Free One of Cleopatra's Nights by Théophile Gautier Page A

possession
of you. Instead of allowing yourself to be conquered, my dear Romuald,
make to yourself a cuirass of prayers, a buckler of mortifications, and
combat the enemy like a valiant man; you will then assuredly overcome
him. Virtue must be proved by temptation, and gold comes forth purer
from the hands of the assayer. Fear not. Never allow yourself to become
discouraged. The most watchful and steadfast souls are at moments liable
to such temptation. Pray, fast, meditate, and the Evil Spirit will
depart from you."
    The words of the Abbé Sérapion restored me to myself, and I became a
little more calm. "I came," he continued, "to tell you that you have
been appointed to the curacy of C—. The priest who had charge of it
has just died, and Monseigneur the Bishop has ordered me to have you
installed there at once. Be ready, therefore, to start to-morrow." I
responded with an inclination of the head, and the Abbé retired. I
opened my missal and commenced reading some prayers, but the letters
became confused and blurred under my eyes, the thread of the ideas
entangled itself hopelessly in my brain, and the volume at last fell
from my hands without my being aware of it.
    To leave to-morrow without having been able to see her again, to add yet
another barrier to the many already interposed between us, to lose
forever all hope of being able to meet her, except, indeed, through a
miracle! Even to write her, alas! would be impossible, for by whom could
I despatch my letter? With my sacred character of priest, to whom could
I dare unbosom myself, in whom could I confide? I became a prey to the
bitterest anxiety.
    Then suddenly recurred to me the words of the Abbé Sérapion regarding
the artifices of the devil; and the strange character of the adventure,
the supernatural beauty of Clarimonde, the phosphoric light of her eyes,
the burning imprint of her hand, the agony into which she had thrown me,
the sudden change wrought within me when all my piety vanished in a
single instant—these and other things clearly testified to the work of
the Evil One, and perhaps that satiny hand was but the glove which
concealed his claws. Filled with terror at these fancies, I again picked
up the missal which had slipped from my knees and fallen upon the floor,
and once more gave myself up to prayer. Next morning Sérapion came to
take me away. Two mules freighted with our miserable valises awaited us
at the gate. He mounted one, and I the other as well as I knew how.
    As we passed along the streets of the city, I gazed attentively at all
the windows and balconies in the hope of seeing Clarimonde, but it was
yet early in the morning, and the city had hardly opened its eyes. Mine
sought to penetrate the blinds and window-curtains of all the palaces
before which we were passing. Sérapion doubtless attributed this
curiosity to my admiration of the architecture, for he slackened the
pace of his animal in order to give me time to look around me. At last
we passed the city gates and commenced to mount the hill beyond. When
we arrived at its summit I turned to take a last look at the place where
Clarimonde dwelt. The shadow of a great cloud hung over all the city;
the contrasting colors of its blue and red roofs were lost in the
uniform half-tint, through which here and there floated upward, like
white flakes of foam, the smoke of freshly kindled fires. By a singular
optical effect one edifice, which surpassed in height all the
neighboring buildings that were still dimly veiled by the vapors,
towered up, fair and lustrous with the gilding of a solitary beam of
sunlight—although actually more than a league away it seemed quite
near. The smallest details of its architecture were plainly
distinguishable—the turrets, the platforms, the window-casements, and
even the swallow-tailed weather vanes.
    "What is that palace I see over there, all lighted up by the sun?" I
asked Sérapion. He shaded his eyes with his hand, and having looked in
the direction