_But at the summit of the stairway of the Gods,--among clouds soft as down, from whose turning volutes a rain of roses falls,--Venus Anadyomene stands gazing at herself in a mirror:--her eyes move languorously beneath their slumbrous lids._
_She has masses of rich blond hair rolling down over her shoulders; her breasts are small; her waist is slender; her hips curve out like the sweeping curves of a lyre; her thighs are perfectly rounded; there are dimples about her knees; her feet are delicate: a butterfly hovers near her mouth. The splendour of her body makes a nacreous-tinted halo of bright light about her; while all the rest of Olympus is bathed in a pink dawn, rising gradually to the heights of the blue sky._)
ANTHONY. "Ah! my heart swells! A joy never known before thrills me to the depths of my soul! How beautiful, how beautiful it is!"
HILARION. "They leaned from the heights of cloud to direct the way of swords; one used to meet them upon the high roads; men had them in their houses--and this familiarity divinized life.
"Life's aim was only to be free and beautiful. Nobility of attitude was facilitated by the looseness of garments. The voice of the orator, trained by the sea, rolled its sonorous waves against the porticoes of marble. The ephebus, anointed with oil, wrestled all naked in the full light of the sun. The holiest of actions was to expose perfection of forms to all.
"And these men respected wives, aged men, suppliants.
"Behind the temple of Hercules there was an altar erected to Pity.
"Victims were immolated with flowers wreathed about the fingers of the sacrificer. Even memory was exempted from thoughts of the rottenness of death. Nothing remained but a little pile of ashes. And the Soul, mingling with the boundless ether, rose up to God."
(_Bending to whisper in Anthony's ear_:--)
"And they still live! The Emperor Constantine adores Apollo. Thou wilt find the Trinity in Samothracian mysteries,--baptism in the religion of Isis,--redemption in the faith of Mithra,--a martyrdom of a God in the festivals of Bacchus. Prosperpine is the Virgin!... Aristæus is Jesus!"
ANTHONY (_remains awhile with downcast eyes, as if in deep thought; then suddenly repeats aloud the Symbol of Jerusalem, as he remembers it, uttering a long sigh between each phrase_):--