The romance of Violette

CHAPTER 7

In the agreement drawn up between the belligerents it was enacted:

First, that Violette should remain my sole property.

Second, that I should lend her occasionally to the Countess, but always in my presence.

Thirdly, that I should play with the Countess the part of a woman just as much as I pleased, but never that of a man.

The agreement was drawn up in triple copies and duly signed by the contracting parties. A clause was added by which it was agreed that in case Violette and the Countess failed to fulfil any of the conditions of the said agreement, I should thereby be entitled for a space of time not exceeding the duration of their crim con., to rights on the Countess similar to those I enjoyed over Violette.

Violette feared at first that my love for her would be diminished in consequence of the kind of association agreed upon. I might have entertained a similar fear, but this new mode of life, far from having the expected result, only fanned the fire of our love into fiercer flames by enhancing its pleasures.

As we strictly adhered to the various clauses of our agreement, there could be no jealousy on either side.

But such was not the case with the Countess. Every time I acted the part of a lover with Violette, the young girl was compelled to transmit my caresses, in another form to the Countess.

As I had not bound myself with respect to the Countess, in the same way that she was bound to me-that is, that she was never to touch Violette except in my presence-I could enjoy my dear little mistress as often as I liked, and I never found my happiness incomplete because of the absence of the Countess. I must own that, as an artist, I derived much benefit from this mode of living. Often, in the midst of our passionate embraces, I would jump off the bed, seize my album and pencil, and, far from seeking to impede the fiery ardour of my two models, I excited it to the utmost, so as to produce lascivious and novel combinations which exhibited their beauteous forms in new and delightful outlines.

But all this did not make me forget Violette's plans for the future, and her natural bent for a theatrical career.

I made her learn Racine's Iphigenie, Moliere's La Fausse Agnes, and Hugo's Marion Delorme, and I perceived that she had great talent for acting light comedy.

The countess had been educated at the Convent des Oiseaux, and had there frequently taken a part in various comedies at holiday times, as is customary at ladies' educational establishments. Her tall figure and almost masculine voice allowed her to impart to her stage play and delivery a certain masterly colour.

So I derived much pleasure from seeing them act together, when, draped in the real Greek robes which leave certain parts of the body in a nude state, they gave themselves up to the sweet and yet powerful accents of passion which distinguish Racine's masterpiece.

When I had made sure of her inborn vocation, and taken the advice of one of my friends, a well-known playwright, I asked him for a letter of recommendation to a certain professor of the dramatic art.

He gave it to me with a smile, saying that I should warn Violette of the amorous disposition of M.X.

I took Violette to M.X. and handed the letter to him. We made her act three different parts in succession, and this gentleman came also to the conclusion that she was most fitted for light comedy.

He gave her the part of Cherubin to learn. Everything went well for the first three weeks, but after, Violette one evening threw herself on my neck, and shaking her head, said to me:

"Christian, I cannot go any more to M.X."

I asked her the reason.

My friend's suppositions had been realized. During the first four or five lessons the master showed his pupils nothing but truly brotherly regard, but once, under pretence of teaching her how to match the stage play with the delivery, he put his hands upon her person and took liberties with her. Violette was obliged to shrink from his touch, which looked more like that of a lover than that of a teacher.

Violette settled with him for the price of her lessons, and never returned to his place.

It thus became necessary to provide her with another professor.

The new one acted very nearly in the same manner as the first.

One day, at the hour appointed for the lesson, she did not find him in his study, but saw on his desk an open book instead of the Moliere which usually served for her part.

It was an obscene book with engravings to match the text. Instinctively she glanced at it. The title was Philosophic Therese.

This title did not enlighten her, but the first engraving she came upon was unmistakable.

This book might have been left there by chance. Violette declared such was not the case, and that she would not go to that professor again.

Violette was as passionate as could be, but she did not like indecencies. During the three years she lived with me, we went through the entire scale of Love's ardent caresses, but never did a coarse word issue from her lips.

We settled accounts with this new professor, and then began pondering as to the means of protecting her against such attempts.

I hit upon the plan of procuring for her a lady teacher. I sought the advice of one of my friends, a celebrated actress. She was intimate with a very clever young lady who had achieved success at the Odeon and Porte Saint Martin. Her name was Florence. Unfortunately this was falling out of the frying pan into the fire, as Florence had the reputation of being one of the most active tribades in Paris.

She never would be married and never had a lover, as far as people knew.

The Countess, Violette and myself held a council. I did not wish to widen the circle of my acquaintances, being fully aware of the drawbacks of a life shared in a thousand ways. Nevertheless I was bent upon developing to its full extent the artistic talent of my dear little mistress.

I pondered a while, and had a conversation with the Countess. I perceived, from the expression of her bright eyes, that the subject of our discussion moved her strongly. Thereupon I quickly persuaded her to introduce herself to the great actress as an admirer of her talents, and to represent Violette as a young girl in whom she took the utmost interest, but at the same time to show a tinge of jealousy sufficiently marked to render Florence cautious. At the very time the actress had just created a part in which she was enabled to give expression to the peculiar passion which she had received from nature. The Countess, who felt much inclination for the part she was about to undertake, took a monthly subscription for a private box in Florence's theatre.

The Countess had assumed masculine garb. She went to her box and raising the green screen, remained visible only to the actress.

It goes without saying that she was exquisite in her fancy dress, consisting of a black velvet frock coat lined with satin, pale green trousers, a buff waistcoat and cherry coloured necktie. Small black moustaches, which matched the eyebrows, aided in making her pass for a young dandy of eighteen.

An expensive bouquet, from the most fashionable florist, lay on a chair near her, and at a convenient moment she threw it at Florence's feet.

An actress to whom bouquets worth thirty or forty francs are thrown four night in succession cannot fail to condescend to glance at the box whence they came.

Florence did glance and saw in the box a charming youth who looked like a collegian. She thought him handsome and amusing and said to herself, "What a pity he is not a woman!"

The next night and following nights the same enthusiasm was displayed by the young man, and the same regret secretly expressed by the actress.

On the fifth night a note was affixed to the bouquet.

Florence saw it but her indifference for our sex caused her to lay it aside. When at home she suddenly thought of it.

She had just partaken of a rather cheerless supper, and was dreaming by the fireplace. She called her maid.

"Mariette," said she, "there was a note in tonight's bouquet. Give it to me."

Mariette brought it in on a china dish.

Florence opened and perused it. At the first line she felt much interested. It was penned in this style:

"Indeed, charming Florence, it is with brow flushed with shame that I write to you, but expect that I shall add, like a madman. Have compassion on me, for I am obliged to confess that I am not what I appear to be, and I must add, I love you like a madwoman!"

"Now rail at me! despise me; spurn me away-all will be sweet to me, even insults, coming from you! Odette."

At the words "I love you like a madwoman" Florence uttered a cry.

Then, as she had no secrets from her maid:

"Mariette! Mariette!" she cried, quite elated. "It is a woman!"

"I suspected as much," replied the maid.

"You foolish, girl, why did you not tell me?"

"I was afraid of being mistaken."

"Ah!" murmured Florence, "how pretty she must be!"

Then after a pause of a few seconds, she asked in a languid voice:

"Where are the bouquets?"

"Madame knows well that, thinking they came from a man, she ordered them thrown away."

"But tonight's bouquet."

"It is still here."

"Give it to me."

Mariette handed it to her.

Florence took it and looked at it with a pleased smile.

"Do you not think it splendid?"

"Not more so than the others."

"Do you not think so?"

"Madame has not even looked at them."

"Ah!" said Florence, laughing. "I shall not be so ungrateful in the case of this one. Help me to undress, Mariette."

"Madame will not keep it in her room, I hope."

"Why not?"

"Because there is a magnolia, some lilac and other strongly scented flowers, which may give you a headache."

"There is no danger of that."

"I beseech Madame to let me take the bouquet away."

"No such thing." f Madame wishes to be asphyxiated, she is free to do so, of course."

"If one could be asphyxiated with flowers, don't you think it would be better to die thus at once, instead of lingering on for three or four years with consumption, as my fate will probably be?"

Florence had a short fit of dry cough.

"Should Madame die in three or four years," said Mariette, whilst undressing her mistress, "it will be because Madame wished it."

"How do you make that out?"

"I heard what the doctor said to Madame yesterday."

"What! You heard it?"

"Yes!"

"Then you were listening!"

"No. I was in the dressing room… One hears sometimes without trying to."

"Well, what did he say?"

"He said it would be better for you to have three or four lovers than to do what you do when you are alone!"

Florence pouted as if in disgust.

"I do not like men!" said she, inhaling the perfume of the bouquet.

"Will Madame sit down while I pull off her stockings?" asked Mariette.

Florence sat down without replying, her face almost hidden in the flowers.

She allowed Mariette to take off her boots and wash her feet with perfumed water.

"What scent will Madame have in her bidet?"

"The same. That which poor Denise liked so much. Do you know that I have now been faithful to her for six months?"

"Yes; at the expense of your health."

"Oh! I think of her when I do that… and when the pleasure comes… murmur, 'Denise!… Denise!'…"

"Will you say Denise again tonight?"

"Hush!" said Florence smiling and putting a finger on her lips.

"Does Madame require anything else?"

"No!"

"If Madame is unwell tomorrow, she will not say it is my fault?"

"If tomorrow I am unwell I will not hold you responsible Mariette, I promise you. Good night, Marietta."

"Good night, Madame."

And she made her exit grumbling the while like a spoiled maid, or worse still, like a maid in possession of all her mistress' secrets.

When she was alone in front of her cheval glass, Florence listened till she no longer heard the retreating footsteps of her maid, then she went barefooted and on tiptoe to fasten the bolt of her bedroom door. She then returned to the looking glass, read again the note of the Countess, kissed it, and laid it on the dressing table within easy reach, unfastened the bouquet, and, undoing the ribbon knot of her chemise, she rested her lips on her body and allowed the chemise to slip to the floor.

Florence was a magnificent brunette, with large blue eyes always encircled with a dark tinge. Her long hair reached down to her knees and half covered a form rather thin and spare, but of magnificent proportions in spite of her state of emaciation.

Mariette's words have given us the explanation of this emaciation. But she could not have accounted, deep as she was in her mistress' confidence, for the abundance of hair which adorned the whole front part of Florence's body.

This curious ornament reached up to the breasts, where it slipped up like the point of a lance. Then it ran downwards in a thin line which joined the mass which covered all the lower part of the abdomen, disappeared between the thighs and reappeared slightly at the lower part of the back.

Florence was very proud of this ornament, which seemed to make of her a compound of both sexes. She tended and perfumed it with jealous care. But what was most remarkable was the fact that her brown but splendid skin did not bear anywhere else the slightest trace of capillary vegetation.

She began by surveying herself with extreme satisfaction, smiling at her own image, then with a soft brush she smoothed down all the charming fur. She then selected the most beautiful flowers in the bouquet and formed them into a crown, which she placed on her head; sprinkled her whole body with tuberoses and jonquils; turned the mount of Venus into a rose garden connected to her breasts by garlands of Parma violets, and thus, covered with flowers, intoxicated with their strong perfumes, she languidly reclined on a long easy chair placed before her cheval glass, so as to be able to survey her whole form. At last, with half closed eyes, her head thrown back, with quivering nostrils, lips curled up, one hand on one of her round breasts, and the other slipping down gradually, as if moved irresistibly to the altar where, as a selfish solitary priestess, she was about to consummate the sacrifice, her finger slowly disappeared among the roses. Nervous motions began to agitate this beautiful statue of pleasure; these involuntary motions were soon followed by unintelligible words, suppressed sighs, then deeper sighs, in the midst of which was muttered no longer the name of Denise, but the no less sweet name of "Odette".