Chapter II.
The Temptation of Love and Power.

THEN, a great shadow — more subtle than an ordinary shadow, from whose borders other shadows hang in festoons — traces itself upon the ground.

It is the Devil, resting against the roof of the cell and carrying under his wings — like a gigantic bat that is suckling its young — the Seven Deadly Sins, whose grinning heads disclose themselves confusedly.

Antony, his eyes still closed, remains languidly passive, and stretches his limbs upon the mat, which seems to him to grow softer every moment, until it swells out and becomes a bed; then the bed becomes a shallop, with water rippling against its sides.

To right and left rise up two necks of black soil that tower above the cultivated plains, with a sycamore here and there. A noise of bells, drums, and singers resounds at a distance. These are caused by people who are going down from Canopus to sleep at the Temple of Serapis. Antony is aware of this, and he glides, driven by the wind, between the two banks of the canal. The leaves of the papyrus and the red blossoms of the waterlilies, larger than a man, bend over him. He lies extended at the bottom of the vessel. An oar from behind drags through the water. From time to time rises a hot breath of air that shakes the thin reeds. The murmur of the tiny waves grows fainter. A drowsiness takes possession of him. He dreams that he is an Egyptian Solitary.

Then he starts up all of a sudden.

“Have I been dreaming? It was so pleasant that I doubted its reality. My tongue is burning! I am thirsty!”

He enters his cell and searches about everywhere at random.

“The ground is wet! Has it been raining? Stop! Scraps of food! My pitcher broken! But the water-bottle?”

He finds it.

“Empty, completely empty! In order to get down to the river, I should need three hours at least, and the night is so dark I could not see well enough to find my way there. My entrails are writhing. Where is the bread?”

After searching for some time he picks up a crust smaller than an egg.

“How is this? The jackals must have taken it, curse them!”

And he flings the bread furiously upon the ground.

This movement is scarcely completed when a table presents itself to view, covered with all kinds of dainties. The tablecloth of byssus, striated like the fillets of sphinxes, seems to unfold itself in luminous undulations. Upon it there are enormous quarters of flesh-meat, huge fishes, birds with their feathers, quadrupeds with their hair, fruits with an almost natural colouring; and pieces of white ice an