. In fact he was
deeply concerned about what every devout believer had on his mind : in less than two years
time the millennium would come which meant the end of the world and the Last Judgement.
Everybody in the monastery was talking about it and getting more and more frightened.
Frequent signs heralded the coming of the Lamb. There was the Black Death, now famine was
just round the corner after three years of drought and people could hardly keep body and
soul together. And yet the multitude would not mend their ways but lived on in sin and would
not repent. The wicked ways of the world increased so that the stench defiantly reached to
high heaven. Priests and monks wallowed in sin as did the rabble.
Bishops and government officials alike made efforts to explain that belief in the end of the
world was a sin. Their explanations only increased the anxiety of the people.
Adeodatus believed strongly that the end was drawing near, that Satan would be let loose
to destroy the very roots of wicked mankind. He slept with the Apocalypse at his bedside and
the more he read the more enlightening did the obscure words seem to him. He compared the
rumours with the predictions of the holy book and shuddered at the thought that some paid no
heed.
Then doubt started gnawing at his heart : maybe he was committing a sin by staying within
the protective walls of the monastery which temptation could not penetrate. One must not
avoid trials but rather face them and overcome them. It was the only way to fortify the faith of
the Lord's servant. It is easy to be virtuous when the hand of the Devil can not reach you.
Good could not exist in the world if there were no evil. It is only by fighting against evil that
good and virtue can make themselves known.
He felt like going out into the world in search of temptation in order to steel his soul. He
thought of going on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem or at least to Rome to undergo pain and
suffering for his faith. Primin the cellarer learned about his plans and persuaded him to put
them off for a while. Then in mid-winter as Christmas was drawing near a comet appeared
that frightened everybody. It was so bright that you could see it in the daytime as if it would
swallow up the sun. People were expecting the end any minute now. Even the bishops were
busy blessing people and forgiving their sins so that they might save as many souls possible
for everlasting life. Peasants from nearby villages gathered under the walls of the monastery
that Judgement Day might find them close to the holy place and hastened to confession and
feverishly prayed eyes raised to the threatening skies.
After the comet vanished people quickly went back to their wicked ways and Adeodatus's
heart was filled with bitterness. He felt unworthy of the Almighty's mercy leading a
comfortable life in his cell rather than preach the beneficent faith by word and deed. When
spring came he reported to the abbot Kempten and weeping confessed his unrest and asked
permission to go among the sinful and bring them salvation. The abbot liked the idea. To test
his sincerity the abbot sent him on an errand : to take a letter to archbishop Willegis in Mainz
and bring back the answer. Then if he still felt like going out into the world let God be his
guide.
Adeodatus descended into the Rhine valley, passed through villages and towns until one
evening he reached the age-old walls of the Mainz citadel. He walked on to the meadows not
wishing to put up at an inn for the night. He had heard that the inns near the gates were nests
of perdition even for the most devoted of souls. That night as he slept crouching under a tree

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the Devil appeared for the first time in the shape of a black puppy with eyes like burning
coals.
The evil one kept tiptoeing up to Kim but quickly vanished into the darkness when the monk
crossed himself. Towards midnight he dozed off and saw the Holy Virgin descending from his
precious icon. She smiled kindly on him. On her sacred lips Adeodatus read the words "Thou
shalt love..." That very instant he awoke feeling close to his right cheek a warm breath and
seeing two eyes like burning coals. Beads of cold sweat covered his forehead. His hand
trembled so that he could hardly make the sign of the cross over himself. He got on his knees
and started to pray fervently. That was how the rising sun found him.
He entered Mainz together with the peasants bringing their produce and tithes to town.
The guards at the gates noticed how dirty he was with mud and laughed :
"Look at this poor monk, he sure has been wallowing in the mud with pigs !"
Adeodatus blushed but did not raise his eyes. He walked through the winding streets
passing by the houses with pointed roofs and sad looking walls on and on as if he were a
native of the place. People stopped to look at him amazed at his wild appearance and either
crossed themselves or cursed him. He ran into a halberdier strutting in front of a palace. He
then remembered that he was running an errand and had a message to deliver but did not
know where to find archbishop Willegis. The halberdier without speaking a word pointed to a
tall spire rising above all the houses. The monk made for the spire and got lost. It was only
around noon that he came to the square over which towered the residence of the spiritual
and military governor of the city. He got in the huge dark building his eyes lowered all the time
and reached a flight of stairs with worn out steps and got in the jostling throng climbing up.
Every now and then he crossed himself and murmured snatches of prayers. All he could see
were big boots with long spurs and sandals with straps under brown soutanes. All of a
sudden he found himself in a vast hall with windows exactly like those of the Lorsch basilica
and a resplendent throne on which sat an elderly man with a black beard just beginning to go
grey, red cheeks, in vestments of the finest silk, on his right the episcopal crosier. Adeodatus
elbowed his way through the multitude of priests and soldiers and dropped down at the feet
of the archbishop as if seeking defence and rest. A lancer grabbed him by the shoulder to
throw him out. But the archbishop waved the soldier away. Adeodatus exhausted produced
the letter from under his shirt mumbling :
"The abbot... the saint... Lorsch..."
The archbishop's face lighted up. He took the letter and began to read. Adeodatus
watched him closely eyes filled with thousands of vague hopes. In the eyes of the great
shepherd he noticed a strange glint that seemed to spell derision and it frightened him. Then
he heard the voice filled with compassion :
"Poor Kempten ! Still letting his imagination run away with him. Seeing things".
The archbishop looked around smiling at those present, shook his head and added :
"Young man, tell the abbot not to worry ! The end of the world is not coming yet. Tell him
to read his sacred books more carefully and stop worrying. You tell him so, young man. As a
matter of fact we'll send him a written answer later on".
Adeodatus did not bother to kiss the archbishop's hand but rushed out of the hall, down
the stairs and darted out in the street scared out of his wits expecting any minute a heavy
shower of fire and sulphur to exterminate this nest of vice just as it had come about of yore in
Sodom and Gomorrah.
He was sobbing bitterly as he left the city. The guards were having fun with some peasant
girls and took no notice of him. Barefooted and bareheaded Adeodatus ran like mad. At
nightfall he reached a village. He knocked at many gates in vain. The peasants avoided
wandering monks like the devil. It was finally the swineherd who put him up after some
hesitation since he had a teenage daughter. The swineherd was devout and needy and had a
houseful of children. He told the monk about the monstrous debauchery and crimes that
foreboded the end of the world and urged Adeodatus to be sure to go to Niersteyn and see
the holy hermit if he really wanted to hear the Lord's voice.
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 It took Adeodatus two days to reach Niersteyn. A child guided him to the hermit's
dwelling-place under a rock beside the waters of the Rhine. The child told him that the saint
had no name and that he had been living there for years all alone and that he cursed anybody
who tried to approach him. Adeodatus approached him in all humility. He found the anchorite
on his knees on a slab of stone praying, his burning eyes raised to the sky and beating his
chest with closed fists as his beard tangled with mud and thorns fluttered in the breeze. His
words were unintelligible ; just a prolonged mutter. When he felt Adeodatus approach he
turned his head, eyed the monk carefully from top to toe and bellowed out :
"Devil, have you come in human shape to tempt me ?"
The monk fell on his knees, crossed himself and was silent. There was such bitterness in
his eyes that the saint murmured :
"I, too, was once like you. But look at me now and see how wicked and unworthy I am
even to see the light of day".
He went on with his prayers until it was dark without having another look at the young
monk who felt happy at being able to stand near a saint. Several times during the night,
Adeodatus was waked up by angry mutterings : the hermit was driving away devils trying to
approach him.
He stayed seven days and seven nights with the hermit. He could not find out his name
but he found out all about his life. The hermit belonged to the group of monks who had
murdered the abbot at the Farfa monastery and afterwards brought women there and lived in
debauchery for many years. Filled with remorse one day he ran away, wandered through
Italy, tried to climb mount Gargano, on whose peak, they say holy anchorites converse with
angels but half-way up he was stopped by a voice that commanded him to live and repent if he
wanted to achieve forgiveness from God. He then went on into the world, fed himself on roots,
finally landed up here where he wished to end his sinful life preaching the Lord's word to
waters for human beings are up to their necks in mud and are no longer able to repent and
will soon be wiped off the face of the earth. This is the year when the millennium will be
completed. There are more and more signs that the end was drawing near but no one was
taking notice. The wicked will come to only when they hear the archangels' trumpets but then
it will be too late.
Adeodatus arrived at his monastery at ease and contented. His only concern was that
Judgement Day should find him with a clean heart. The archbishop's words aroused
indignation at Lorsch. Abbot Kempten died before the written answer came from Mainz. The
monks considered the death of their devout master as a favour deliberately bestowed on him
by the Saviour to spare him the pains of general perdition.
Adeodatus again fell back on his habit of keeping to himself in his cell except when he
went to the basilica. He fasted and prayed. He would do no reading. He threw away even the
prayer books. He had also told the hermit that books are the roots of all evils, the beginning
and end of all deadly sins. The icon of the Holy Virgin watched over him all the time with her
too forgiving eyes. And yet at times he would find himself haunted by worldly memories :
some shameful scene he witnessed on his way to Mainz, or the time he had met Margaret
Hippier... He would not hesitate for a second. He would go to the torture chamber and torture
his flesh until his blood calmed down.
A new abbot took over at the monastery. He was young, well-dressed and loved books.
Adeodatus saw not a single trace of true devoutness in him. There was now greater freedom
in the monastery. Learned monks were brought to reorganize the school, others came to
study and bring more books into the library. The new abbot forbade the monks to talk about
the end of the world although it was drawing near. In a sermon delivered from the pulpit he
declared that it was heresy to believe such nonsense and nowhere in the holy scriptures
could one find such rubbish.
Hearing the abbot's words Adeodatus, to whom these words were sacrilege, mumbled :
"Forgive him, O Lord, for he knows not what he says !"

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 The last day came with a terrifying sign. A comet suddenly appeared in the sky. The
abbot himself was frightened while the monks waited to hear the trumpets of Judgement Day
any moment now. The night was even more terrifying. In the basilica a Mass was said which
was to last until the divine Judgement was to begin. Monks and laymen crowded to be as
close as possible to the altar when the supreme moment comes. At dawn when the first rays
streaked through the multi-coloured windows the abbot cut the service short and went to bed
whispering scornfully to those near him :
"Didn't I tell you there was nothing to it ?"
Everybody gave a sigh of relief and the crowd scattered .
Adeodatus, however, remained on his knees in the same place eyes riveted to the cross
of gold on the altar, the thorn of disappointment deep in his heart, still waiting for the miracle
to happen. The candles went out one by one few of them here and there still flickering. He
was now alone in the dark basilica. His heart quivered fearfully in great expectation. All his
thoughts blended into one beam of radiant light in which all meanings faded out step by step.
He had the feeling his soul gently tore itself away and was now drifting in the ether above life.
The church was then flooded with light. Out of a high niche the Holy Virgin clothed in white, a
sweet smile on her lips descended approaching him with outstretched arms murmuring
words that his heart alone could understand. His happiness was so great that he realized he
could not stand it for a long while. Suddenly the light went out, the vision vanished and
Adeodatus lost consciousness and dropped down on the steps of the altar.
When he came to he found himself on the wooden bed in his cell meeting the eyes of the
Holy Virgin in the icon. The thorn of disappointment in his heart melted away. He now knew
that he had misinterpreted the Apocalypse.
"The Millennium will come one thousand years after the resurrection of Christ not after
his birth !" He said to himself confidently. "The Lord's mercy is boundless ! Mankind has
thirty-three years time to fully repent !"

Nevertheless he did not feel at ease in the monastery under the guidance of the young
abbot who set scholarly pursuits above devotion commanding all the monks to read and even
to copy heathen books. Then one day the abbot made fun of his torment, dared call it
exaggeration or even phariseeism. That was the last straw. He cursed the abbot in front of
several other monks, took his icon and went out into the world.
Years of wandering followed : from Franconovurd to Spira, from one monastery to
another. Then he conceived a longing for Rome the city where many martyrs had suffered
and over which now ruled the successor of Saint Peter. He crossed the Alps barefoot as was
his wont. When he reached the age-old walls he was thirty years old. However he did not like
the city. To him it seemed more wicked than Mainz. He did not like the ruins reminiscent of
pagan times. They seemed to defy him. He wandered listlessly through the streets guided by
a monk who was well acquainted with Rome and who said that the population of the city was
now less than thirty thousand and showed him whole streets that were deserted and going to
ruin from day to day.
Adeodatus would have gone on the next day but he wished to kiss the hand of the pontiff.
But in order to see Pope Sergius he had to wait at least one week. He put up at an old house
on Viminal, especially arranged for pilgrims. The place seemed familiar to him ; he seemed to
have been there before. On entering the house he suddenly felt as if a spell had been cast on
him by Satan. In the dark room he set the icon of the Virgin on the dirty table, went down on
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his knees and according to his habit when he wanted to ease his heart repeated dozens of
times :
"Domine, Jesu, Rex pie, Rex clemens, Pie Deux..."
The Holy Virgin smiled. Her smile was so luring that he seized the icon with both hands and
kissed it passionately without realizing that his passion could be sinful. The painted wood was
heated by his burning lips. His heart ached.
That night he had dreams he was ashamed of in the morning and yet he was fond of them
as though he could never part with them. The Holy Virgin seemed to be a woman like all other
women and he seemed to have lost his faith. And they loved with a wicked love : passionately
hugging each other and biting each other's lips with such devilish pleasure that when he
woke up he still felt the voluptuousness that spelt eternal damnation.
He burst into bitter tears. Satan had won desecrating even the icon of the Holy Virgin. All
day long he lashed his body but dared not look at the icon. The following night the same
dream came but even more wicked leaving in his mind the woman's words : "I am your true
love, the only one..." And the third night likewise.
Adeodatus felt that perdition stared him in the face if he stayed any longer in the city of
ruins. He gave up the idea of kissing the Pope's hand, wrapped up his icon and ran out of
Rome as if he had committed all the crimes in the world. He wandered aimlessly up and down
the roads of Italy booed and hooted by peasants and soldiers alike. It occurred to him that his
excessive love for the icon might be tantamount to idolatry and that since all his hopes for
salvation were based on it he was steadily sinning against the Holy Trinity, Maybe the icon is
the graven image that the Lord forbade us to worship ? Yet he dared not throw it away but
gave it to a small church. Three days later, however, he returned and took back the icon for
without it he was haunted by thoughts of suicide and was afraid that he would completely get
into the clutches of the Devil. He stayed awhile at a monastery to learn the blacksmith's trade
and made himself a girdle with nails that he fastened round his waist next to his skin to torture
his flesh constantly and through sharp pains curb his sinful desires.
Yet the Devil's temptations followed him like a shadow. The more he prayed the stronger
Satan's temptations. In desperation he began to think that God may have deliberately left
mankind in the power of the Evil One and that there was no point in struggling. He tossed
about fighting not to slip into the sinful mire the world was wallowing in.
He had tortured himself for twenty years mostly on the road. Often in his moments of trial
he thought of seeking refuge on Mount Gargano but could not find it and finally gave up the
belief that there was any truly holy mountain anywhere on earth. The hermit at Niersteyn said
that he had found it but maybe he did not really mean it. When he finally realized that his
reason for wishing to climb the sacred mountain was only to talk to the Holy Virgin he tortured
himself severely and. drove the itsime Gargano out of his mind.
While wandering through Sicily it occurred to him that the true end of the world was due
in three years and it would not be proper for Judgement Day to find him wandering. The voice
of the Lord must find him in borsch where he belonged for that was where he had taken the
vow. It took him two years to reach the Rhine valley again. No one, not even Primin the
cellarer now an old man of over eighty could recognize the bearded savage monk to be
Adeodatus the gentle and fervent monk of long ago. There had been many changes at Lorsch
in the meantime. A devout old abbot was now the new master at Lorsch. Adeodatus kissed
the old man's hand which was to him the hand of a holy man. Of the other monks he had
known only about ten were still there. The others had gone to other monasteries, some had
died while others still had strayed into the world of sinful pleasures. Adeodatus was given his
old cell back again next to the torture chamber. It was just the same as when he had left
minus the icon he had taken away.
But not even here could he find peace of mind and ease. All his struggling now seemed
vain. He felt tired out. Fear and anxiety were gnawing at his heart. He had had thirty-three
years for repenting and now his sick soul felt even more unworthy than when he had expected

90
the world's end the first time. He thought the Devil had made himself at home deep in his soul
and that was why he could no longer ward off temptation anywhere under the sun.
Spring was drawing to an end and it was raining heavily as it did before the Flood. The
fields did not even get a chance to turn green. Tiny blades of grass rotted as soon as they
sprouted; buds on tree branches likewise. The sun had not appeared on the leaden sky for
seven months. It seemed that God wished to exterminate mankind a second time by fire and
famine.
Adeodatus understood the meaning of the punitive rains but no one believed him when
he talked about the end of the world. People just shrugged their shoulders. Some of the
monks told him quite bluntly that they had had enough fear and trembling before and that no
one in his right mind could believe such fairy tales. You may fool people once but you can not
fool them a second ime. Adeodatus was saddened and cut to the quick by this foolishness of
humankind. He was dead certain that before destroying all sinners, God would give some
sign or other to awaken people to their senses and that the punishment would be all the
heavier.
On the seventh Su_nday the sky suddenly went clear and the sun shone prouder than
ever. Crowds gathered round the monastery to thank the Lord for having mercy on them.
Within a few hours the meadows turned green, the grass grew quickly and fruit-trees
blossomed. Everybody's feelings were voiced by one word
"Miracle !"
Adeodatus responded to the sunlight with resignation. He made for the basilica where he
was met by faces shining with satisfaction. He went down on his knees, eyes downcast and
murmured in despair :
"Lord, O Lord, do not forsake me !"
By . the time mass was over, it was dark again in the basilica, so dark that people could
hardly see one another. Everybody rushed out into the monastery yard. Outside the sky was
clear but: seemed covered with a dark blue veil behind which the sun was helplessly
struggling to send shafts of light through the abbot knelt in prayer and everybody followed
suit imploring Heaven for mercy.
Adeodatus was the last to come out of the basilica. He was burning with curiosity but
controlled himself thinking that his curiosity might be a sin. He raised his eyes to the skies
and heaved a sigh of satisfaction. The darkening of the sky was the supreme sign of the
glory of the Lord that he had beer looking forward to. He alone was standing in the midst of
the prostrated multitude, his dirty soutane on, barefooted and unclean, his hair and beard
fluttering in the air for he had made up his mind not to dirty his soul by taking care of his body
— he looked like an angry prophet. His dark eyes flashed anger and supplication as he
suddenly bellowed :
"Brethren wallowing in sin, brethren that every moment incur the Lord's wrath, the
beginning of the end has come ! The archangels' trumpets will soon wake the dead and call us
all to the Last Judgement. Sinful brethren repent while there still is time. Drive Satan out of
your hearts ! Repent !"

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6

The sky darkened again even before the sun had a chance to shine and a heavy rain more
devastating than ever quickly killed the sprouting buds.
Adeodatus locked himself up in his cell and spent the whole day long in fervent prayer.
But the night brought unrest. In his dream he saw the Devil, bolder than ever, trying to steal
the icon of the Holy Virgin. Adeodatus desperately jumped on him. He woke up, crossed
himself and felt all traces of the Devil vanishing as his heart quieted down. He tossed about
for a while on his wooden bed murmuring words of salvation until he dozed off again. The
Devil woke him up several times afterwards as if seeking to worry him endlessly.
In the morning he was exhausted by Satan's temptations and felt like lying in bed a while
longer to recuperate. The light in his narrow damp cell was dim and grey. He gazed at the
arched ceiling and thought of his thirty years war to the death with the wiles of the Devil who
had ever so often tried to lead him to perdition for the forms of evil are many and only the
righteous can find the means to ward them off until death. He had often discerned strange
shapes among trees and beside fountains, shapes that vanished when he crossed himself. He
remembered that once in a village in the Alps he had seen the Evil One on top of a small
church making a wry face as he shook the wooden cross out of place. Adeodatus let out such
a piercing cry of indignation that the demon melted away and the cross was left lying on the
roof. When he told the priest what he had seen the clergyman smiled unbelievingly and
explained that the wooden cross had rotted and that he had been thinking of replacing it with
an iron one. The man's blind disbelief revolted Adeodatus. Three days later, however, he was
pleased to learn that the priest had fallen ill. It was the Lord's punishment come like a
thunderbolt.
While he was deep in memories and fears, Adeodatus suddenly heard a swish as if
someone had entered the cell. He turned his eyes down and distinctly saw Satan standing at
the foot of his bed. It was a small black monster in human shape. Its neck was thin and long,
its face dry, eyes red, narrow hairy forehead, flat nose, its thick-lipped mouth wide from ear
to ear, long mules ears, its hair like spines of a hedgehog, its teeth like dogs' fangs, a hump
on its chest and another one on its back, its clothes disgustingly dirty, the monster was
gnashing its teeth. Adeodatus was scared stiff : he had forgotten to cross himself. He had
never seen the Devil so clearly at so close a range. The Devil thought that now he had got the
better of Adeodatus and grabbed the monk's legs with his claw-like fingers and grinning
triumphantly cried out :
"You belong to me !"
Adeodatus instantly came to, crossed himself and in great fright darted out of his cell
and ran straight to the altar in the church. Beads of sweat were streaming down his cheeks.
He could hardly remember the prayers that could bring salvation. Fear of perdition was
shaking his whole body.
Moments later he calmed down and remembered he had heard the same triumphant
voice before, three years ago. It was on a cheerful evening in a small town in Sicily.
Daughters of joy were shamelessly walking the streets when all of a sudden from among the
ruins of pagan buildings that sheltered the girls who sold their bodies he heard a voice
proudly making known that the Devil had been let loose from the prisons of Hell and had
begun his reign on earth until the end of the world. He thought it was a vision yet it was that
moment that urged him to go back to the Lorsch monastery for it reminded him that the Last
Judgement was drawing near. Hearing the same voice again set him thinking. Could it
possibly be a sign ?
He took the Apocalypse and tried to interpret the prophecies hidden deep in parables.
He skimmed through the writings of St. Augustine in which he could find all the accounts of
future happenings interpreted according to the Saviour and the apostles. He read that after
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the liberation of the Devil, he is to rule over the earth for forty two months until the Last
Judgement during which period all the people on earth will be judged. It took Adeodatus
several days to remember the day when the Evil One made his liberation known.
It was on October 13. The forty-two months will be completed on April 14, 1034 and April 13
falls on the Saturday before Easter Sunday, that is, exactly one thousand years from the
Resurrection.
The discovery first frightened him but afterwards he thought it a Heavenly favour. A pious
pride comforted his soul at the thought that God, despite the Devil's temptations, had not
considered him one of the sinners. He now realized why the Evil One had doubled his efforts
to lead him astray. There were but a few months to go before the devilish reign would come to
an end and whoever held out would truly gain everlasting life.
Meantime Satan kept making appearances and continually tempted him even in the
basilica. Adeodatus would see him grinning sometimes on the capital of a column between
two windows, or sometimes between the pews. He no longer was afraid. He would cross
himself confidently and the Evil One would go away gnashing his teeth in anger.
Faith was now so much alive in his soul that he again started to mix with the monks
wishing to soften their hearts so that they could receive the big news. The doubts
he read on their faces no longer annoyed him or discouraged him. He listened to their stories
about the wickedness of the world, about the trespasses of Saint Peter's successors, about
heretics who confused people's minds and for whose extirpation there were not enough
stakes to go round, about wars that spread famine, debauchery, and death everywhere. In all
these he saw the signs of Satan's rule and he urged all his brethren to prepare for the
judgement that was knocking at the door.
One day a young monk, Johann by name, had recently come from Lyon where he had had
much schooling and wanted to prove to Adeodatus that his calculations about the end of the
world were completely wrong. In the monastery the young man was considered to be a true
wise man. They said that he had read all the holy scriptures and that he was actually
conversant with the pagan writings. Adeodatus smiled and agreed to talk things over with
him. Johann held that Saint Augustine had not made anything clear. In his writings as well as
in those of other Christian scholars it was merely said that there would be a fierce battle
between Jesus and Satan which would actually be a struggle between light and darkness as
was envisioned by the prophet Daniel, prophesied by Saint John and confirmed by Saint Paul.
It was only when this fight was over that the thousand year reign of the Lamb on earth would
begin and only afterwards would the Last Judgement of the living and the dead begin. Was
the struggle over ? or has it just begun ? Only God knows. Adeodatus, however, insisted on
his forty-two months and the signs that even the blind could see revealed the Lord's will and
to top it all he pointed out that he had heard the Devil's voice proclaiming his liberation from
Hell.
The discussions lasted for days and weeks and months. The monks took sides. They
finally asked the abbot for his opinion which was : "The ways of the Almighty are mysterious
and no one can penetrate them, but it is man's duty to be always prepared."
The answer pleased no one and the discussions continued until one night on Christmas
Eve young Johann ran away and began a life of debauchery.
Adeodatus's victory brought him no satisfaction. On the contrary, it made his heart all the
heavier. He felt guilty of not having- found more powerful words to open the man's eyes and
save him from Satan's clutches. He made up his mind from now on to devote all his energies
to the salvation of those who have gone astray.
On the third Sunday while Mass was being said, he recalled a hymn that he had heard
somewhere during his wanderings. He stood up and, to the amazement of everybody, he sang
it in a prophetic voice that resounded throughout the vast church like a painful outflow of a
soul in an agony of remorse :
Audi, tellus, audi, magni maris limbus
Audi, homo, audi, omne quodi vivit sub sole
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Veniet, prope est, dies irae supremae,
Dies invisa, dies amara
Qua coelum fugiet, sol erubescet,
Luna mutabitur dies nigrescet,
Sidera supra terram cadent.
Heu miseri, heu miseri !Quid, homo, ineptam
Sequeris laetitiam ?

Everyone was overwhelmed with sorrow as if they had heard a heavenly warning from the
lips of Adeodatus. The abbot ordered the monks to learn the holy hymn at once and make
sure that they sang it at all masses.
And as if Adeodatus's voice had echoed and re-echoed beyond the walls of the
monastery, seven weeks later wandering Johann came back repentant, confessed his sins,
begged mercy and forgiveness. The return of the sinner was looked upon as a miracle.
Adeodatus himself embraced him and thanked Heaven for having listened to his prayers. It
was the first stray sheep saved from the Devil's clutches.

It kept on raining until the end of February. People were expecting snow but a heat wave
set in as if it were midsummer. The meadows and the woods turned green. Then one night
during Lent it began to snow heavily. Next morning the snow was waist-high.
“There are more and more signs !" said Adeodatus to the terrified monks. Even the
weather has gone wrong in order to open men's eyes and make them repent.
He trudged through the deep snow down to the village of Odenhain to preach the
forthcoming salvation and steel the hearts of those who doubted. The peasants were scared
stiff by the change in the weather and humbly listened to him which filled his heart with joy. So
he made a point of visiting them every day and comfort them. The villagers, however, got
used to the cold weather and grumbled when Adeodatus described the end of the world in
frightening colors. Finally an old peasant said half-reproachfully :
"The monks fooled us over thirty years ago and the world still hasn't come to an end !"
Adeodatus did not take offence. On the contrary he considered the peasant's remark well
founded and tried to explain in detail that thirty years ago they had made a mistake in their
calculations but there was no doubt about it now. He convinced no one. Margaret Hippler,
now a shrewish old widow scornfully shouted to his face :
"And what if they've made a mistake in their calculations this time too ?"
No one would listen to Adeodatus any more not even the children who would sic their
dogs on him. But nothing could discourage him. He said to himself that the Devil's power is so
great now that he is free that he can unsettle the best of minds. More patience was needed so
after they drove him out of his native village he started preaching in the neighbouring villages
where again they booed and made fun of him which made him happy to suffer for the glory of
the Holy Trinity.
The Holy Week came. Adeodatus felt so weak in body that he no longer left the
monastery. As a matter of fact it was the last week of all and it was only right and proper that
he should prepare for the hour of salvation. He spent all the days in church on his knees to
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ward off temptation. He confessed his sins to the abbot. He had discovered thousands of sins
and implored forgiveness with tears in his eyes.
Friday night he could hardly drag himself to his cell. He wished to spend the whole night
long in prayer; after all it was the last but one night of the world. But he was too weak and fell
exhausted into a deep sleep on his bed. It was a deep heavy dreamless sleep but with painful
groans. The monk in the cell next to his heard his groans and in the morning asked him if he
Was ill. Adeodatus smiled sadly :
"It is dangerous only for the soul to be ill."
That Saturday, Adeodatus spent the whole day long in his cell fasting and praying. The
icon of the Holy Virgin was on the lectern leaning against the wall. It looked at him as always
with the same gentle and forgiving eyes. He recalled the temptations of the past and
shuddered with shame and horror. He gazed at the holy image as if wishing to test his heart
and wipe out the memory of his wicked thought. Questions arose in his mind. He drove them
away saying to himself
"There will be no tomorrow."
But then :
"Suppose there will be?"
" I am prepared for whatever the Lord ordains", he comforted himself as if there had
never been a wicked doubt. "I have waged a lifetime battle against Satan and have defeated
him". "A lifetime wasted away", flashed through his mind.
He crossed himself as if certain that the Devil was whispering words of doubt. He looked
around to make sure that the Evil. One was not hiding somewhere. He crossed himself four
times by turns facing the four corners of his cell. The strange questions, however, kept
buzzing around his head like so many bumblebees.
He awaited in terror the darkness of the last night. He fell on his knees facing the door the
better to watch the darkening of the sky. He told his beads three hundred times. The girdle
with nails was burring his flesh. The Lord's mercy was drawing near. He felt it. His soul was
opening to receive it. He remained eyes wide open staring into nothingness his heart
yearning...
The cell was slowly flooded with light. Reddish sun rays melted the door away. The Virgin
Mary descended from the skies surrounded by angels with bright innocent faces and golden
hair. Adeodatus heard the fluttering of their silver wings and a sweet melody that was gently
dripping into his heart. The Virgin, a white gown on, her eyes the eyes of the icon stood in the
doorway and smiled. Adeodatus looked into her deep mysterious eyes but could not help
noticing the rounded breasts under the silken gown, fie hated his sinful look. The Virgin
seemed to read his mind and drew closer in silence as her rustling gown caressed her legs.
She was now beside him and put her soft naked arms round his neck bending slowly over him.
Adeodatus in an ecstasy of delight closed his eyes waiting for the kiss of salvation. He felt a
burning breath on his cheek and hen on his lips, parched with praying, the voluptuous lips of
the Virgin drinking his soul in, sending flashes of an unknown happiness in his boiling blood...
All of a sudden he heard a roar of scornful laughter ringing throughout the cell. He
opened his eyes. Where the Virgin Mary had been standing surrounded by angels, he now
saw Satan surrounded by a band of devils making faces and frisking about in the dim light.
Adeodatus tried to cross himself but he could not raise his hand. It seemed that the Devil had
paralyzed him and was now shouting :
"Remember me, Hans ?... It's me ! The most powerful of the powerful, king of kings,
master of the earth !"
Adeodatus succeeded in slightly turning his head towards the icon of his salvation but
the Devil stopped him grinning :
"Looking for Maria, Hans ? Why didn't you seek her out long before ? You wasted your life
away fighting against me instead of seeking her out ! You have never loved, miserable wretch
that you are, and there's nothing more precious in the world than the love of woman. You are
dying now and realize that you have lived in vain."
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 A crack was heard as of something falling down on the floor and the cell turned pitch-
dark. Adeodatus twisted about with a deep regret in his heart.
"The icon has fallen", it occurred to him and he bent down groping for it on the floor where
it had fallen close to him.
"Maybe I'm really dying now" — he said to himself as he picked up the icon. "The World's
coming to an end, anyhow. So what's the use of worrying ?"
The regret in his heart was tormenting him. He gave the icon a long kiss. It was as cold as
a corpse._ He hugged it tight to the point of unconsciousness then felt a sharp pain in his
heart as if stabbed by a dagger. He felt like screaming but all his lips could do was mumble :
"Maria..."
His voice vanished in the darkness of the cell like a whisper of love.
He fell face downwards hugging the icon. His nose hit the floor one last flicker of pain
followed by loss of consciousness and infinite darkness...

The soul soared upwards through spheres more and more transparent. Scraps of alien
perceptions flitted through pure consciousness like flakes of rust that burden the flight in the
solitude of boundlessness.
Then the soul knew a heavy wait beyond time and space. The hopes of worlds
crisscrossed in consciousness in a painful equilibrium.
Destiny joined and parted lives in the infinite.

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Chapter Six
YVONNE

The line of destiny stretched out between two worlds. The quivering equilibrium balanced
hopes in pure consciousness. The wait itself turned into a continuous movement toward a
new goal.
The soul drifted on the line of a world that opened up on multiple levels. The
boundlessness of space caught it in the whirlwind of time. Consciousness squirmed into
harder and harder transformations. It writhed and rolled and thinned.
Like a shy flickering flame it kept twisting and twisting.
Then consciousness took a new shape : a tiny spark in the stifling darkness...

Gaston Duhem saw the light in Rue des Rapporteurs in the smallest and most honest
pharmacy L'Etoile Bleue in the ancient town of Arras. The pharmacy had been going strong
for seventy years in the same house withthe door and window looking on the street, the heavy
roof covered with tiles, the monumental oak gate whichobstructed the view of Duhem's
vegetable and medicinal plant garden. The child grew up among jars of salves and ointments
which Duhem, in brotherly cooperation with doctor Flavigny, prepared for the more or less
prompt healing of diverse diseases that visited upon the believing patients.
Duhem was a devotee of science in general. He often chatted with customers and
neighbors who looked on him as a master mind. Gaston's birth in the thirteenth year of
married life made him study in great haste problems of education. He was determined to rear
his child so as
to arouse the jealousy of everybody. It was then that Emile came out. The pharmacist got the
book and read it with enthusiasm. He told Flavigny who had not read the book that Rousseau
was without peer. The scandal that the book caused made him hesitate. Nevertheless he
publicly bragged that Gaston, then three years old, would be reared in spite of prejudices,
according to the precepts of the wise Rousseau. In the meantime the doctor also read the
book and violent controversies began.
Flavigny was a fervent encyclopedist and accused Duhem of inconsistency and declared
out loud in the pharmacy that no truly scientific-minded man could put up with the over-
simplified ideas found in Emile. The pharmacist, himself a devoted encyclopedist, retorted
that the doctor did not understand the proscribed book and demonstrated that the difference
between him and Rousseau was onlv apparent. Their discussions went on for months almost
to the point of falling out with each other, old friends, a friendship based on mutual
sympathies and interests.
Duhem was adamant merely for the sake of increasing his prestige. Since everybody was
against Emile it made him feel important to be all for it. As a matter of fact, Gaston was being
reared under the careful guidance of the devout and unlettered Mrs. Duhem.
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At home Duhem himself was a good catholic and every Sunday afternoon he would read aloud
passages from the Bible to the delight of bis wife. He sent Gaston to the best school
conducted by Benedictine monks. Later on when the teacher said that the boy was hopeful,
Duhem and his wife decided to make him a priest. Their plans, however, were shattered
some years later when Gaston was punished because he had written "Ecrasez l'infame !”in
block capitals on the blackboard with the obvious inattention of insulting the clerical
teachers. The pharmacist was at a complete lose and talked it over with his wife.
He was afraid that the child might be expelled from school. He had a heart-to-heart talk
with Gaston who was now fifteen. The boy made a lull confession. Several of his friends and
class-mates holding the same convictions decided to express their indignation against their
teachers who were trying by means of clerical naivetes to hide or to disparage the truths of
science. They had adopted the slogan of Mr. Voltaire and used it to express their protest.
They cast lots : Rigouard, Villeneuve-Esclapon, Robespierre, Taiffer... The lot fell on him and
he gladly fulfilled his task.
"And aren't you afraid that God will punish you ?" Duhem said crossing himself.
"How can anyone who does not exist punish me ?"
Gaston answered with a serene cold look in his eyes.
The pharmacist was bewildered. Then he discovered that Gaston had secretly read all of
his dangerous books and that finally he had become a confirmed atheist somewhat like
Duhem himself pretended to be in public but never dared really to be for fear that God might
strike him out of the blue. The old man felt guilty, yet scolded his son harshly and threatened
him. He realized that he had to take the boy away from his wicked friends. He complained to
the teachers, asked them for advice and sent Gaston to another school.
Gaston made new friends but kept the old ones as well. They all loved him for his open-
mindedness and held him in high esteem for his intelligence. He was, however, more closely
attached to the brothers Robes-Pierre. They had lived in the same neighborhood ever since
childhood. When Maximilien was laid up with the measles and almost at the point of death,
Gaston was at his bedside day and night. Gaston and the Robespierres made plans for the
future together; the three of them would study law and become lawyers and fight for liberty
and mankind. Their friendship would be sealed by the marriage of Gaston to Charlotte, the
sister of his two friends.
When the time came for choosing a career, the plans of the three young men were upset.
Since Duhem had to give up the idea of making Gaston a priest he at least hoped that he
could have his son succeed him in the parental pharmacy. Doctor Flavigny interfered : Why
not have the young man study medicine, a noble science after all ? The two good friends
started arguing again. Duhem defended the noble art of pharmaceutics with all his might.
Flavigny revealed his plans : he would like to give his daughter, Antoinette, in marriage to
Gaston and also give him his trustworthy patients. The pharmacist quieted down but still
hesitated : What about the pharmacy ? The doctor smiled slyly : he will keep the pharmacy
and find some hard-working fellow to be in charge.
Duhem gladly gave in : Gaston physician and pharmacist, that was splendid. After all
Flavigny is rich and all his fortune will eventually go to Antoinette, that is, to Gaston. What
brighter prospects could anyone expect? He hates religion but loves science —so much the
better!
The young man tried to talk his father out of it all pointing out that his ideal was to free
the oppressed from dark slavery. His father turned a deaf ear. Gaston finally gave in to his
parents' wishes and went to Paris where he fell in love with medicine. Maximilien had been
there for some time. He was actually studying law but also had literary ambitions and had
even won some small prizes. They seldom met. Gaston had remained the same open-minded,
good-natured, friendly fellow. Maximilien, on the other hand, was getting gloomier and sulkier
day by day. He kept his ambitions and dreams to himself.
There were at times strange flashes in his cold eyes. They once met in the Quartier latin
and noticing one of those flashes Gaston said jokingly :
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 "You're a fanatic, Maximilien !"
"What about you ?" Robespierre retorted with a smile.
"I'm a man of common sense !" Gaston murmured.

Gaston was faithful to the memory of Voltaire at whose death he had gone into mourning
and "Ecrasez Tinfame !" remained his lifetime slogan. It was in this slogan that he wrapped up
his doctor's diploma on coming home having graduated with honors.
Duhem gave a banquet in honor of the young doctor. Most favored among the guests
were Flavigny and his daughter Antoinette. At the end of the banquet they announced the
engagement — a surprise in detail arranged by the old folks — of Gaston to the sweet
Antoinette. The guests responded with countless speeches of congratulations drinking wine
of the vintage when the fiance was born. One indiscreet and uninformed guest hinted at
Antoinette's age asking for wine that was newer and sweeter. They cut him short with jokes
but Flavigny whispered to Duhem to strike him off the list of wedding guests.
It was true that Antoinette was five years older than Gaston. Her mother had died when
Antoinette was ten years old and her father sent her to the Ursuline nuns' school where
Antoinette had learned to believe in God and to obey the code of rules and principles of the
nobility. She was tall and thin. Her face was long, her nose thin and her eyes harsh. She
looked like a sour abbess.
In their childhood Gaston despised her on account of her stubborn bigotry. Later on,
whenever he came home from Paris on vacation they would often quarrel about religion.
Gaston neither hated her nor loved her. He had had some more or less lasting sentimental
attachments in Paris with girls that talked about the heart only. He did not believe that love
was indispensable to marriage. Companionship, similar tastes and interestbased on a certain
like-mindedness seemed more reasonable to him. He would marry Antoinette only for his
father's sake. It was onlv after he had decided to marry her that he set himself the task of
converting her to the cult of reason.
The young couple began their family life in the pharmacist's house. Antoinette got along
wonderfully with Gaston's mother and both women were at odds with him. They tried to talk
him into going to church on Sunday mornings ; Gaston refused smiling. Mrs. Duhem did not
insist ; she knew that her son took after his father. But Antoinette would not give up. She had
made up her mind to have Gaston make his peace with God. And to this purpose she had set
aside for the time being her aspirations after nobility. When she came to realize that all her
efforts were in vain, she rebuked him for wasting his time with useless studies instead of
seeking to acquire a decent clientele. She told Duhem about her complaint and he agreed
with her. They finally held a family meeting in order to discuss and straighten out all the
difficulties of the newly married couple. The consultation was sprinkled over with the tears of
Antoinette and Mrs. Duhem as the three men proved themselves to be nothing but dangerous
pagans. There was satisfaction when the two fathers-in-law persuaded Gaston to devote
more time to the actual practice of medicine and to this purpose it was decided that the
yroung couple should move to Flavigny's house in Place des Espagnols where he will
introduce his son-in-law to his steady patients.
But even in his father-in-law's house, Gaston would not mend his ways. True, the young
man quickly increased doctor Flavigny's clientele but at the same time decreased his income
by refusing to take fees from patients he thought were unable to pay. In several months' time
he had gone as far as to spend most of his time treating the poor of the slums rather than
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devote himself to the wealthy and noble — the cream of the patients, as Flavigny called them.
One day Flavigny found out, to his horror, that Gaston was taking medicines to these
wretched people who could not afford to pay for them. He then rushed over to Duhem and
told him all about it.
The pharmacist was so terrified that the doctor had to calm him down saying :
"He's a wonderful boy but he hasn't got any practical sense!"
They agreed that it was high time they brought him to his senses. But neither of them
dared do the job for Gaston seemed so seriousminded and his knowledge so often amazed
them. For a moment they thought of asking Mrs. Duhem to intervene. As a mother, she would
be the right person to deal with such a serious problem.
But they finally chose Antoinette to approach him cautiously and make him understand
that his way of dealing with, things will soon bring them all to ruin and that a true doctor who
wants to serve his patients well must first look after his own interests.
They had scarcely been married for seven months and Antoinette was deeply
disappointed. She had not lost all hope but she was aware that in many respects her life was
to be a life of resignation.
What hurt her above all was his total lack of deference for her most cherished ideals :
the nobility, the king, God... Although her heart was bleeding she never lost an opportunity of
pointing out the manifestations of divine grace in the most insignificant of things. He always
gave the same answer :
"We do not need divine grace so long as science offers more plausible explanations".
Then he would give vent to scientific explanations that were sometimes so clear and
reasonable that she could hardly resist the temptation to accept them had it not been for her
firm religious beliefs.
Gaston now listened with his usual smile that annoyed her for there was irony and
confidence in that smile.
And there was also kindliness, a kindliness that was different from that of the
nobility. When Antoinette was through he spoke in a calm yet firm voice :
"My dear, you are the sister of Jesus and the faithful daughter of the Catholic Church and
you are misinterpreting its elementary precepts. I am a pagan but I will fulfil my humanitarian
obligations to the presentday brothers of Christ !"
Antoinette hesitated for a moment. She thought that there was some truth in what he said.
But she quickly came to. A discussion followed. It was calm at first then with a sprinkling of
ironical hints. Then Antoinette flared up and blamed him for everything past and future and
culminated in the supreme argument : woman's tears. Gaston gave in, begged forgiveness if
he had hurt her without meaning to and swore that he loved her.
"What point is there in loving me if you don't respect me ?" the woman asked in tears.
The man at once made a solemn declaration of respect.
"If you don't respect God, how can I believe that you respect me ?" she insisted still
discontented.
"God does not exist, my dear, whereas you are here in flesh and blood !" Gaston smiled
as he tried to kiss her hand.
"Words like these deserve the Bastille !" Antoinette cried out in indignation warding him
off.
"Or even the guillotine !" the man added with a strange glint in his eyes that astounded
Antoinette. "But neither the Bastille nor the guillotine could ever convince me that there is
God !"
The strange look in his eyes shook the very foundations of Antoinette's confidence and
from now on she was content to pray for him every evening and every morming that God
might forgive his sins. She even took on the sorrowful mien of a martyr to prove the
superiority of Christian virtue.
The failure of Antoinette's intervention worried Duhem and Flavigny but not too much.
They found some consolation in the hope that life itself would change Gaston for the better.
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Till then Duhem would run the pharmacy while Flavigny would look after the best patients as
he had done in the past and leave the poor ones to his son-in-law.
As time went on their esteem for Gaston grew because of his uncompromising atheism.
The doctor and the pharmacist often tried to talk about God with him.
He avoided the subject. Whenever he did talk about God he did so jokingly. His own
disbelief bored him as did Antoinette's bigotry. He soon realized that he was helpless against
their unreasoning fanaticism. Every evening after having had heated discussions with friends,
Flavigny would come home and brag that he had definitely broken with God and that he now
found supreme consolation in science. Gaston would smile. Only once did he remind Flavigny
that when the other day he was laid up with a cold he hastily called the Benedictine priest.
The doctor's feelings were hurt and he explained that it was all just a matter of fulfilling a
social obligation without which, had he died, he would have remained unburied.
Gaston was glad to have got rid of the rich patients. He could now devote all his time and
energies to the poor. He regularly visited the slums where he was waited for as the Savior.
He was proud of an evening when he could say that he had brought a ray of sunshine in at
least one of the houses of these miserable people. He dreamed of a society in which people
enjoyed equal happiness. Everybody was now fond of him and he quickly became popular in
the whole town. They called him "The poor man's doctor". He was flattered although his
fellow doctors used the nickname in derision. He could care less. In all his problems he
consulted his. own conscience only which was stricter than all the judges in the world.
"Man is God !" he would say more and more often as his eyes flashed with strange
enthusiasm.
But he despised the clergy. Clergymen were not human beings, he thought, and he
hated them like poison.
He himself knew not why. He sometimes thought that his atheism itself stemmed from
his hatred for the clergy as a caste.
He would often say that clergymen were the root of all evil as if he had suffered some
terrible injustice at the hands of the priests.
Late one autumn evening after all the members of the family had gone to bed, Gaston
was awakened by the ringing of the bell at the gate. Flavigny had made a point of leaving all
the night emergency cases to Gaston — except the special ones. Night calls always upset
Flavigny for two or three days afterwards. The bell kept ringing.
Gaston got up, put on his bath robe and lighted his lantern, went to the door and called
out :
"Who is it?"
"I want to speak to doctor Duhem", a hoarse voice answered.
Gaston went out and opened the gate. It was dark and windy outside and raining heavily.
The doctor lifted up his lantern and asked :
"What do you want ?... Come in quick !"
The stranger slipped into the hall, holding an. cxj tinguished lantern in his hand. A black
hood and cowl covered him from head to foot.
"My father is dying... He felt very sick a short while ago... You're the only one who can
save him... Please from the bottom of my heart..."
Gaston lifted his lantern again to have a better look at the man's face. From under the
hood two frightened gray eyes peered at him. The doctor stepped back as if scared by the
look.
"Who is your father ?"
"Lebon, the cooper".
"All right!" said Gaston controlling his distrust.
He asked the man to come into the consulting room, lighted a candle and asked him to
wait there until he put on his clothes. Before going into the bedroom, however, he asked
"What's your name ?"

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 "Joseph Lebon", the stranger murmured immediately adding with a shy and humble smile,
"I'm wet to the skin and I'm afraid the water will be dripping on your floor. I think I'd better
wait out in the hall !"
"Never mind ! I'll be right with you !" the doctor rejoined embarrassed as he went into the
bedroom.
The stranger's looks haunted him. Gaston seemed to have met him before and felt a
strange fear. When he came back he found Lebon with his hood open, his lantern lighted. It
was only now that Gaston caught sight of the clerical collar under his hood.
"You're a priest, aren't you ?"
"Not yet" the young man answered. "I belong to the Oratorian order. Monsignor de
Talleyrand, bishop of Autun, promised me a parish for next Christmas.
"Is that so ? Now Iunderstand..." Gaston murmured convinced that he had found the
explanation to this strange feeling of some moments ago. "All right ! Let's go !"
On their way in the heavy rain, Lebon spoke only about God in a voice of pious suffering.
Gaston listened in silence. He was thinking that this was a man he could never forget... It
seemed a strange even superstitious thought. He tried to drive it out of his mind but just
could not.

Duhem the father and Flavigny were more and more going in for public matters that were
getting complicated and filled everybody with enthusiasm. Flavigny saw his upper class
patients daily and learned all about the progress of the most important events while Duhem
got the latest news from travellers coming from Paris who dropped in at the pharmacy for
something or other. Since there were important goings-on Flavigny made a point of visiting
with his in-law every evening after supper to exchange news with each other and debate
fervently on the information they had received.
Both of them were, of course, all for liberty but each did his best to prove more generous
and more progressive. So their chats were often heated. They would exchange harsh words,
quarrel and make up next day.
"There is no more Bastille !" Flavigny shouted one day as he barged into the pharmacy
followed by Gaston and Antoinette whom he had brought along without telling them the big
news.
"Impossible !" Duhem answered in astonishment.
"It's all over !" the doctor exclaimed triumphantly
"Yesterday the people of Paris freed all the prisoners, killed the guards, pulled down the
walls... At last there is no more Bastille !" .
"I wonder how the king allowed such a thing to happen !" Antoinette was almost indignant.
"The power of the people !" Duhem decreed solemnly as he wiped a jar with a clean
napkin.
"Then the revolution is on !" Gaston murmured with a glint of repressed satisfaction in his
eyes.
"The Revolution, that's it. The Revolution", the two friends repeated.
They embraced and then drank several glasses of wine in honor of the Revolution.
Three weeks later the pharmacist ran over to the doctor's and cried out : "All privileges
are gone ! Liberty, equality, fraternity !"
Each day brought further news. Yet Gaston after his first moment of joy heaved a sigh :
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 "There will never be true liberty as long as people are in the clutches of priests".
Flavigny and Duhem agreed. But differences with Antoinette were seriously increasing for
she remained loyal to the king and to God and her husband's words were a profound and
offensive sacrilege to. her most sacred feelings. In order to make his peace with the family,
Gaston suddenly declared that he would not say single word about the servants of the Lord
until the king was driven out of the country. This made Antoinette even more furious and she
threatened to enter a nunnery...
Gaston, however, kept his word. It was only when he learned that the king had fled but
was caught at Varennes that he exclaimed jubilantly :
"All right, get your mourning clothes ready ! The tyrant's days are numbered !"
He read the newspapers eagerly though they arrived irregularly and late from Paris. In
L’ami du Peuple he found words that satisfied his soul. Of all the revolutionaries Marat
seemed to be the most honest. Gaston worshipped him. He sent him letters expressing his
admiration and even received a flattering answer.
Proclamation of the Republic aroused a delirious joy throughout the country. Flavigny
and Duhem had been sporting the tricolor cockade for some time. It now occurred to Gaston
that it was high time he also wore the badge of liberty, go out and mix with the noisy
multitude. He had the feeling it was the beginning of heaven on earth.
Antoinette cried her heart out when she heard that the king was sentenced to death and
promptly guillotined. Flavigny commented on the event in great detail. He was touched
because he was sympathetic by nature, kept rubbing his hands and giggling not to betray his
excitement.
Duhem kept wondering and interrupting :
"Bravo !... Serves him right !... Let that be a lesson to all tyrants in the world. Let them no
longer oppress people !"
Gaston was silent. All the hustle and bustle of the Revolution after the proclamation of the
Republic, he thought, was good only to the extent that it led to the wiping out of sacerdotism.
Priests should have no political power. The National Convention had, it seemed, good
intentions in this respect but was too slow in getting things done. He warmly supported all
efforts to combat religious fanaticism. All measures taken against priests and religion gave
him joy. He underlined in red all passages in newspapers that pointed out the harm done to
mankind by the representatives of God on earth, In L’ Ami du Peuple he read a passage from
a speech made by a member of the Paris Commune :
"In a free country all superstition and fanaticism must be wiped out and replaced by a
sound philosophy and clean morals". He learned the passage by heart and found it equal to
Voltaire's slogan. While the Revolution de Paris gazette wrote : "Wherever there is plotting
against the motherland or against reason you will find the priests at the bottom of the
business". Gaston felt that these words had sprung from his very heart. As a matter of fact, in
the Committee of Public Instruction as well as in the Paris Commune he discovered more and
more deadly enemies to clericalism of any kind and preached the Cult of Reason. He was
always glad to get news about the people he loved. He knew that Romme and David the
painter felt their blood boil when they thought of priests, that Fourcroy shouted everywhere :
"Infamous religion must be wiped out !", that to Chaumette the soutane was like a red rag,
that Lakanal had said, "To anyone who has not been turned into a wild beast priests are
objects of hatred !" Nevertheless he had no patience. The Convention were taking too long a
time to vote laws that could end the invisible tyranny of religion. What they needed was a
simple, straightforward decree for arresting and beheading all the clergymen!
The news of Marat's death terrified him. He was sure that Charlotte Corday had acted on
the order of the priests. Gaston wrote a scathing article and sent it to the
Pere Duchesne gazette. They did not publish it. Gaston was convinced that the manuscript
had got into the hands of some secret agent of the fanatics who had found his way into the
editorial office.

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 Meantime Antoinette who had remained loyal to the memory of the dead king chided him
for not having made a brilliant career now that the Revolution had come when others of less
merit were at the top of the Republic. In vain did Gaston plead that he did not want any favors
and that he was serving his motherland by being a model of abnegation. Antoinette pointed
out that the Robespierre brothers, his childhood friends, whom he considered to be less
endowed by nature with talents were now the rulers of France.
"What about Lebas ? What about Hermann ? Even Lebon was elected member of the
Convention, while you have remained the poor man's doctor", Antoinette said in revolt.
Gaston had his doubts. He easily overcame them. He was at peace with bis conscience.
He wanted nothing but the welfare of the nation. He did not think that he was the stuff that
fighters were made of. Neither did he have any ambitions. He was afraid of making a fool ot
himself and that was why he always controlled even his enthusiasm. A feeling of the painful
vanity of things often gnawed at his heart. Sometimes a faint desire like after a great love
once dreamed of would suddenly flicker in his soul but would go out just as quickly
extinguished by his own cold deliberations.
He remembered Lebon, a memory that annoyed him. Whenever he thought of their
strange meeting, the man gray eyes he clenched his fists as if fearing some unavoidable
danger. He learned how Lebon had gone over to the side of the Revolution when priests were
asked to swear by the Constitution, how he left his parish and going into politics he was
elected substitute represenative to the National Convention. Gaston remembered Lebon's
pious words about God and thought that in spite of all appearances the son of Lebon the
cooper was a dangerous fanatic.
Then one day Gaston read about Clootz, a cosmopolitan revolutionary nicknamed "the
friend of mankind". Everything he heard about him seemed remarkable but above all that he
considered himself to be the personal enemy of Jesus Christ whose demoralizing activity
against the progress of mankind he wanted to wipe out completely.
He longed to go to Paris and meet the people animated by the same strong feeling against
clerical obscurantism and thus strengthen his convictions... He had not been away from
Arras since he had come home after graduation. An entire world had gone to pieces and he
knew the new world only from hearsay.
Small town medical practice had softened him.
It took him several weeks to make up his mind and more weeks to find a pretext to justify
his trip to Paris. His wife was scared by the news. She had been having nightmares and was
certain Gaston would perish in Paris where people had gone crazy and were killing one
another. It was all the Lord's punishment —she thought — for the crimes committed by the
bloodthirsty revolutionaries. Her fears were shared by her mother-in-law and even by
Flavigny and Duhem whose republican enthusiasm had melted away of rather turned into
fright as more and more bad news poured in of the activities of the revolutionary tribunal. He
finally left on November the first with Antoinette's prayers, his mother's tears and the shy
good wishes of Flavigny and Duhem that he come back soon bringing good news.

On arriving in Paris, the capital was nothing but a chain of disappointments. For days
and days he could not contact the people he so badly wanted to meet. He wentto the Tuileries
where the Convention held its meetings. For hours on end he stood squeezed among noisy
people. He saw the heads of the Revolution, listened to bombastic speeches delivered by
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obscure representatives... He was bored stiff. He did not find one single interesting meeting.
Next day he went to the Palace of Justice. The trial of Philippe — Egalite was on. There was
such a crowd he could not even get to the steps of the palace. An unknown man noticing his
despair comforted him advising him to come tomorrow when a more important trial would be
on, that of madame Roland.
Next day Gaston tried to reach Chaumette, waited for him at the City Hall. He learned that
around one o'clock the general Council of the Department would have a meeting together
with several members of the Commune. Fortunately, Chaumette was among the first to come.
Gaston spoke to him with such enthusiasm and admiration that Chaumette, although wary of
strangers, hugged him and showed him into the meeting hall saying triumphantly :
"Citizen, you will have the happiness of seeing the downfall of sacerdotism and the dawn
of the grand cult of reason !"
Gaston felt that he was now receiving compensation for all his disappointments. The
house wras packed full with an impatient crowd as if some grand performance was about to
begin. The meeting was finally called to order and the bishop Gobel made his appearance
followed by fourteen vicars and a sizable group of priests each wearing the symbol of his
dignity. Heavy silence fell and the bishop delivered a long speech in which he abjured the
wanderings of the Christian religion and praised the power of philosophy. Chaumette
answered. Gaston now had a good look at him and was even fonder of him. His face was pale,
his hair sleek. He was so unassuming but at times his eyes flashed with violent energy.
Gaston was so enchanted by the strange inflections of his voice that he could hardly
understand the meaning of his words.
When Chaumette was through the house rang with : "The Convention ! The Convention !"
In front of the City Hall a procession was quickly formed. Several members of the
Commune, Chaumette at the head, led the cortege. The priests followed heads bowed low as
if they were going to the guillotine. On the sidewalk here and there shouts were heard :
"Down with the priests !"
The leaders of the procession explained right and left that these were not a bunch of
fanatic priests but that on the contrary they were decent clergymen who are on their way to
be unfrocked before the National Convention. It was only now that Gaston understood the
meaning of the procession. Young people wearing red caps cheeks flushed with excitement
were singing Ca ira and Carmagnole.
The Convention Hall was more crowded than ever. A sigh of relief was felt throughout the
huge house.
"Here they are !"
Deputies pushed their way into the hemicycle. The bishop read from a sheet of paper in a
low voice.
Cries were raised :
"Louder !"
Gobel raised his voice. The sheet of paper was trembling in his hands. Everybody
cheered. The president of the Assembly gave an offhand answer glorifying the cult of reason
the one and only national cult of the future. One of the deputies offered the bishop a red cap.
He put it on his head. The crowd burst into cheers. He then took off his pectoral cross and
pastoral ring and offered them in homage to the Convention... Several representatives asked
the president to honor the deserving citizen with a republican accolade. Gobel climbed on to
the platform and the president sweating with enthusiasm embraced him warmly. The hall
resounded with cheers and applause.
Exhausted by the day's excitement Gaston was beside himself with happiness. At last he
had witnessed the downfall off millennial superstition and the victory of reason ! His dream
had come true, come what may, no one could take away the happiness in his heart. He
thought he might take two days rest until the Holiday of Reason that had been set for the 20th
of brumaire. He was restless. He ran over to Chaumette who took him to the Jacobin Club
where he made the acquintance of Clootz, Lakanal, Fourcroy, and even Fabre d'Eglantine
105
who enthusiastically explained the republican calendar in great detail to him. Fie had not met
Maximilien Roijbespierre yet. But he did not worry. He knew he would certainly find him
before going back to Arras. It was Sunday. A gloomy foggy day. The rain was falling in tiny
boring drops ceaselessly. Yet the streets were teeming with cheerful faces... Gaston went to
the City Hall early in the morning. The procession started at ten o'clock. All the members of
the Commune were there in their Sunday best. A line of maidens in white headed the
procession. Then followed the opera singers and the musicians. Next came the officials. The
ceremony was held in the Notre Dame cathedral which had been quickly transformed into the
Temple of Reason. In front of the main altar there was a green hill made up of a scaffolding on
top of which there towered the round Temple of Philosophy while lower on a silver pedestal
stood the golden urn out of which rose the Flame of Truth. A winding path lined by busts of
Voltaire, Franklin, Rousseau climbed up the hill to the
Fountainhead of Reason.
The cortege marched under the portal of the cathedral. White cockades were handed
out to all those who entered. While the multitude was streaming into the nave the maidens in
white climbed up the path, went round the Temple of Wisdom, lighted the Flame of Truth one
torch each, climbed down and mixed with the crowd giving a lighted tdreh to each and every
mortal, then they climbed back up the hill and lined up two abreast... Pious speeches followed
glorifying the virtues of sovereign reason.
Then actresses from the Opera House, like a bevy of wicked angels, sang the Flymn to
Liberty in response to the hymn written for the occasion by the poet Chenier. The Goddess of
Reason emerged from the Temple of Philosophy clothed in a long white gown a blue cloak
over her shoulders, a red cap on her head a spear in her hand. The goddess, a beautiful,
graceful actress, made a deep impression inspiring respect and love. She climbed down a
few steps and took her seat on the throne of laurels as the crowd in ecstasies arms raised
sang hymns of praise... Then the goddess rose and climbed up to the temple and before
vanishing from sight she cast one grateful glance at her friends standing at the foot of the hill.
When the ceremony was over the multitude lined up again and the new cortege made for
the Tuileries to worship Law as they had worshipped Reason. The Convention Hall was
packed full of musicians and republicans of all ages. Everybody began singing the songs dear
to the Revolution until the Goddess of Reason made her appearance surrounded by a group
of beautiful girls. She was sitting in an armchair carried by four citizens.
When silence fell for a moment Chaumette cried out "Fanaticism is dead. There are no
more priests, no more gods. Long live the Republic ! Long live Reason !"
The president also denounced superstition in a tempestuous speech after which he
warmly embraced the Goddess of Reason. The other members of the committee followed suit
to the great satisfaction of the goddess.
A deputy proposed that the Convention now join with the people and march back to the
Temple of Reason. The motion was accepted with enthusiasm... The procession started back
through a heavy rain and the ceremony in the cathedral was repeated, burdened with
speeches until it was finally over at nightfall, Gaston was dead tired with all the walking,
singing and enthusiasm. And yet as this had been the most uplifting day in the history of
mankind — he said to himself in great delight — he must wind it up with an art pleasure. Marat
in the Underground was playing at the theatre in Rue Favart. He went to the theatre.
He could now go home. His heart was full for the rest of his life. But he thought it was his
duty to see Maximilien. They had been such good friends and he had every reason to take
offence if he found out that Gaston had been in Paris and had not even dropped by to shake
hands. So next day he ran over to Rue Saint Honore where he knew the house of Duplay the
carpenter who was Robespierre's landlord. Fortune smiled on him. Maximilien was at home in
his dining room. He was glad to meet Gaston who told him all about the excitement of the
Holiday of Reason and showed him the white cockade that he was going to keep as an
heirloom. Robespierre's face slowly turned gloomier and gloomier and there was a cold

106
rather ironic glint in hiseyes. After Gaston's excitement toned down, Maximilien said in a
voice that was as sharp and cutting as the blade of the guillotine :
"You are the same old confirmed atheist. Atheism is the enemy of the Republic and of
mankind !".
Gaston laughed out loud anwering :
"And you are the same old fanatic, Maximilicn !"
He met the cold eyes of Robespierre and cut his laughter short as if stabbed in the throat
by a dagger.

On arriving home a changed man Flavigny welcomed him cheerfully :

"Look how refreshed he is, Antoinette. He's a new man, at last, he's a revolutionary !...
That's it, Paris is the heart of liberty. Paris is the only place where you can bathe your soul in
revolutionary waters !... As for us, we haven't even seen a guillotine !"
He spoke with fervor as all true republican revolutionaries do.
For weeks afterwards Gaston told them in great detail about everything he had seen in
Paris. They were all sorry, even Antoinette, that Gaston had not tried to witness an execution
or at least have a close look at a guillotine.
They also had news. During the five days that Gaston was away Lebon visited the town
on a special mission as the representative of the people. He was very dissatisfied with what
he had discovered and, on leaving, he declared that this was a dangerous nest of counter-
revolutionaries and fanatics and that he would soon be back to establish the real rule of the
republic. About two hundred people had been arrested, mainly clergymen. He had asked
about Gaston. They wondered why.
Then Duhem, to set an example decided to change the sign of his pharmacy. L'Etoile
Bleu had a touch of the olden days, of royal tyranny. But he just could not find a suitable
name. Flavigny insisted on "The Genius of Marat". Duhem wanted something like "Brutus" or
"Mucius Scaevola", something high-sounding to make the whole world know that it was a
republican pharmacy. It was he who suggested that the name of their street be changed to
"Rue de la liberte". The suggestion was turned down. Later on time-servers thought of "Rue
Robespierre" in honor of the great men who were born and had spent their childhood on this
street.
Then came the decree introducing the republican calendar which gave them a
headache. Flavigny and Duhem vied with each other for the correct use of the new calendar.
They got mixed up and quarrelled. Gaston refereed in his capacity as one who had talked it
over with the author of the calendar himself. Nevertheless, Duhem observed Sunday reading
the Bible to his wife as usual but he did it on the sly.
Gaston went on with his routine duties in greater earnestness thinking himself to be a
humble servant of the Republic and of mankind. The memory of the Ceremony of Reason was
dear to his heart like a wonderful flower that never withers. He locked the white cockade
together with his doctor's diploma and some sheets of paper containing dear remarks about
the triumph of reason in a box. He would often take them out lovingly and fondle them like a
miser caressing his hidden treasure. He even lost interest in news from Paris. He read
Robespierre's speech which ended with Rousseau's witticism that if there were no God, he
ought to be invented. Gaston smiled and said to himself, "Poor Maximillen, he's the same old
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fanatic !" He recalled Robespierre's piercing look. It cut him to the quick but he came round
and thought with pity ; "The look of a fanatic !"
About the end of the month of nivose word went round that Lebon was coming to Arras
as the representative of the National Convention with unlimited power to organize the
republican regime and to combat fanaticism. On his arrival he was welcomed with great
solemnity. Flavigny was present.
"There's a brilliant patriot !" he said on coming home. Fie embraced all the
representatives of the government like a true son of liberty that he is.. I burst into tears ! He
chatted with all his old acquaintances. He is not ashamed of his poor relatives. He was loudly
cheered and the people shouted : "Long live Lebon ! Long live the Republic !"
The very next day, they started to arrest all suspects : aristocrats, moderates, cold
patriots. Within ten days the prisons were full. New buildings were improvised so that more
and more proscribed were taken into custody.
Meantime the representative of the people transformed the criminal tribunal into the
revolutionary tribunal. He chose trustworthy judges with president Daillet at the head. He
appointed an old aquaintance of his, Darthe, Public Prosecutor. He named sixty jurors with
high salaries. He was expecting a new perfected guillotine from Paris with an experienced
executioner. Flavigny was scared. He was afraid that some enemy of his might put him on the
black list. Especially when he learned that Lebon considered guilty not only those who
errored against the Republic but also those had done nothing for it. He tried to find merits of
his own in favour of the republic but in vain. Flis friend, the pharmacist, managed to set things
right by adopting a new sign "Les triomphes de la raison"... Flavigny did not know what
to do. He thought he might deliver a patriotic speech somewhere and show off his republican
feelings. He dared not ; several orators had been arrested because they had not used the
appropriate words in honor of the Republic. But silence itself was also dangerous and could
easily be interpreted as a disapproval of the republican regime... He envied Gaston his calm
as he went about his fee-free consultations as if he did not want to know that the Reign of
Terror had been installed in the town.
One day Gaston unexpectedly received an invitation from Lebon. Flavigny turned pale.
Antoinette, scared out her wits, burst into tears: Gaston kept cool and smiled. He had a clear
conscience. As he approached the City Hall, Gaston had a moment of hesitation seeing the
crowd of frightened people begging to go in pushed back by the sentries of the National
Guard. He recalled the strange fanatic look of the seminarist, the look that seemed to be a
warning. He quickly controlled himself. One of the guards escorted him to the officer who
examined the invitation and showed him to the office of the representative of the people.
Another guard stopped him at the door :
"Citizen Lebon is busy with citizen Duquesnoy of Bethume !"
On the door Gaston saw a notice in capital letterswhich read : "Whoever asks for the
release of a prisoner shall be immediately sent to prison himself !" After a while the door
opened with a bang. Gaston's blood froze. "I will see nobody else today !... Absolutely
nobody!"
Gaston recognized the harsh bombastic voice. Lebon was in his shirt sleeves, white
pants and top-boots, a sword at his side and two pistols on a belt round his waist, a bicorn
with a plume on his head. The representative caught sight of Gaston and his face lit up ; he
stretched out both arms shouting joyfully :
"Citizen Duhem !... The poor man's doctor !" He took Gaston by the waist and showed
him in. Round a long table were seated eight men hats on, dressed in almost the same way as
Lebon, swords at their sides. They were talking loudly.
"Friends", said Lebon joyfully and in great delight,
"Haven't you met the oldest republican in Arras ? Here he is !... He saved my father's life
!... This is doctor Duhem !... I'm happy to have the honor of giving him, in front of all of you and
in the name of the Convention, the patriotic accolade !"
He embraced Gaston warmly. So did the others as Lebon introduced them emphatically
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 "Citizen Duqucsnoy, former monk fervent republican and my dear friend !... Substitute
Caubirere, decent fellow, devoted servant to the motherland!... Celestin Lefetz, vice-
president of the district, my right hand man, and the right hand of the republic. My jurors of
tomorrow redoubtable enemies of superstitious fanaticism : Gouillard, Leroux, Clement...
Then without ceremony he asked them all to go out since he wanted to be alone with
Gaston.
"Do you remember me ?" Lebon asked with a tenderness in his voice that was rather
exaggerated. "That wet, cold, ugly night ?... That was six years ago, or almost !... I was afraid
of you. You had the reputation of a pagan and I believed so fervently in God whom they had
stuffed me with. Remember how in the angry rain I spoke to you only about God ? Well, let me
tell you now that your kind face made me want to bring you back to religion and God, Ha ! Ha !
Ha ! His loud harsh laugh shocked Gaston.
Lebon went on :
"The Revolution opened my eyes. The Revolution is my true mother ! The Revolution... The
Revolution !..."
His distorted clean shaven face was flooded with ecstasy. Arms raised, eyes full of a
strange light staring into the distance it seemed as if his soul were soaring towards luminous
heights. He came to an end, ashamed of having lost control of himself, banged his fist on the
table :
"God created a world of slaves, the Revolution broke the fetters of slavery !"
He then spoke about the enemies of the Revolution, about the kings united against the
Revolution, about suspects who everywhere plotted against the motherland.
"But nowhere are there more dangerous fanatics than here in my home town" he added
gnashing his teeth. Arras, has given loyal servants to the Revolution like Maximilien
Robespierre and Joseph, and Herman, Lebas and so many others... And yet the most die-hard
enemies of the Republic are right here in Arras... We must find them and wipe them out ! And
I'm gonna do it even if I have to raise a guillotine in every square in town !"
Gaston listened with mixed feelings. His words stirred him and worried him at the same
time. He was wondering why Lebon was telling him all these things and what was he driving
at?
"But I need men, citizen", he shouted staring Gaston in the face. "I need trustworthy men,
men who love the Republic above all... That's why I called you here !... You are such a man !"
Gaston blushed. Lebon offered to appoint him juror, or judge, or prosecutor, or even
president of the new revolutionary tribunal.
I'll dismiss Daillet if you take over the job !" he said.
Gaston did not hesitate for a moment. He turned down the offer. He never wanted
anything but to serve the Republic through steady work. He had no calling for positions that
required special aptitudes. After all, the doctor's business is to save lives of people not to cut
them short. A doctor to pass death sentences even against villains would be a strange
person. At any rate, he would feel humiliated.
"The Republic needs you" Lebon interrupted.
"Every citizen can truly serve the Republic only if he is in the right place !" Gaston
answered calmly.
"And yet if anybody refuses to do the job the Republic requires of him he commits a
crime against it !"
Lebon retorted with flashes of suspicion and reproach in his eyes.
"I would rather commit the crime of serving the Republic well in the right place than do it
harm in the wrong place according to my abilities !" The doctor answered with a smile that
had traces of pride.
Lebon was furious. He started pacing round the table. His sword rattled as it touched the
floor. He clenched his fists and muttered curses between his teeth.
"When decent people stand aside, the Republic falls into the hands of criminals !" Lebon
whispered looking straight into Gaston's eyes with an almost painful reproach.
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 He paced about for a while muttering, thinking, then he took off his hat, threw it on the
table upsetting inkpots and papers and roared
"Get out !"
He turned his back on Gaston who dazed and ashamed was making his way to the door.
Lebon rushed after him grabbed him by the hands and murmured :
"I'm sorry... I didn't want to hurt your feelings although you're the one who offended me
by refusing to serve France !"
He changed his tone again and added eyes flashing with passion :
"And yet, without you and against you, I'm gonna wipe out fanaticism even if I have to
take a bath in unclean blood every day !"

One day a guillotine was set up in front of the City Hall. The public square was filled with
curious people. It was near the end of winter and everyone was shivering in the brisk air. The
executioner too was shivering with cold as he paced around the killing machine his sleeves
rolled up muttering nobody knew what... Suddenly there was a stir in the crowd. All heads
turned in the same direction. Cheers mingled with singing were heard drawing near. The tall
cart came into view surrounded by soldiers from the Baudet prison. Marching in front of the
cart there were dozens of enthusiasts, red caps on their heads, joyfully yelling as if they were
on their way to a carnival. The condemned man was standing, leaning against one side of the
cart. He was a monk in his eighties his back bent with age. He could hardly climb up the five
steps of the scaffold. The executioner quickly made the necessary arrangements : bared the
man's neck and tied his hands behind his back. Two apprentices placed the monk's head in
the hole above which hung the heavy blade. Drums rattled away drowning even the songs of
the enthusiasts. Then the executioner pulled the rope and the blade fell. The head rolled over
into the basket. Blood spurted from the slashed throat on to the executioner's arm as he
grabbed the head by the hair and showed it to the crowd. The blood stained lips seemed to be
still quivering. The sight made the faint-hearted shudder. One of the spectators in the front
rows trembled violently, felt dizzy and almost fainted. He was fortunately supported by the
people around him. Flavigny attended the execution of the aged fanatic charged with having
hidden certain incendiary writings just to make a display of his republican feelings and thus
ward off any suspicion.
He was laid up for three days with fever and hallucinations. Gaston looked after him.
Antoinette called a priest in secret and prayers were read. He quickly felt better and
apologized for his weakness :
"The execution itself didn't bother me. After all, I'm a doctor and death doesn't scare me ;
neither does blood for that matter... Only women faint when they see a head out off !... But
me, I'm a republican through and through I think I just caught a cold, that's all. It was pretty
chilly that day like it never was before. I bet a lotta people got sick that day."
Still he never passed by the City Hall square any more as if he feared that the guillotine
was waiting for him. He made a point of going downtown less and less frequently. Under the
pretext that he was tired he gave his patients — even the cream of them — over to Gaston.
But he listened to the news that kept pouring in. He learned that over a thousand arrests had
been made and that the tribunal reorganized by Lebon kept on sentencing people and that
the guillotine was ceaselessly working. Then he heard that the guillotine had been moved to
Place de la Comedie and that they had set up a stall beside it where enthusiastic spectators
could buy refreshments, and that Lebon himself watched the executions from the balcony of
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the theater. Moreover, it seemed that the representative of the people had gone out of his
mind. Rumor had it that he was spending nights long drinking with the judges and jurors of
the revolutionary tribunal. Old Duhem told of the case of the marquis of Vieux-Fort who being
tied to the scaffold, the blade hanging above his head, had to listen to one of Lebon's
speeches announcing the victory of Menin so that he might make known the triumph of the
Republic to all the fanatics in the other world.
Gaston was stunned and was keeping more and more silent. He listened to the news
about Lebon's doings. Sometimes he felt remorse. If he had accepted the representative's
offer, maybe there would not have been so much bloodshed in the name of the Republic and
of liberty. But, then, could any single man prevent whatwas happening now ? He hadn't met
Lebon since their encounter in his office. That scene haunted him. And he kept thinking that
he had then spoken to two different men embodied in one person.
As the weather improved, the activity of the revolutionary tribunal intensified. About the
end of the month of germinal they started cremating. One day twenty people, the next day
twelve, then twentyeight... Lest they should lose their enthusiasm, the executioners had their
meals together with the representative of the people.
In the first days of the month of messidore there was a rumor that an extraordinary trial
was being prepared. Sixteen priests, monks, and nuns were to be tried for fanaticism. For
greater solemnity the tribunal wouldmeet on the occasion in the cathedral that had been
transformed into the Temple of Reason. The accused had already been taken from various
prisons to Baudet, the antechamber of death.
That particular piece of news upset Gaston more than all the others. He thought he might
attend the trial. He had never been to one so far. It was worth going just for curiosity's sake.
After all the accused were hated clergymen. On second thoughts, he considered it better to
go about his own business as he had always done.
On the morning of the thirteenth of messidor he went out for a walk as usual to see the
patients who were unable to come to consultation. It was a warm and pleasant day. The sun
was smiling in the cloudless sky. Gaston looked at his watch. There was time for a walk long
enough to set his thoughts right. The town was practically deserted as if people were scared
and didn't dare to go out into the streets. He wandered about the town aimlessly. One thought
haunted him. He could not get it out of his mind no matter how hard he tried :
"The trial in on today..."
All of a sudden he found himself in front of the City Hall. The tower rose skywards like a
threatening arm. But Gaston didn't see it. Neither did he see the facade. His eyes were,
however, feverishly searching for something.
"I wonder where the guillotine stood here ?" He suddenly said to himself.
The question seemed so strange that it frightened him. He quickened his pace as if to
elude some unseen pursuer. Streets changed one after another. He had no idea where he
was going. He came to the Place de la Comedie. The theater building lured him. It occurred to
him that he had not been to the theater since he had come from Paris. He ought to go. But
first see what's playing? As he drew close to the bill he caught sight of the guillotine on the
other side of the staircase. He forgot all about the theater, went round the staircase his eyes
glued to the tall platform wide enough for dozens of prisoners to stand on. But the blade was
missing. A bored soldier on guard was leaning against the framework. Further on some
people were jabbering away.
"I'm late!" Gaston said to himself as if apologizing for going on. "My patients are waiting
for me".
He started on a street and found himself in front of the cathedral.
"After all, why shouldn't Igo in ?" he thought as he resolutely climbed up the wide steps
elbowing his way through the crowd. "What is there to be afraid of? The Republic must punish
the guilty ones".
He made his way to the jurors' bench. The trial had begun. The public prosecutor was
demanding the death sentence for six monks who had proved to be out-andout fanatics. He
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larded his speech with jokes and proverbs. The audience was laughing out loud. The
president was laughing indulgently One of the jurors criedout ironically :
"If the accused are able to show us what hell looks like, let them be acquitted !"
The prosecutor wound up with praises to the Republic. The jurors voted on the spot. The
president declared the death sentence, then quickly added :
"Next !"
Two barefooted Carmelite monks were shown in, followed by three priests. It was then
that Lebon put in his appearance. The president greeted him ceremoniously. Lebon was
offered an armchair in which he seated himself gravely and made no response to the
applause that seemed unending.
Then the president called in the next group. Five nuns entered. Gaston looked on and yet
seemed not to understand. He listened carefully and yet it all seemed to make no sense. He
wondered if the goings-on were really a matter of life and death or was it all merely a sinister
farce. He looked in turn at the judges, the jurors, the prosecutor trying to find some
explanation. He was glad when Lebon arrived but found nothing but hatred in his eyes, a
hatred so deep that it gave his face a savage look.
The president was reading the list of names and Gaston heard :
"Yvonne Collignon, age eighteen, single..."
The name made Gaston start. It seemed to fit into a chain of memories of long ago. He
knew the name although he was dead certain that he had never heard it before. It aroused
memories with a painful intensity. He then glanced at the group of nuns, all in black, to guess
which of them was Yvonne. He promptly recognized her. She was delicate and frail, her hair
light brown, her cheeks pale. Like a child she was holding on to the arm of an elderly woman
and every now and then she would shudder unable to control herself.
For a moment Gaston again could understand nothing. Then the president's voice rang
out :
"Next !... Collignon... Your name ?"
Gaston distinctly heard the answer : "Yvonne Collignon de Gargan".
The president went furious and bellowed out that the Republic will not allow the fanatic
aristocracy to defy it and threatened to exclude her from the trial. The whole house was
indignant. She held on tighter to the old woman's arm and looked around wondering what she
had done wrong. Gaston watched her movements and met her eyes. In bewilderment he
made two steps forward in her direction. Their eyes met for an instant. She felt a thrill of joy
as if she had found the much needed defender. But the interrogation continued :
"Do you believe in God ?", the puresident asked.
"Yes, father!" the accused murmured.
The audience burst out laughing. The jurors and the judges laughed. Even Lebon laughed.
Yvonne looked round in despair and again met Gaston's eyes. The president went on :
"This is not a nunnery, understand?... Answer my question !"
“Yes, sir !" she said arousing another burst of laughter.
The president calmly explained that the Republic had decreed that all men were equal,
that there were only citizens and therefore he was nothing but a citizen-president.
The interrogation was soon over and the prosecutor began a flaring speech punctuated
with the applause of the audience and the approval of Lebon. Gaston was on needles and
pins. His eyes were riveted on Yvonne and in his heart of hearts he knew that he was going to
lose her, a feeling that filled him with boundless horror. He thought that he must rescue her
by all means. Thousands of fantastic plans flashed through his mind. Then his mind went
suddenly blank, the whole world seemed to have vanished and he and Yvonne alone were on
earth. It was a wave of happiness like a temptation descending from the infinite that broke
down before it could take shape. The fear that he must part with Yvonne overwhelmed him.
The urge to save her was getting stronger and stronger.
"Down with the priests!" hundreds of voices cried out all of a sudden.

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 The trial was over. There was a smile of satisfaction on Lebon's face. One of the accused
nuns tried to speak. The president cut her short telling she did not have the floor.
The jurors' votes stabbed Gaston's heart like so many daggers. Yvonne turned her eyes
his way. There was a mysterious plea in her eyes. He understood and drank it in lost in a
daze. Then he came to as if awakened from a dream, pushed his way through the soldiers on
guard up to the president's desk and shouted :
"Yvonne is innocent !"
The judges in their tall chairs were dumbfounded. There were murmurs in the crowd. One
of the soldiers grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped on the instant. Lebon jumped to his
feet. He recognized Gaston. He hesitated for a moment as if he were facing a mad man. Then
with a penetrating look in his eyes, he answered in a loud voice :
"She is more dangerous a fanatic than all the others !"
"You are the fanatic one, Lebon ! And you are a murderer !... Murderer !" Gaston shouted
in despair struggling to free himself from the soldier's hold.
Lebon turned pale. There was a bloodthirsty flash in his eyes. Murmurs in the house
quieted down so that his voice now hoarse with anger echoed through the hall like the
swishing of a scimitar :
"In the name of the Republic, one and indivisible..." Gaston was tried on the spot. To
make matters clearer, Lebon read a passage from a letter recently received in which
Robespierre himself called attention to doctor Gaston Duhem as a dangerous atheist. The
prosecutor drew up the charges loaded with indignation. Two of the jurors abstained
declaring passionately that the accused had once restored them to health looking after them
in a brotherly fashion. Gaston was sentenced to death on charges of having defended a
fanatic condemned by the tribunal, of having insulted the Republic in the person of its
inviolable representative, of having insolently disturbed the meeting of the tribunal, and of
having proved himself to be the propagator of a fierce atheism which endangers the moral
health of the moth erland.
The meeting was adjourned. Lebon took the prosecutor aside and told him that he wished
to show his gratitude to the condemned who had saved his father's life six years ago so would
he please make out the list of executions in such a way as to have Yvonne Collignon come first
and then have Gaston Duhem come next. He added sadly :
"Maybe they are in love... Let them at least pass into the other world together..."

The cart had long been waiting at the cathedral gate. The white horse was lazily swishing
its tail driving away the flies that swarmed round it. Then the seventeen were led out of the
church. People crowded round to have a closer look at them. Some called them names or
swore at them, others made fun of them. The executioner's apprentices complained :
"There's not enough room for all of them in the cart !"
"This cart can carry thirty people". The driver answered, "Once I took twenty-eight and
there was room enough for more."
It took a long time getting them on. The cart was tall. The men helped the women. Gaston
took Yvonne in his arms to help her up on to the cart and there they remained side by side.
113
 The cart started. Many people followed the cortege. One of the apprentices whipped the
horse. The wheels rattled. The cart trundled on heavily as the prisoners leaned on one
another. Yvonne clung to Gaston. They looked at each other as if they had met after a long
separation. They read in each other's eyes ancient mysteries that they felt sprang from
hidden gleams. Their hearts spoke to each other : it was a perfect message much clearer
than words could tell. Gaston put his arm round her waist and she smiled gratefully, a smile
that held traces of regret.
The cart drove on through winding streets lazile like a hearse. When they approached the
guillotine square one of the Carmelite monks started to sing the psalm of the dead in a voice
warm with faith. The others joined in with pious passion. The song rang out in the evening air
trembling like a warm call. The soldiers looked askance at the prisoners whose eyes were
raised skywards as if they were afraid of punishment. The horse got scared and quickened its
pace.
Yvonne caught sight of the guillotine and shuddered. She closed her eyes. Gaston could
feel her heartbeats.
He whispered with dry lips :
"Yvonne..."
The military band near the theater gate struck up the Carmagnole. The multitude grew
excited and howled louder. The air rang with the mingling of human voices with the rattling of
drums and the sounds of the brass band. The singing of the prisoners was drowned like a call
for help in the wilderness.
The cart made its way through the double cordon of soldiers and came to a stop.
"Down, everybody, down !" an apprentice bellowed at the prisoners who kept on singing
as if unaware thatthey had arrived.
Gaston jumped down to help Yvonne get off. The same apprentice, then, shouted showing
them the steps, ordering them to climb up on to the platform. The band kept on playing and
the crowd howled so loud that one could hardly hear anything else. Once on the platform the
prisoners huddled together on the corner farthest away from the guillotine that looked like
the doorway to some mysterious place. It was only now that Gaston caught sight of it and the
idea flashed through his mind that the blade and cord were missing a short while ago.
Yvonne was by his side squeezing his hand so tight that it almost hurt. The substitute
Daillet tall and thin quickly climbed the steps of the platform a sheet of paper in his hand,
went up to the executioner who in his shirt sleeves rolled up, a red cap on his head was
setting the second basket for collecting the heads. The substi-> tute gave him the sheet of
paper and said something to him. Watching them, Gaston suddenly remembered that he had
left home without saying anything to anybody and was wondering what the members of his
family would do when they learned of his death. Maybe they i have already found out and are
trying to have him released. Or maybe they are among the multitude here hiding their grief
not daring to approach. He felt Yvonne's burning hand and it instantly occurred to him that
nothing mattered any more, that life for him had begun only the moment he met Yvonne.
The executioner glanced over the guillotine oncemore, then approached the group of
prisoners and called out :
"Yvonne Collignon !"
She stepped forward in a daze as if she knew not what it was all about. But one look at the
executioner and she understood and screamed with fright and threw herself into Gaston's
arms murmuring :
"I don't wanna die... I don't wanna..."
Gaston answered with quivering lips :
"Courage, now... courage..."
Gaston hugged her tight in despair. The executioner made a sign and the apprentices
rushed to part them. They snatched her out of his arms, tied her hands, turned down her
collar and dragged her to the guillotine. The prisoners took up the death song again. The
military band drowned all the sounds. The executioner pulled the cord, the shiny blade fell.
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Gaston, eyes popping, heard the thud of the knife and felt a sharp blow in his heart. He felt
faint and exhausted. He raised his head. On the balcony of the theater he saw Lebon leaning
on his elbows. Their eyes met and Gaston shuddered. It was the same look he had seen on
that wet cold night. Gaston turned his eyes away in fright. The apprentice picked up Yvonne's
head out of the small basket next to the guillotine and threw it in the larger basket nearby.
Two other apprentices took the body by the hands and legs and dragged it to the margin of
the platform, out of the way, while the executioner lifted the bloodstained blade up again.
Gaston now felt as if his heart had been emptied, as if his life had drained away leaving
him a dead body in a meaningless world. He wished to die sooner, have it all over with, catch
up with Yvonne. He stepped forward to meet the executioner who was approaching.
"Are you Gaston Duhem ?" he heard the words distinctly, Gaston made no answer. He
simply unbuttoned his coat automatically and took it off. The apprentices tied his hands
behind his back. It hurt his wrists. He found himself in the guillotine. He felt a warm dampness
on his bare neck. He thought it must be Yvonne's blood. All he could see now was the basket.
It was sprinkled with red drops of blood while on the bottom of the basket the blood clots
were turning black. He thought it was time the knife fell. Waiting annoyed him. He thought he
heard a strange sound and it occurred to him that :
"Maybe I'm not going to die, after all..."
The thought hurt him. Since Yvonne is dead there is no point in... He felt the beginning of a
sharp blow on his neck. Then the feeling vanished before it could turn into pain...

The soul lit up as it twisted out of the suffocating darkness. Consciousness freed from
thefetters of time and space now towered over the various worlds. Solitude and rays of hope
wove together into a web of waiting...

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Chapter Seven
ILEANA

The web of waiting was transparent. Palpitations of worIds tossed about on it and criss-
crossed in the essence of the soul. The soul had the brightness of an all-embracing
consciousness on the verge of salvation.
Then the web began to unravel and the soul again knew its solitude in abruptly descending
towards a supreme transformation. Consciousness kept losing its radiation mingling with the
flux of time and rolling into space.
The darkness received the spiritual spark of the soul like a seed of eternity...

Petre Novac had three professors, seven doctors and several qualified midwives
attending on his wife. He sobbed his heart out watching her toss about in pain. All was in vain.
She passed away. The doctors at least succeeded in saving the child's life.
The man s grief was boundless. For weeks on end he was haunted by thoughts of suicide.
Loss of his wife seemed to have cut away half of his soul. The death of his first wife twelve
years before, people recalled, had not affected him so badly although everybody knew that
they had got along very well together. His second wife had borne him two daughters and yet
he drove her away a year ago just out of the blue so that many people were saying that he
must be out of his mind especially when they learned that he was getting married for the third
time with a maidservant. His former wife was furious and threatened to take strong measures
against letting her daughters be deprived of their share of the inheritance. But that was as far
as she prudently went with her threats.
As for Petre Novac, he focused all his attention and affection on the newborn child. Toma
seemed to be the very embodiment of his late wife.
The child was frail. But Petre Novac doted on him. Nurses, governesses, doctors, tutors
swarmed around the child. Petre Novac kept telling everybody that if he should lose Toma no
one and nothing could stop him from committing suicide.
He passed for a very rich man. He really was. In the Fagadau district a whole street
belonged to him. All he had inherited from his parents was a saloon on the corner of the
street. But there were good times and he was lucky. He had little schooling but fortune was
on his side. He enlarged the saloon, added a grocery to it, bought the house next door, he lent
money at a high rate of interest. Fie now also owned a restaurant on Carol boulevard, a hotel
near the North Railroad Station, a soda-water works on Soseaua Viilor and a notions store on
Calea Victoriei. He lived in a palace that he had bought by chance on Transylvania street
where he also had a special building built for the central offices of the "Petre Novac
Enterprises". He was a tall husky fellow with ruddy cheeks and steely eyes that flashed with a
winning native intelligence.
He was very fond of his son. He would stop at nothing for the boy's sake : even set
Bucharest on fire. When Toma now five wandered about in the offices of the company Petre
Novac forgot all about business : it was a holiday to him.
Every evening, before prayers, Petre Novac would talk to Toma about his mother and be
moved to tears murmuring :
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 "She was a saint !... She was the only joy in my life!"
When the boy grew older he told him the whole story in detail. He was afraid that the boy
might find out from strangers and be ashamed of his mother. Petre first saw her in the yard of
a house in Toamnei street. He was just passing by. She was washing clothes, sleeves rolled
up, near the gate. She straightened her back for relief a moment, turned her eyes towards the
street and met his eyes. It was love at first sight. He went on a few steps then turned back and
approached her.
"What's your name, little girl ?"
"Florica !"
"How old are vou ?"
"Eighteen".
"Where are you from ?"
"From Valea Mare near Pitesti".
"Are you serving a master here ?"
"Yes, sir, I am."
"Would you like to work for me ?"
"I'd be very glad to !..."
While speaking to her he read a mysterious command of destiny in her eyes. He parted
with her reluctantly. All the way home he made great efforts not to turn back just to have one
more look at her. He was then fortyeight, married for a second time and had two children. He
tossed about in his bed all night long. The girl just would not leave his soul as if she had been
there since the world began. He seemed to hear a whisper telling him that this was his true
love. He resisted two days longer and on the third he made up his mind. He spent a fortune
and in seven weeks got his divorce and in seven more days Florica was his wife. His heart had
not made a mistake. Florica was an angel that had descended down on earth from heaven.
For the ten months that God had destined them to be together they knew complete
happiness. They were one soul in two bodies.
The old man's precautions had not been in vain. His two daughters from his second
marriage — both of them now of marriageable age — would come to inquire after his health to
caress their younger brother who had completed his tenth year. The child had a feeling that
they didn't love him and he kept teasing them. Whenever the old man was present they
controlled themselves and laughed with Toma. One day, however, when they were alone with
the boy and when he was unusually impertinent the younger girl burst out in hatred :
"Cut it out, you jackass !"
She added in contempt to her sister, "You can tell he's the offspring of a maidservant !"
Toma heard. He came at her, tore her dress, scratched her arms. Tears, screams. Their
father had to come and rescue her.
Soon both girls got married. Petre Novac gave them rich dowries and heaved a sigh of
relief. From now on it was only Toma he cared for. The boy was the apple of his eye.
He hired the best tutors. He fulfilled all his wishes even tried to guess the boy's
unexpressed wishes. The only thing he longed for now was to see Toma grow up to be a man.
Then he could contentedly go to the other world and join Florica forever.
This wish of his, however, was not destined to come true. One day he fell ill out of the blue.
He was sixtythree and Toma only fifteen. He said to his son :
"I'm going to die, Toma. I've never been sick but it looks like my time has come. You have
nothing to worry about and don't grieve over me. I have lived long enough and have enjoyed
earthly happiness. You are big enough now to face life !"
Before calling doctors, he sent for Costica Brebenaru, a well-to-do decent fellow and one
of his best friends although his junior by almost twenty years. Brebenaru also had a son of
Toma's age. They sat one whole afternoon behind closed doors and talked things over. That
evening Novac's lawyer came and brought a judge with him. The old man made his will
leaving all his property to his son also assigning Brebenaru as guardian to Toma until the
lafter's coming of age.
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 Then the doctors came in. They assured him that it was nothing serious and prescribed
various medicines. Petre Novac smiled unbelievingly.
He was laid up for seven days. Then the agony set in. The doctors were amazed.
"An exceptional case !" they said.
The dying man asked for Toma to be at his bedside that he might see him until he closed
his eyes forever. The boy kissed his father's hand and stood motionless at the old man's
bedside. Toma burst into tears. Brebenaru in a whisper asked him to control himself lest he
should make his father's dying more difficult. Petre Novac was breathing more and more
heavily. There was a rattling in his throat as his eyelids rose and lowered over the eyeballs
that were reflecting a colder and colder light. Then his mouth twisted and his body stiffened.
"He's dead ! God forgive him !" Brebenaru murmured as he closed Petre Novae's eyes. A
moment later the dying man heaved one more long sigh, opened his eyes wide as if he wanted
to drink in the whole wide world. There was a glint in his eye that lasted for one dreadful
moment and which to Toma seemed to be a call from another world. He burst out sobbing, fell
on his knees and glued his lips to the dead man's hand.

Brebenaru discovered a remote aged aunt to live in the parental home with Toma. Later on
he thought the situation was rather sad so he sent his son, Mihai, who was actually a close
friend of Toma's. The "Novac Enterprises" were thriving under the able management of
Brebenaru who was anxious to deserve the credit of his late friend and the gratitude of the
boy.
When they learned about the will Toma's half-sisters revolted. They quickly found lawyers
to feed fuel to their anger. They demanded an annulment of the will on the grounds that their
father was insane when he married for the third time with a maidservant and especially when
he made his will. The hearing lasted for four years and made quite a splash in the law courts
but the testament remained untouched.
By this time Toma was an undergraduate. He studied philosophy although Brebenaru had
advised him to go in for law, like his son did, in order to be able to run the enterprises he
would soon have to take over. Toma was a serious-minded young man. He hated the hustle
and bustle of lawyers and businessmen. He went to the Palace of Justice once only and was
horrified by the atmosphere he found there. He loved books. He was a vorajcious reader. He
owned a rich and select library that he kept increasing from day to day. He was haunted by
disturbing problems, questions that multiplied the moment he seemed to find an answer.
Sometimes he tried to unbosom himself to Mihai Brebenaru. No use. Mihai was self-confident.
Toma was ceaselessly troubled by the unknown which to him was a deep mystery in his heart.
As for Mihai the unknown simply did not exist. He was always easily and completely satisfied
with a formula or even one simple word while Toma endlessly searched for certainties and
discovered the same void like a threai tening abyss. As a matter of fact Mihai, boisterous and
enterprising as he was, despised what he called intellectual sentimentalism which uselessly
fuddles man's brain and leads him astray from the paths of true life.
Coming of age did not change Toma's way of life. He was aware that he could not attend
to business matters so he made an agreement with the elderly Brebenaru to have him go on
running the "Novac Enterprises"' so that he might devote himself to his studies.
He was torn between so many conflicting uncertainties that often drove him to despair.
His professor would quiet him down repeating passionately :
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 "Doubt is the goddess of philosophy !"
The professor was a middle-aged man who delighted in showing off his knowledge,
proud of his professorship. He would pass from one philosophical system to another—
through all of them— as if he were walking through an unknown apartment, from room to
room without lingering in any of them. Philosophy to him seemed to be a wonderful trade. He
urged Toma to keep on studying, assured him that he had a "philosophical mind" and
promised to have him succeed to the professorship. He would say the same things to almost
all of his students thinking to stimulate them in their studies.
Toma had a vague longing to travel as if certain that he would find something somewhere
in the world. He thought of traveling round the world and lingering on in India where he hoped
to find the key to wisdom. The thought haunted him for many months and he even began to
learn Sanskrit that he might read the Mahabharata in the original. He wanted to see the vast
fields of ruins at Delhi and discover the traces of the ancient citadel of Hastinapur and of the
legendary Indraprastha.
He took his B.A. and wanted to take things easy like other people he knew. He quit
reading. He took an interest in the Enterprise. He soon got bored stiff. He started having good
times with friends and women. His love affairs never lasted more than a couple of days. All
the women disappointed him. He yearned for a certain woman and since she didn't come his
way he thought there was no point in searching for her. Parties and sprees disgusted him. In
three years of this kind of life he was fed up with the world and, like the prodigal son, went
back to his forsaken books where he could find peace of mind.
Every now and then the thought of death occurred to him like a question that needed an
answer. Death can not be the end of ends. That would be absurd. Then why were we born !
Blind chance can not explain an unknown. On the contrary it will complicate it all the more.
There must be something beyond death just as there must have been something before birth.
The soul can not begin, neither can it end in a chance earthly life. He was fond of the
conclusion but on second thoughts he dismissed it as rather unscientific.
"He who is bom must die !" He said to himself one day and the thought made him happy
as if he had un ravelled a great mystery.
From now on every time he was troubled by uneasiness he would repeat the thought with
a satisfaction that would stifle or drive away all doubts, at least for a period.
At last he made up his mind to go abroad and contii nue his studies to acquire the true
knowledge that leads to salvation.
He spent seven years in Germany, secured his Ph. D. and was now conversant with other
systems just as he was at home in the system of his Bucharest professor. His doubts,
however, not only remained but they increased. He got them all together and wrote The
Philosophy of the Unknown. The book was well received not for the skepticism it culminated
in but because of the precision with which it set forth the question marks that limit human
reasoning.
He then went to Paris where he felt more at home. He was under the impression, from
the very beginning, that he had been there before. As a matter of fact he had had the same
impression years before when he had spent a week in Mainz.
Four years later he went to England. He was sick and tired of it in eight months and
thought of going back home. When he had made up his mind he changed his plans. He
thought of going to America and getting acquainted with the civilization of the new world and
then go on a journey round the world, a wish he had long cherished.
Two months in New York were enough. He made plans for continuing his travels for at
least two years with longer sojourns in India, Mesopotamia, Egypt, Italy. But the war in
Europe broke out and upset all his plans. So instead of going west, he turned east towards
home.
He found Mihai Brebenaru settled down to married life with three children and a vast
clientele as well as a prominent member of the bar. Old Brebenaru and his daughter-in-law
promptly started the next day to talk him into getting married.
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 "You are thirty-five now, son", the old man insisted, and it's high time you settled down !
You'll be getting older, you know, and then you won't find a girl to marry you ! Besides, I'm
seventy-two now and it won't be long before I close my eyes and I don't want to meet your
dad, God forgive him, in the other world until I can tell him that he has a grandson".
Toma argued that he first wanted to have a serious occupation.
"What do you mean serious occupation !?" Brebenaru retorted. "What better occupation
can one have than "Novac Enterprises" ? But after all, if you really want an occupation, how
about a professorship ? You've got education and diplomas galore !"
And Brebenaru immediately set to work meeting important people, friends and
acquaintances. Finally The Philosophy of the Unknown was honored with a university
professorship.
The new professor, however, did not get a chance to start his course of lectures neither
did Brebenaru live to see him married : the war broke out. Toma Novac was a reservist
officer. Brebenaru tried to save him from the front as he had done for his own son, Mihai.
Toma categorically refused. He was dead set on doing his duty to the full.

Toma Novac came back home from the war with a light wound and several medals. But
old Brebenaru had passed away in the third month of the war with regret that he had not lived
to see Toma married. He had loved the boy like his own son. Mihai had remained in the
occupied territory and had taken care of his friend's property to the best of his ability.
The war had revived Toma's childhood beliefs. God and the angels who had once adorned
his dreams and who had been driven out by the rigors of science now again held an important
place in his soul and brought consolation from the very moment he had to face the danger of
death. He would cross himself and pray to God for help before each battle started. He would
do it with so much faith that the fear in his heart melted away and a new fervor took its place.
When the danger was over skepticism came back. He was even ashamed of himself, a
philosopher of all people, that he should seek consolation in God disregarding the truths of
science. He found comfort in the thought that others have felt the same and that could be
explained by the laws of herd psychology.
Brebenaru's wife thought it a sacred duty in memory of her father-in-law to keep coaxing
Toma to get married.
"You must! You must ! You must!"
At long last he also said to himself that he must.
He was now forty. He looked younger. His black sleek hair didn't have a single trace of
gray. His large dark weary eyes frequently flashed flames that seemed to spring from a fire
that had long been smoldering. He grew a toothbrush mustache. He was tall, slim and
somewhat shy which quite suited him.
Mrs. Brebenaru hoped that she might have another child and wished to name him after
Toma on condition that he get married by then. She offered to find him a bride after his own
heart. She introduced him to all the families that had girls of marriageable age. Toma kept
hesitating although he was aware that he must get it over with one day. When Mrs. Brebenaru
ran out of acquaintances Toma confessed that he would rather marry a Transylvanian .
Suspecting foul play Mrs. Brebenaru fervently spoke in defense of the Bucharest girls among
whom there were modest, honest and decent girls, delightful ones who would make good
housewives. Toma could not be persuaded to change his mind. Then the ambitious wife
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ordered Brebenaru to help. Among friends and clients he discovered good girls in all parts of
Transylvania from Sighetul Marmatiei to Timisoara and from Oradea to Brasov. In vain.
Every time they came back from one of these trips Mrs. Brebenaru would reproach Toma
with the words :
"I wish you told us quite frankly that you just don't want to get married rather than have
poor Mihai on the road all the time !"
"But I do want to get married but I can't hitch myself up to somebody I don't like !" was
Toma's invariable answer with a smile that the zealous lady could never make out whether it
was ironical or sorrowful.
Finally Mrs. Brebenaru could no longer wait. The child was born. Toma offered to act as
godfather. Mrs. Brebenaru refused thus showing how a woman can keep her word. In order
to make peace with the angry mother he gave the child on his baptism a lot on Carol
Boulevard.
The mother was very much impressed and wept for joy thinking the lot was worth almost half
a million which, however, did not mean much to Toma. She accepted the gift and to show her
willingness to let bygones be bygones she promised to have him as godfather to the
next child God would give her.
The baptism was held in great splendor. Toma blundered again by coming very late to the
party. And she had had a surprise in store for him : the child was to be named after him.
"That's just like you, fond of teasing me !" Mrs. Brebenaru chided him several times during
the evening.
Toma apologized saying he had had a lecture to deliver at the university but he didn't mind
her scolding. What he was really interested in was the acquaintance he had struck up with
Tudor Aleman. In Aleman's flashing eyes and even in his speech, although everything he said
was sheer artlessness, Toma discovered something out of the ordinary.
After parting with the strange old man, Toma thought that he had overestimated him. He
was sorry he was so quick to accept his invitation. What can a man who rolls his eyes and
spouts mysterious things about God like a monk thirsting for miracles say of special
importance ? He might make a fool of himself if his colleagues heard that he had been lured
by some wretched sectarian or fanatic. Yet he had four days to think it over but tomorrow he
would write to him just a couple of polite words saying that he could not keep the
appointment. Next day he was lazy : "I won't write but I just won't go".
Afterwards he said to himself that by not keeping the appointment he admitted his fear or
rather his inferiority to a man who bragged that he truly understood the mysteries of the
world. The man may be some simple sectarian or he might be a wise man whose experience
of life has revealed new horizons. One conviction is worth two doubts. The thinking man has
no reason to be scared of an idea no matter how strange it may be.
He hesitated till the last moment and then went.
Aleman set forth a construction in which he found the explanation to all the secrets of the
unknown. Toma listened intently but did not understand. Once outside in the street, it seemed
that he had been dreaming, that Tudor Aleman was but a figment of his imagination although
only a short while ago they had said good-bye to each other.
The feeling annoyed him. Everything Aleman had said to him seemed to have been long
dormant in the innermost recesses of his soul and the old man had stirred his own thoughts
up.
He went straight to Brebenaru's. He had to lind out for certain who this Tudor Aleman
was after all. The lawyer smiled :
"Are you interested in Aleman ? I saw you talking with him at the baptismal party ; I even
called my wife's attention. It looked as if the two of you had been acquainted for a long time !
First of all he's a very decent fellow, belongs to a good family and has many connections. He
is welcomed everywhere. He was a friend of my father's and used to visit with us every now
and then. I'm sure he was also acquainted with your father. Just ask him! For a long time he
taught at the Lazar lycee. He was there when we went to school but since you were privately
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tutored you didn't get to know all our teachers. I can hardly believe that you haven't heard of
Aleman. Maybe you've forgotten. He was loved and held in high esteem by all the students. He
was gentle and very well read. I think he taught philosophy or something like that. He must be
over sixty... that's right... he certainly is over sixty... I've heard that he had many misfortunes
and had a lot to suffer. He was married about three times and, if I'm not mistaken, did not find
happiness in married life for none of his wives died a natural death. There's a lot of gossip
about him. Delicate things that a stranger has no business sticking his nose into. At any rate,
it seems that Aleman's sufferings have steeled him and have increased his belief in life or in
God, I can't say for certain, because I'm not interested in things of that kind. Maybe when I
grow older. There are many serious-minded people who consider him an apostle and
fanatically believe in his teaching although he is stingy and won't share his wisdom with
anybody except those he finds capable of understanding and eager to do so. It is clear that he
has taken to you since he invited you to his place. No wonder ! Intellectual sentimentalism has
been your weakness ever since childhood !"

Toma Novac didn't want to think of Aleman and his childish ideas got together in an
apparently serious system. Yet he kept thinking of the old man and found more and more
cracks and gaps in his system.
"It s just a wild play of his imagination and nothing more , he finally said to himself. "The
whole construction is a will-o'-the wisp since there's no way to test it.
When he thought he was through with the whole thing new objections arose, only
objections. If one presupposes the existence of a spiritual world and of a material world that
mysteriously merge, as Aleman says, and if one assumes that the creation of the human soul
is the simple transformation of a spiritual principle demanded by the essence of eternity one
question yet remains to be answered : why seven earthly lives, why seven ? Why not fewer or
more lives ? Just by declaring seven a sacred or mysterious number does not resolve
anything.
Then one day, armed with devastating arguments, he unexpectedly knocked at Aleman 's
door. The old man seemed to know why he had come and promptly said :
"Doubt is good but you must take it easy ! Let's not forget that doubt is always the
beginning of negation and negation means destruction. Faith alone strengthens the soul and
opens it to eternal truths !"
"Then blessed are the meek-spirited for they are full of faith and stupidity ! Toma retorted
without concealing a scornful disappointment.
“ Yes, professor ! That's right ! Blessed I Do you think that he who knows more
necessarily understands more ? Or that knowledge means happiness ? You are badly
mistaken ! What has the progress of science to do with the soul of man ? Have all the
discoveries and inventions made for the true happiness of man ? Have they in any way
prepared him for passing into the unknown ? And do you think that there would be more
happiness in the world if by some miracle all men were to become philosophers like you or
scholars like, say, your colleagues at the universtiy ?"
Toma Novac smiled indulgently :
"You mean back to the caves !"

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 "Come on, cut out the irony", Aleman followed up quieting down. "It may not be a crime
to disbelieve in the infallibility of science when science itself admits its impossibility to
penetrate into the regions where the soul needs its support."
Toma was not interested in the old man's argumentation. He had long ago resolved
problems of this kind. Yet he listened not wishing to hurt his feelings by assuming an air of
impatient superiority. As a matter of fact Aleman spoke with such passion that he actually
enjoyed listening to him. It was only when Aleman tried to change the subject that Toma
interrupted :
"You are satisfied with the solution you have found. That may be so. But your solution is
useless so long as it can not give others the same satisfaction. Any religion offers its
believers at least some general reasons that can explain salvation one way or another and
that can be convincing. Or is your solution so esoteric that it must remain inaccessible to the
many ?"
Tudor Aleman hesitated for a couple of moments and then spoke with a coldness that
was almost repulsive :
"My solution, as you ironically keep calling it, was born of suffering of the soul and it
speaks to the soul alone. Scholars may call it naivete, like you do, or even worse. But
whoever wishes to penetrate it may find consolation in it. Life is not in vain. The soul is
prepared to endure all suffering because it eternally yearns for and cherishes the hope that it
will meet its true love, its spiritual true match. Death itself becomes an accident in the true life
of the soul and can no longer horrify the man who believes in rebirth and in eternity in the
other world at the end of earthly life!"
Toma realized that he had hurt the old man's feelings.
He was sorry. Aleman protested. They changed the subject. Toma spoke about his doubts
that turned him, the son of a prosperous business man, into a professor deeply concerned
with speculations destined to remain more or less sterile.
"Poor father, I'm sure he'd be thunderstruck to see his son thinking about other worlds
instead of being interested in the "Novac Enterprises !" Toma added.
"That's where you're mistaken !" Aleman shouted. "I knew your father. Not very well, it's
true, but he certainly was not unresponsive to problems of the soul, as you imagine !"
Then they started to speak about Petre Novac's death. Aleman remembered that he had
had a magnificent funeral. Toma told him how his father fell ill, how he felt his end drawing
near. He spoke of the old man's last moments, and above all the flash in his eyes the moment
he gave up the ghost. Tudor Aleman suddenly turned red in the face, jumped to his feet and
with unusual gravity declared :
"There you are, professor, that was verification !"
Toma Novac looked at him in bewilderment. The old man's gravity seemed ridiculous.
"What do you mean, verification ?", he murmured after a pause.
"Didn't you ask for verification ?" Aleman answered gravely. "Well, you experienced one
yourself and you didn't understand it : the flash you said you saw in your father's eyes the
moment he died !" He went on explaining. "The seventh earthly life is the end of the material
journey of the soul. In the seventh life the man must meet the woman who is the embodiment
of his other spiritual half and must necessarily become one with her. The material fruit of this
union will also be a soul that begins a seventh material existence. The death that ends the last
earthly life, however, is the great salvation of the soul. That is why the moment the material
shell is shuffled off the soul acquires pure all-embracing consciousness'' which rising above
time and space may simultaneously contemplate all its lives outside the spiritual world.
Contemplation is the prelude to eternity and is manifest in the eyes of the dying man as an
incomparable flash of lightning. That is the culmination of earthly life in the revelation of
eternal happiness".
"You told me that last time" — Toma said, goodhumoredly — "but I didn't know you
wanted to apply it all to me and my father".
Toma's disbelief hurt Aleman. He reproached the younger man winding up with :
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 "There's one thing I'm awfully sorry about, that is, I'm too old and shall die before you. I'm
certain that the flash you saw in your father's eyes the moment he was dying will appear in
your eyes as well when you die !"
"Death does not demand an age certificate. So who knows ? You may have the chance to
test your theory on me !" Toma rejoined.
He was getting ready to go now feeling more cheerful as if Aleman's explanation, by its
very extravagance, had driven serious thoughts away. As he was shaking Aleman's hand he
could not help asking again :
"After all, why seven, Mr. Aleman ?... Why the sacred number ?"
"Do you think the number has any special importance ?" the old man answered in a
steady voice. "I think it's seven because seven has been considered sacred in all times, by all
peoples and on all occasions. Isn't that enough for you ? You are not obliged to accept it.
Adopt whichever number you like ! It's not the number that matters it's the principle. The
number can be tested only by the man himself as he parts with all the other human beings
forever. The principle can, however, be verified by the light you yourself saw and which upset
you since you remember it so vividly and now out off sheer vanity you feel like ridiculing it.
That's it, professor! And good-bye !"
As he was leaving, Toma Novae admitted to himself that Aleman was right. He was even
ashamed that he had brought up such ridiculous objections when he might have refuted the
very foundation of the fantastic construction which a philosopher like himself should not even
waste his time listening to. Then, again, he said to himself, his interest in Aleman is itself
ridiculous and he made up his mind to break with him and turn to his usual occupations.
Nevertheless in his mind he kept on arguing with the old man and discovered a question
that urged him to call on him again :
"There is something else Mr. Aleman... Something you haven't told me yet. It seems that
you've forgotten it or maybe you are in the dark about it yourself. What happens to a man's
soul between the end of one life and the beginning of another, that is, between past death
and future birth ?"
Tudor Aleman seemed to have long been expecting the question and was ready with a
very detailed explanation : the plane of the material world, the plane of the spiritual world, the
intermediary stage... Toma lost patience.
"Planes, stages, nothing but planes and stages ! But where do you find the certitude that
your planes exist ? One word explains another word..."
"There is, of course, no such thing as certitude !" the old man answered quietly. "Not
even on the plane of the material world we are living in now I Are you sure of your own
existence ? The only proof we have of our own existence lies in our senses. But do they reveal
reality when the very stuff they are made of is questionable, since its very essence is energy,
that is, a word, that is, nothing ? The ideas that spring from our soul have a more real
existence for they arise from a spiritual essence. They do not need tangible proof because
one can not prove spirituality through materiality. They prove their own reality through their
spontaneousness".
"Spontaneousness, that's exactly what it is not !" Toma Novac interrupted. "No idea can
come into existence unless there's a brain first, that is, matter".
"Do you believe that ideas can't have an independent existence of their own, without
depending on a brain ?" Aleman quickly asked.
"Then why do we need a soul ? Then there would be a perfect identity between soul and
idea!"
"Wouldn't that be a more realistic explanation of the complexity of the soul ?" the old
man cheerfully rejoined. "Just imagine, just think : let the initial cell be the shell imprisoning
an idea. The more the material body develops, the more the idea grows, it becomes more
complex, it branches out until it regains consciousness of its own independent existence or
until it rises again to the level of the pure idea it was before its merging with matter. Isn't that
possible ? Do materialistic explanations seem more plausible when they meet with any
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difficulty they simply dismiss it with a shrug of the shoulders, just as you are doing now, or
with a magic word : subconsciousness, ego, transformations ?"
Toma couldn't help retorting :
"All right, but don't you realize that by ridiculing science, which operates with concepts,
you still keep demonstrating your wisdom with the help of words, that your entire
construction is in reality nothing but a castle built out of words ?
Aleman reddened as if slapped on the face. He fell silent. After a while he said :
"If you think of my ideas in terms of words then all our discussion was in vain and I'm
sorry we've both wasted our time !"
Theirs was a cold parting that day.
No hard feelings, though, so far as Toma Novac was concerned. But he thought it was
time he stopped fooling around with the phantasmagoria of an idle old man. It was actually
humiliating for a professor of philosophy. After all he had nothing to be sorry about since he
had been very kind to him. He had listened to him and had tried to convince him without
offending him. But fanatics are self-centered and that's all there is to it.
Some days later, however, Aleman dropped by to see him. He looked repentant. Toma
was moved and thought he had been hard on the old man.
"Let's not talk about things that !..." Aleman murmured with an upward glance leaving his
remark unfinished.
And yet they kept on talking and talking. They quarrelled, they made up, started
quarrelling all over time and again. They got together more and more often. They were
friends. Aleman told Toma how he had come to believe what he had always despised. He
often wept and could start all over again.
"That means your solution doesn't bring happiness to man !" Toma said triumphantly.
"No, it doesn't bring happiness, but it at least brings consolation!" The old man retorted.
"If I haven't been able to find happiness in this life I am at any rate certain that I'll find
happiness in a future life. If one acknowledges and weeps over a frustrated accidental life it
means that one has confidence in Divine Providence ! In any case death has no power over
me and I can face it without fear !"
Toma Novac spoke to Aleman about the unrest of his youth, about the journeys he had
made and the journeys he had planned. Here again Aleman discovered possibilities of
verification.
"You wished to travel through India, Mesopotamia, Egypt, Italy... Of course you did
because you spent some of your earlier lives in these places ! So what's strange about that ?"
"You find fantastic proofs for your system in everything !" Toma smiled. "I actually wanted
to know certain countries because I was interested in them and I was interested in them
because I had read about them, about their past more than about other countries !"
"All right, all right, but just think : why did you read more about these countries than
about others ?"
"It just happened so, first of all, and then because science has so far dealt more closely
with the pyramids in Egypt than with the Mexican ones at Teotihuacan, for instance !"
They, of course, just couldn't reach an agreement. As a matter of fact, when Aleman ran
out of arguments he would more and more predict that Toma would find it all out in the
moment of his death and of supreme verification. Toma thought the verification would come
rather late but for the sake of harmony he would give in and even promised that he would then
certainly remember Aleman's system. They then both laughed and made up.
Spring came. Toma Novae seemed to grow younger. He had an itch to roam about town.
All day long he would wander up and down streets everywhere like a tramp. And he always
had the feeling that he must meet someone and sometimes he cheerfully thought : "Maybe I'll
find myself a bride and make Mrs. Brebenaru happy."
One morning in early May he went out. He was to meet some colleagues of his at the
university. He set out one hour earlier so that he might have time for a walk. His heart was
beating with joy.
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 “I feel as if I'm having a date", he said to himself as he reached Calea Victoriei. "And I'm
in for nothing but dull discussions."
In the palace square he had a strange feeling that made him start. On the opposite
sidewalk he caught sight of an unknown woman arm-in-arm with an unknown man. He could
only see her back and yet felt that he knew her. He quickened his steps, crossed the street
and followed the unknown couple. He was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of shame that
just as quickly vanished:
"I'm acting like a child... Where's my dignity ?"
That very moment as if on purpose because she must have felt his presence the woman
stopped the man and turned back for a quick look in a store window.
Toma now had a better look at her. She was wearing a white dress and a white hat. Her
shapely breasts trembled as of an unexpected joy. Her blond curls caressed her cheeks. She
was smiling. But she was looking right and left as if searching for someone. Toma knew that
he was the one she was searching for. Apathetic people jostled against one another in
between them. Yet their eyes met. Her eyes were large and green with, a soft embracing
mysterious glint. He was thrilled to the inner recesses of his soul as if he had discovered a
world which he had been groping about in the dark for. There was a shadow of surprise on
her face. It was the sign that she had experienced the same revelation.
Their eyes had met for less than a second. The woman and the man came closer. Toma
unwittingly stopped at the same store window next to her. He heard her sweet velvety
trembling voice. She was speaking a foreign language. The man answered in a hoarse
apathetic voice. He was tall, stalwart, clean shaven and gentle. Toma hated him. The man and
woman moved on. Toma lingered on for a while then followed them. The crowd on the
sidewalk was getting thicker and thicker so that he had to elbow his way to keep up with
them. Every now and then he caught sight of her slim figure swaying her hips tantalizingly. He
dared not come too close to her. He was afraid he might make a fool of himself. He even
thought of snatching her away from the man's arm whatever the risk. He controlled himself
thinking : "Still, I know her from somewhere... I've met her before..."
He found himself near them again. He just had to gaze on her. He felt like overtaking
them and then turning back to have another look. Suddenly he heard a voice a few steps off.
"Mr. Novac!... Toma.,. O my God ! Don't you recognize your friends any more ?"
It was Mrs. Brebenaru noisy and excited. She had just come out of a store. Hearing her,
Toma stopped dead but turned to have one more glance at the unknown woman in whose
eyes he found the same warmth but now with a touch of sadness.
"I'm afraid you're somewhat of a playboy !" Mrs. Brebenaru chided seeing him glance at
the woman. "And me doing my darnedest to get you married. So that's it. Fooling around with
women, are you ? How deceptive appearances can be ! I thought you as innocent as a new-
born baby ! But I caught you this time ! And now do me the favor of escorting me to..."
Toma was on needles and pins. He smiled apologetically explaining that he was already
late for a lecture.
"Then go, go your way!" she condescended. "It may be a lecture or it may be a woman.
You have my permission to go. Don't say that I..."
He kissed her hand perfunctorily, cursing in his mind the moment he had first met her. He
ran to the corner of the street anxiously looked right and left, everywhere... People jostling
against one another laughing noisily, cheerfully always different people and yet it seemed
always the same. In their midst Toma Novac, eyes bulging with fright, felt like a shipwrecked
sailor gradually losing all hope of being saved. He rushed to the Boulevard ran up and down,
then back again to Galea Victoriei and back again to the same place in utter despair. Until
late at night he kept walking up and down the streets. He was exhausted when he got home
and burst into sobbing. He thought he had lost his heart.

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5

One whole day long he was tormented by a mysterious pain. He tried to calm his soul
down by all sorts of tricks. It was just one woman like thousands of other women. She
vanished from sight, did she ? She'll come his way again just like she did this time. There is no
other woman like her in the world. Was she beautiful ? There are many others much more
beautiful. All he had to do was take his choice. But the mystery in her eyes !
Next day, early in the morning, Aleman came over to see him. He seemed to suspect
something. Toma welcomed him warmly, wept and confessed his despair. He was
overwhelmed by the mystery of love. The old man rubbed his hands in delight and started to
explain that maybe it was the very woman he must meet in one of his seven lives.
"Mr. Aleman", Toma burst out in anguish, "Please for goodness' sake, quit bugging, me
with your lives! Leave me alone ! Believe me ! What lives ! I love her, understand ? She's the
only woman I have ever loved, she's...
"That's exactly what I was saying !" Aleman retorted unperturbed. "She's your divine
half..."
"I must find her", Toma vowed, "even if I have to search through all the houses in
Bucharest!"
For two days Toma did nothing but moan and groan. Aleman came over to comfort him
and took advantage of the situation to fit the alluring unknown woman into the network of his
world outlook and make her appearance and disappearance elements to support his view.
Toma quieted down as soon as the old man's words gave him hope that he would meet her
again. Then he began to ask questions that filled Aleman with joy for in them he felt at long
last the beginning of belief.
"Obviously, there must be an evolution in the soul’s passage through the seven lives !"
the old man blurted out in excitement. "The evolution, of course does not follow the laws of
human logic. It operates according to the divine laws which our minds can rarely understand.
So that the different lives actually constitute only one life with all its ups and downs, joys and
sorrows directed towards the same supreme yearning. That is why over the centuries and
milleniums that separate, in time and space, the earthly lives of the same soul, memories take
shape in man's heart. Strange reminiscences suddenly arise, vague yearnings, strange
dreams, inexplicable hates — all of them proving our earlier lives. The hardships and
suffering of an earlier life leave their imprint on a later life. A deep affliction in life necessarily
affects the character in a future life..."
Toma Novae realized that moping about in the house and daydreaming wouldn't get him
anywhere. .Maybe if he had gone the next day on the same street he might
have met her!
So he went to Sarindar square stood in front of a store window lying in wait among idle
sleek young, flirting with loose women tirelessly displaying their make-up and lowcut
necklines on the sidewalk teeming with people. Every time he caught sight of a white hat he
started. He was the last to leave the square though he had been the first to come.
Six days had gone by since he lost her. He came home at night in low spirits. Waiting for
her in the same place now seemed to him a childish thing. How could he ever have expected
her to appear on Galea Victoriei at a fixed time like any working girl ? She passed by once.
That's true. But that was just an accident. Who knows when she will pass by again ? He would
have to stand in front of the store window from morning till night to get another chance of
seeing her. Or maybe she went away.
He went to bed late that night and instantly fell asleep. She appeared in his dreams, she
alone, in different images as a temptation and then vanish when he was just about to catch
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her. He ran after her in unknown countries, in strange epochs, he was once an Indian
cowherd, then a great Egyptian official, next a writer in a Babylonian temple, or a Roman
cavalier, a medieval monk, a provincial revolutionary... And she appeared time and time again
calling him, luring him.
"That's what comes from listening to Aleman's wild fantasies", he thought on waking up.
Yet in his heart he felt her image more vivid as if the dreams had carried him through worlds
that were real.
Although he no longer saw any point in waiting for her in the same place, he went there
again thinking it was the only thing he could do until he could find a better way to meet her.
This time, however, he went earlier. He stood there waiting. As the afternoon wore on he
began to lose patience. Night was falling. The crowd was thinning. He made up his mind to
leave and never come back to this cursed square again. Yet he lingered on. Then, without
thinking why, he made for the street corner. All of a sudden she appeared and was so close
to him that he could touch her dress. He stopped thunderstruck. He met her eyes in which he
clearly saw a glint of joy. She was by the same stranger's side arm in arm. At the edge of the
sidewalk they slowed down and waited for some cars to pass by then they quickly crossed
Calea Victoriei and walked down the Boulevard. Toma Novac came to himself and followed
them seized by a happiness that made his blood boil. He followed them but not too closely lest
they should notice him never taking his eyes off them. They entered a restaurant. Toma paced
up and down in front of the restaurant door and fearing they might go out by some back door
rushed in filled with despair. He looked around, saw them. He found a small table near to
them and sat down looking at her out of the corner of his eye. She looked at him in
wonderment and satisfaction. A waiter brought him the menu.
"Give me whatever you want, anything. It makes no difference !" The waiter insisted.
Toma waved him away. The waiter brought various kinds of food. Toma hardly touched it. The
only thing he could see was the woman though he didn't turn his eyes in her direction.
Suddenly he felt that the two had risen and were about to leave. He was terrified. In a hoarse
voice he called out :
"Waiter my check !... Quick, quick !"
"Yes, sir !" answered the waiter calmly making out the bill.
Toma saw the man and the woman making for the door. He met her eyes. He was at a
complete loss. He had no small change. He flung a thousand lei bill on the table and ran out
mumbling :
"Keep the change !"
The waiter bowed low happily thanking him. He thought the man was insane.
Outside in the street, Toma calmed down. They were talking to a taxi driver who
wouldn't even look at them, so they set out on foot. Toma blessed the driver's indolence.
From the Boulevard the man and the woman turned , down Batiste street then through
some quiet narrow passages. Toma followed them on the opposite sidewalk sometimes
listening to the echoes of their footsteps. They disappeared into another street. Toma ran to
the corner.
They had stopped in front of a house. Toma tiptoed closer. He heard the grating of a key
in a lock and then the bang of an iron gate.
Just across the street there was a grocery with a bar. Toma went over determined to
find out who the people were that had just entered. Two windows were suddenly lighted. He
saw her taking off her hat smiling, then she came over to the window to pull down the blind.
Her arm, as it rose and lowered, seemed to be making a sign to Toma whom she must have
felt waiting in the dark. The yellowish light yet filtered through the drawn curtains for about
half an hour and then went out.
Toma Novac had first thought of keeping watch all night lest he should lose her again. But
when he saw the lights go out he realized that there was no point in doing such a thing since
now he knew where she lived. On second thoughts he considered it much wiser to go home
and come back early in the morning after a good night's sleep. He knew the house, the two
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windows facing the street, the wrought-iron gate, the small; yard. On the corner there was
the lamppost and the street sign : Strada Alba.
Next morning Toma Novae was the first customer in the grocery bar on strada Alba. He
sat near the window to keep an eye on the house across the street and see what happens. He
bought things that he never dreamed of buying. He drank several glasses of sour wine
swallowed a couple of snacks left over from yesterday. He had to justify his sitting in the store
so long!
At long last around ten o'clock the' gate opened. The stranger with a straw hat and a cane
emerged. Toma recognized him and got scared. He had not as yet decided what to do
although he had had time enough to make up his mind. He saw the stranger make for the
street corner where he had come from last night. Across the street the blind of one of the
windows was rising. He could, however, see no one.
Toma rose. He paid the bill. His hands were trembling. He then darted out of the store as
if he had been late for an appointment. He made a few steps on the sidewalk then hesitated.
At last he crossed the street, went through the iron gate climbed up the steps and knocked at
the door. That very moment the door opened as if he had long been waited for and there had
been no need to knock. He found himself in a rather dark hall. Behind him, he heard a key turn
twice but didn't turn to look. He felt that she was the woman he had always yearned for but
did not dare look at her. The rustling of a silken gown and the discreet scent of verbena filled
the air.
Toma recognized the room he was now in as the one he had seen from outside. Then all
his thoughts melted away as he stood facing her his soul a complete vacuum. He gazed at her
for she was all that he could see as if the whole world had vanished. She stood erect leaning
against the back of an armchair in bewilderment grasping with bare arms crossed the gown
she held in front of her for fear that it might slip off. Sun-rays enfolded her in a violet aureole.
Iier white breast throbbed with excitement.
They looked into each other's eyes. Their eyes spoke. The long wait, yearning, despair,
age-old joys rose in their souls brightening their happiness. They realized they had known
each other from the beginning of beginnings for eternity.
"It's you !" her lips murmured in a voice as sweet as a drop of honey.
"It's you !" Toma whispered in a voice choking with emotion as if speaking from another
world.
She then stretched out her arms eager to embrace him. Her gown slipped off her
rounded shoulders caressing her body like a prolonged kiss. Toma Novac put his arms round
her waist. She put her warm arms round his neck.

"Ileana !... Ileana !... Toma murmured in painful happiness.

They had learned each other's names only after their tempestuous embrace had joined
them into one single soul. They told each other the story of their lives each story being
interrupted by kisses that expressed more than all the words conceived by the human mind.
Ileana was twenty-four and had for six years been married to Stefan Alexandrovich
Poplinsky. She confessed that she had married him for love and he was the only man she had
loved until she caught sight of Toma the other day. Stefan had been an officer in the imperial
guards and aide-de-camp to the czar during the war. He had owned large estates in the
western Ukraine and was the sole descendant of a noble family of Polish descent. They got
married in the second year of the war, in Moscow where Ileana, an orphan, was living with
rich Moldavian relatives. When the revolution broke out their troubles began. Poplinsky was
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constantly in danger of losing his life. At last, when the Bolsheviks came to power they had to
flee the country. They stopped in Berlin. Lived there only God knows how. All that remained of
their property was the jewelry. Step by step waiting for better times the necklaces, rings, and
bracelets went. They lost all hope. Then they decided to come to Romania. Ileana had been
bom in Bassarabia. The parental estate in the Balti county was her dowry. Although her father
was a high official, they spoke Moldavian at home. If she could possibly save at least a part of
the parental land, they would have nothing to worry about. They had come to Bucharest to
inquire about the estate. They thought of settling down here especially if she was lucky
enough to recover her property.
They had now been in Bucharest for two months and had not been able to set things
straight. The estate had been divided among the peasants, excepting the mansion and some
dozens of hectares around it. Poplinsky had some connections with Russian emigres but to
no avail. He spoke only Russian and German and it was difficult to make himself understood
although he made friends easily. He should have rushed to Kishinev, to the parental estate
itself and do something about it. But he came up against money difficulties and did not want
to leave Ileana alone. They were now living a tolerably modest life. They had no servants. She
did all the house work in the furnished apartment.
Toma offered to help.
Ileana asked him to first get acquainted with Poplinsky. Toma refused and said he hated
the man. She insisted :
"You will make friends, you'll see. He has a heart of gold."
She made out a plan how to get the two men acquainted without arousing suspicion.
Toma was adamant. It was beneath his dignity to do such a thing. He was concerned about
how to snatch her out of his arms not how to get into his good graces.
After all he had to go home. When he got home it occurred to him that he hadn't even
agreed with Ileana as to a future date. Being away from her tormented him. He felt like going
back and facing Poplinsky.
That evening he could not control himself. He went to the restaurant on the Boulevard. He
entered only after he made sure that Ileana and Poplinsky were inside. He met her eyes
inviting him. He went to their table introduced himself and asked permission to join them. Her
plan had succeeded.
Poplinsky was truly a nice fellow. They talked in German but Ileana found it hard to
understand. He spoke Romanian to her. They laughed. Toma invited them over to his place to
have lunch. Poplinsky gladly accepted the invitation confessing quite frankly that he was
happy to get away from the restaurant at least for one day.
They made friends as Ileana had predicted. They frequently visited each other. The
closer their friendship became the more Toma lost hope. He could hardly get a chance to see
Ileana alone. He had to go around with Poplinsky to ministries and meet lawyers. Whenever
he complained she would smile and whisper : "Never mind, Toma, have patience..."
Her voice was soft and made the Moldavian words sweeter. Toma was like a dog that
softened when he looked into the eyes of his mistress.
At length after five weeks Toma insisted on her leaving Poplinsky. She was moved to
tears. She confessed that she didn't have the courage to walk out on him now at a time when
he was so miserable. Poplinsky might commit suicide or might even kill her first. He was kind
and gentle but who knows what he would do in a state of hopelessness ?
Toma lived through the same torment he had known when he had lost her for the first
time. Doubt gnawed at his heart. If that's the way she felt about Poplinsky it meant that she
had the same feelings for both men. Then his belief in an extraordinary love was nothing but a
morbid imagination.
Some days later, however, he found Ileana cheerful and in high spirits.
"Toma, I'm going to leave Poplinsky now ! I must walk out on him now. I'm sorry it will
make him suffer but I can't help it !"

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 Toma was mad with joy. He wanted her to move into his own house at once and he would
arrange things with Poplinsky. He didn't care about the scandal if there would be one ! Ileana
calmed him down with words that made him happy :
"You mustn't do anything rash for our child's sake..."
Toma had kept his love secret so far. He didn't even tell Aleman. But now his soul was so
full of pride that he couldn't keep the secret any longer. The old man was not in the least
surprised. He had suspected it all along since he no longer spoke about finding his true love.
"If she is really your true match, it means that you have fulfilled your divine destiny !"
Aleman declared with tears in his eyes. "Your happiness is true happiness !"
Toma laughed and patted him on the shoulder :
"There you go again ! The same old system ! Your eternal system ! You're an incurable
romantic, Mr. Aleman !"
"Happiness itself can't even convince you ?" the old man seriously asked.
"Convince me ?" Toma wondered. "So you imagine that a happy man must necessarily
think of death ? You're talking like a hearse driver, my dear friend !"
"So then in spite of all the proofs, you don't believe ?"
“I do. I believe everything you want me to !" Toma Novac cried out suddenly his face
brightening up. "Because I want to please you. I want you to be happy too. I want everybody
to be happy ! Love is the mystery of mysteries, Mr. Aleman !"
Poplinsky had to make a trip to Kishinev. All they had to do was set the date. Toma's plan
was made, it had been worked out by Ileana. As soon as Poplinsky left for Kishinev, Toma and
Ileana would go abroad for a period until Poplinsky accepted the situation.
They finally decided : Poplinsky will leave on the evening of July 6. There were three days
to go. Toma Novac got the passports. He was bubbling over with excitement. One thing was
worrying Ileana : suppose Poplinsky insists on her going with him to Kishinev?
On the eve of Poplinsky's departure the three of them consulted together. Poplinsky
seemed to be gloomy and there were strange flashes in his eyes. He complained that
expenses would be high but was confident that all would be well.
Toma discreetly offered him a loan until things were settled. Ileana protested but
Poplinsky accepted with a bitter smile :
"An emigre may borrow from friends. Or else he must perish."
He took a long searching look at Toma. With downcast eyes Toma quickly answered that
between friends there was no room for mistrust or shyness and that he was happy to do such
a small favor to Poplinsky who was a charming fellow...
"Charming, indeed !" Poplinsky mumbled gloomily.
Ileana was now waiting for the question she was afraid he would ask. Poplinsky asked if
she would go with him. He asked in such a soft and unconvincing voice that it was clear he
himself did not really mean it. She explained that she wasn't feeling quite well, that a long
journey would make her feel worse. Poplinsky instantly agreed and insisted no longer. Toma
was scared by the throbbing of his heart, he bit his lips to control his joy.
Then Poplinsky remembered that he couldn't go on a journey without a gun. From
Kishinev he would have to go to the estate at Ralti. How could he go around unarmed ? Toma
thought that was a pretext not to go and thus upset their plans. He agreed and said he had
guns at home.
"I'd be glad to bring you a good revolver", he said rubbing his hands confusedly. "As a
matter of fact I was thinking of seeing you off..."
Poplinsky thanked him, shook his hand and embraced him:
"You are a true friend!”
Toma actually had no firearms at home except an old broken German rifle that he kept as
a souvenir of the war. He quickly ran out to buy a revolver. He patted himself on the back for
thinking of seeing him to the station to make sure he was off.
He came back earlier next day. Ileana was packing her husband's suitcase and was
weeping. Toma wanted to show Poplinsky how to handle the revolver.
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 "Thank you... I know how!” the emigre laughed "we're old friends !"
Time for departure was drawing near. Ileana threw herself in Poplinsky's arms sobbing as
if begging forgiveness. Poplinsky was moved, hugged her tight mumbling :
"Ileana, Ileana... Be good !... I'm not going far away... After all you're no longer alone..."
Toma felt it his duty to mumble :
"If Mrs. Poplinsky allows me, I’ll drop by now and then..."
"Please do. I beg you to !" said Poplinsky without looking at him while stroking his wife's
back.
Then the two men left. Ileana standing in the doorway waved her hand and called out
gently
"Don’t be long, Sasha! Come back right away !”
"All right, all right... I'll be right back!" Poplinsky answered.
Night was falling. It was dark when they reached the station. The train was crowded.
Poplinsky could hardly find standing room in the corridor :
"It doesn't matter. I can stand all the way if I have to".
The two men embraced and kissed each other on their cheeks. Toma stood on the
platform until the train vanished from sight. Then he was seized by remorse. He felt
humiliated and mean. He felt he was playing a dirty trick on Poplinsky. He was sorry he had
obeyed Ileana and made friends with him.
"It's too late now ! What do I care about Poplinsky after all ?" he then said to himself
driving away his dark thoughts. "Ileana is waiting for me !" ;
He found lier rather sad as if she too had a twinge of conscience.
"Poor Sasha !" Ileana murmured. "How sad he'll be when he comes back to find me
gone!"
They looked deeply into each other's eyes and instantly forgot all about Poplinsky. They
felt that nothing in the whole wide world mattered except their love. In each other's eyes they
saw themselves as if reflected in the mirror of eternity.
Toma said that they would leave tomorrow morning for Italy. But he didn't want to leave
her alone that night. So he asked her to pack some of her things and spend the night over at
his place. She gladly began packing. He helped her. They would often interrupt their packing
to give each other a big hug as if they had now met for the first time. They renewed memories
of their short past.
"It was exactly seven weeks ago that I entered this house a perfect stranger", Toma
said with a sigh of joy as he remembered.
"I was expecting you, although I didn't know you", Ileana murmured. "My heart had long
been yearning for you, it seemed ever since the world began !"
They were sitting on the broad sofa where they had first embraced. They yearned for
each other now just as they did then. Toma put his arms round her waist while she, lost in a
daze with thirsting lips, lay on her back.
"Ileana, my divine love !" Toma whispered drinking in her breath in a painful kiss.
The room was so full of love sighs that they did not hear the sound of the front door as it
opened and closed.
It was only after a while that Ileana caught sight of the ghostlike figure of Poplinsky eyes
bulging standing motionless in the bedroom doorway. She was struck dumb with horror.
Toma saw the danger in her eyes. They both jumped to their feet. Poplinsky then very calmly
muttered words that seemed to have been prepared long before :
"Just as Isuspected ; or rather knew !... That's why I came back."
In Poplinsky's right hand hanging by his side Toma saw the revolver he had given him
some hours before. He instantly understood that Poplinsky had all along been aware of their
love and that the journey to Kishinev had been nothing but a pretext. His real aim was to take
them by surprise. He met Poplinsky's eyes and saw his death sentence. He did not have
strength enough to utter a single word but his lips moved helplessly.
When Poplinsky raised the gun, Ileana cried out wringing her hands :
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 "Don't kill him, Sasha!... He's innocent!... I'm the guilty one... I love him, Sasha !... Forgive
me, Sasha !"
Toma Novac did not seem to hear her screams, he was terrified at the thought that the
man might kill Ileana. He rushed desperately to cover her with his body. That very moment
four shots rang out mingling with the woman's screams as if her soul had been torn to pieces.
"He hit Ileana !" flashed through Toma's mind.
He wanted to turn towards her and see but he suddenly felt his legs wobble, his body
seemed to grow heavy, his knees weak.
"I'm the one he hit !" he then thought. "I wonder where he got me ? Where ?"
The room was swimming before his eyes. He realized he was falling, tried to prevent it
but was too weak. He lost consciousness.

When he woke he found himself in a strange room. It was only when he saw the nurse
that he realized he was in a sanatorium. He thought his whole body was broken to pieces. He
could not even remember what had happened and how he had got here. His memory too
seemed to have gone to pieces.
Then little by little he came to himself. Out of the chaos in his mind Ileana emerged first of
all, then the revolver shots. The thought of death brought Aleman to his mind, Aleman talking
about his system, only about his system like a funeral oration.
As he quieted down he heard Ileana, Aleman and the doctor come in. He listened
carefully to the doctor's explanations.
They thought he was lost but he was full of hope. Ileana's voice caressed his heart. He
could not control himself. He just had to open his eyes to have one look into her eyes, where
he could find her love for him relief from pain. The happiness he felt exhausted him and he
could no longer close his eyelids. On the wall he saw the calendar and the pendulum.
"The sacred number", he thought with a mild thrill in his heart.
Then Ileana and Aleman said something at the same time but when their words reached
his ears they seemed to be cut in half as if the roots of his hearing had been plucked out.
Then the pendulum stood still hanging on the left as it the source of light in his eyes had
gone out.
Then the thought that maybe the moment of supreme verification had come, the
verification that Aleman had all along been talking about but this thought also broke into
pieces and it seemed that his soul had darkened to make room for a consciousness beyond
time and space...

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THE END

"...And yet such a verification is impossible ! It would be absurd!"

Toma Novac was aware that that was the completion of the thought which had broken into
pieces. The flash in his eyes reappeared and the pendulum slowly descended swinging
heavily to the right as if it wanted to prove that, in fact, time had not stood still. Then he heard
Ileana's voice and Aleman's finishing the sentences they had begun :
"Save him, doctor, save him !... Please !"
"Did you see the great happiness that comes from contemplating eternity ?"
The shiny white face of the clock showed the same time as if the hands had not even
budged.
"That means that not even a second, maybe not even the thousandth of a second had
passed since...
The thought depressed him. He recalled the incidents of lives separated by centuries. He
felt them but could not understand. He remembered, so to speak, that in the moment of death
man relives in a flash the events of his lives .
"All right, the last one !" he said to himself in a state of exhaustion. "That was me, Toma
Novac! ... But what about Mahavira and Unamonu, and Gungunum, and Axius, and
Adeodatus, and Gaston?... Were they also me ? The same self ? What about Navamalika, Isit,
Hamma, Servilia, Maria, Yvonne, were they Ileana ?...
That is, according to Aleman ?... And suppose all of these are merely figments of my
imagination snatched out of my subconsciousness ?... But why now and not at any other
time?"
His brain was teeming with questions that were like sparks on a piece of coal over which a
drop of oil had fallen. They hurt him and tired him. He moved his eyeballs as if trying to find
Ileana. The sounds all around him went dumb as if slashed with a razor. A cold silence
enveloped him, a silence punctured by the rare, smothered ticktock of the pendulum. The
movement of the pendulum scattered all his questions but brought a pain in his heart as if a
pair of heavy tongs was squeezing it harder and harder. He heard stifled sobbing by his side
and realized that it was Ileana's soul. The sobbing was a call to which he could no longer
respond. But that call dripped a boundless happiness in his soul, a happiness which was food
for a long unknown endless journey. His stone-still eyes were now directed towards the clock
and the calendar on the wall. He saw the hands of the clock pointing to seven and the white
chart with the red Roman seven and the black Arab seven.
"Aleman's sacred number" Toma Novae thought.
The chain of doubts and questions began to torment him again. The pendulum had
crooked into the shape of a question mark.
Then from the very depths of his soul there arose asa salvation, a wave of naive belief that
in his mind shaped the God he had believed in in his childhood before the searching questions
cropped up. And he suddenly felt great relief in his heart. The hands of the clock had now
vanished from sight. The white of Toma's eyes was all that remained and it was getting
brighter and brighter, a great light that was mild and comforting.
Ileana fell to her knees at the side of the bed groaning in despair :
"Doctor... he's dying ! Save him, doctor... Doctor !".
Aleman was squeezing the silver knob of his cane in his left hand and looking straight into
Toma's eyes waiting for an answer. Nearby nurse Dafina kept wiping her tears with a
sympathetic glance at Ileana.
"Look, doctor, look !" Aleman murmured after a long silence.
Doctor Filostrat started confused. He approached the bed and took hold of Toma's hand.
It was cold. He could hardly believe it. He bent over and looked deep into the eyes of his

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patient. He shook his head. Then with his finger tip he tried to lower the right eyelid. It was
cold
and stiff.
"What do you say, doctor, tell us ?" Aleman asked shuddering.
Filostrat shrugged his shoulders. He wanted to prove that things had not happened
according to the laws of medical science which would have given Toma Novac at
least several more hours to live. After he had thus done his duty to his profession, he
assumed the proper sorrowful pose and uttered gravely, almost dramatically :
"It's all over !"
Aleman shuddered as if he had received a message from another world and looking again
into Toma's glassy eyes murmured something with lips so screwed up that only the first word
could be understood :
"God..."
The doctor heard the word and smiled indulgently.
Ileana took hold of the dead man's hand and smothered it with kisses sighing endlessly
"Toma !... Toma!...”

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