anguish. He is afraid of
seeing the face of some one he knew.

The women cease their sobbing; and, after an interval of silence, all,
at the same time, burst into a psalm:

"Beautiful! beautiful! he is beautiful! Enough of sleep--raise his head!
Up! Inhale our bouquets! These are narcissi and anemones gathered in thy
gardens to please thee. Return to life! thou fillest us with fear!

"Speak! What dost thou require? Dost thou wish to drink wine? Dost thou
wish to sleep in our beds? Dost thou wish to eat the honey-cakes which
have the form of little birds?

"Let us press close to his hips! let us kiss his breast! Hold! hold!
feel thou our fingers covered with rings which are stealing over thy
body, and our lips which are seeking thy mouth, and our hair which is
sweeping thy legs, insensible god, deaf to our prayers!"

They burst into shrieks, tearing their faces with their nails, then
become silent; and only the howling of the dog is heard.

"Alas! alas! The dark blood rushes over his snowy flesh. See how his
knees writhe, how his sides give way! The flowers upon his face have
soaked the gore. He is dead! Let us weep! let us lament!"

They come all in a row to fling down between the torches their flowing
locks, resembling at a distance black or yellow serpents; and the
catafalque is softly lowered to the level of a cave--a gloomy sepulchre,
which is yawning in the background.

Then a woman bends over the corpse. Her hair, which never has been cut,
covers her from head to foot. She sheds so many tears that her grief
does not seem to be like that of others, but superhuman, infinite.

Antony thinks of the mother of Jesus.

She says:

"Thou didst escape from the East, and thou didst press me in thy arms
all quivering with dew, O sun! Doves fluttered above the azure of thy
mantle, our kisses caused breezes amid the foliage, and I abandoned
myself to thy love, delighting in the exquisite sensation of my own
weakness.

"Alas! alas! Why art thou about to rush away over the mountains? At the
autumnal equinox a wild boar wounded thee! Thou art dead, and the
fountains weep and the trees droop, and the winter wind is whistling
through the leafless branches.

"My eyes are about to close, seeing that darkness is covering thee. By
this time thou art dwelling on the other side of the world, near my more
powerful rival.

"O Persephone, all that is beautiful goes down to thee and returns no
more!"

While she has been s